It's a Two-fer Bonanza!

I apologize to everyone. I kinda flaked out by not posting yesterday and not posting today as of yet.

I had um...an incident regarding my butt - which probably is way too much information for most of you already.

Let's just say I had some issues I was working toward getting fixed...and one of the things which is a big no-no during the procedures I was in the midst of...is constipation...and the resulting straining.

To make a long story short, I ended up going to the Emergency Room at 2:47 in the morning - to be released at 3:45 - yes...less than one hour...from walk in to walk out, so I can't rightfully even pen an epic "Home at Last" tale filled with phlegm, blood, germs, and people picking up bits of cookie off the waiting room floor and feeding it to their kids while I cringe, further and further away from all of them...wondering whose naked butt sat on my chair (yes, pants way down past your ass is still the fashion in Montgomery, Alabama) and if they ever disinfect them. I'm going to have to chime in with a resounding "NOOOOOO!" as I bet they never even get a glance over with the rag they use from trash can to countertop and back down to the table.

I watch all those things...I obsess over those things. This is what a germaphobe does for fun: Torturing themselves by watching things which people ordinarily wouldn't give a second thought about. I, on the other hand, think "Don't tell me he's going to take that germ-soaked rag and oh my God...he did! He touched the trash can with it and then touched the desk!"

Oh, I never even touch their pens - I have my own.

Also, next time you find yourself in a hospital ER - try to find a place to put your urine sample container down on...without it touching something which would contaminate it. You have to take it apart, making sure nothing comes into contact with the inside lid - yet there are no flat surfaces anywhere within reach. It's a two person job. It's stupid. Incredibly stupid. Like, good luck not touching some other item not already contaminated with someone else's urine or feces. I usually walk in there and pretty much think "I'm semi-balancing it right here - and when I'm done I'm going to wrap it in a semi-wet towel...just...to...show them.

Is it wet from water? Wet from urine? Yeah...you messed with my Howard Hughes/Howie Mandel-like germ issue with no flat surfaces in the bathroom while I try to do a clean-catch sample for you...and this is your payback. I know it's just a wet paper towel as I used it to open the handle of the door...but you don't...so...whatever, dude...how do YOU like it? At least you have little gloves - you don't have any gloves in the bathroom for me. If you had gloves there would be ONE flat object I could put my urine sample on - but nope. Just for that maybe I touched some urine to it after all. Take that you...you designer of the strange germ-laden room of bodily fluid. You'd figure after being on duty for one full day that I wouldn't rectify the whole situation? I would...because I think that way. No one does - they don't care - it's like this all over. It's designed to piss you off. That's it. They are probably videoed and played back during the boring parts at the ER shifts.

But...back to my butt; hopefully it's okay - no one called today from the gastro doctor altho I called them twice - just to get an idea if my area has imploded, exploded, or simply unraveled...or any combination of a myriad of butt logic.

So, here I sit (in pain, mind you) typing this blog which I'm hoping will qualify as a "two-for" or "two-fer" - whichever. I did manage to put to distinct stories and prompts together (possibly not coherent as my Ambien kicked in some time ago)...anyone's guess is if I did it right.

But, for the time being I am indeed home at last...tomorrow we travel to Birmingham (quite a long drive) to my daughter's gastroenterologist for a food motility test and then to see her (with the results - I am hoping) afterwards.

Please wish her luck.

Thank you.

The prompt yesterday was "Whatever, Dude" and today's was "Home at Last".  I decided I would do one blog and work them both in; yes, I cheated.  No one said I could not cheat - at least I didn't hear.  I certainly don't remember as I take Ambien.

Also, please check out "We Work for Cheese" and their non-contest contest for the month of February. People there probably follow rules and don't go to the ER at 2:30 in the morning about their butts...or most of them...and they probably have a lot less icky things they wrote about (unlike I did). Sigh.

MaskERaid

So, I'm sitting at the hospital with all the Swine-y people, playing "musical chairs" each time someone comes within a 10-foot radius of me, as, in my head "10 feet" is my safety cushion, my germ-free bubble, my "cone-of-silence" if you will. (Insert deep breath here.)

I came here because there's a good likelihood that I'm having a reaction to a medication I was put on for a couple of days...but I certainly don't want to come out sicker than I came in - hence the "chair hopping".

And, I don't know about you, but I already know how to wear one of those flu masks they hand out. And, by the off chance you don't have a clue...the lady at the sign-in desk tells you, step-by-step, how to use one. And if THAT'S not informational enough - they have pamphlets and charts and Venn diagrams with arrows and X's and...well, you have to be pretty darned daft to get it wrong, right?

Well, maybe.

Don't get me wrong...it's not like I'm saying that ALL the people wearing a mask in the ER waiting room's combined IQ would come out to be 100, but, to look around me...I'd say I'm not far off the mark. Even WITH a hospital worker "reminding" them (after they've already been instructed how to use one)...well, the ingenious (bear in mind I'm not referring to "genius" here) ways a person can don one of these things...literally, are nearly endless. (It's not really endless...but it sounds better that way..."writer's embellishment" and all.)

Here's a few flu mask observances I spied in my nearly three-hour ER wait...you know, before they usher you in the back...for some "solitary waiting":

Mask dangling from one ear. Ummm...two ears...two elastic loops. Coincidence? I think not. Amount of protection rendered: I'd say close to nil.

Mask ON...but below nose. This fashion statement apparently is a crowd favourite as several people were sporting theirs this way. Side note to mask wearers: Mask covering both mouth AND nose will not result in asphyxiation. If it does...keep in mind you're in the best place for it to happen...as you're IN a friggen ER. Mask efficiency: Probably better than nil. Not much...but, we can understand. Sorta.

Mask worn - unless you are talking on your cell phone. Yes, (by the way - I'm shaking my head here...not nodding)...as everyone knows...wearing the equivalent of a tightly woven 3-ply tissue across your mouth blocks out 90% of audible sound (now I'm rolling my eyes) so, naturally, it has to be removed while you chat. Side note: How to compute the average cell phone minutes racked up by the average ER visitor: X = cell phone time; Y = wait time. Y-X = X². Don't ask me how...it just does. Mask effectiveness: Nearly nil, i.e., gabbing away non-stop for five minutes spreads about as many germs as one ordinary cough; ten minutes equals full-fledged sneeze into elbow sleeve. To determine longer conversations...you do the math.

Mask worn backwards on head. While you might be used to wearing your baseball cap backwards and think it looks cool...wearing your mask the same way doesn't. Approximate safeguard against pretty much anything: Nada.

Mask worn ON your head. No, I don't mean the correct way - I mean ON your head. The top of your head...like a hat. Now I do know it was raining a bit when I came in...but wearing your mask this way brings you about the same amount of protection from the rain as it does from transmitting your germs. Absolutely none.

The lesson I learned in all of this: The Emergency Room gives away free toys disguised as flu masks...and they give away a LOT of them. I also learned when some people are sitting in the waiting room chatting up their friends or watching television or reading their books - they feel fine...until they are called into the Triage Nurse's little room. Then they limp or cough or hold their bellies...then...as if by some miracle...when they reemerge to sit and wait some more...they are again healed! Until they are called to go in the back...when again, they are suddenly stricken.

Lastly, to the woman who was with her effervescently bubbly, cute-as-a-button toddler (who was supposed to be wearing her tiny child flu mask) sitting diagonally from me and right next to the germ-laden, dome-topped, hand-PUSH-operated trash can: Can you be more oblivious to the fact that you REPEATEDLY picked up your daughter's cookies OFF the nasty germ-infested hospital waiting room floor...shoved them with your bare hand IN through the gross, probably never cleaned, spring-loaded, trash can opening to throw them away...and then reached INTO your package of cookies to give your daughter some MORE? Well, if she didn't have anything when she went INTO the hospital...she probably does NOW.

Ugh...

...I hate hospitals.

A Room (I don't want to be in) With A View

"Get busy living...or get busy dying." I've said it before I know - but it's one of my favourite quotes from one of my favourite movies, "The Shawshank Redemption". It seems that I haven't been taking it to heart, often quoted - but never devoted - any real time to realize the importance of those seven little words.

I have resigned myself, as I stand here like Jimmy Stewart in "Rear Window" (altho he was sitting), gazing out my 4th floor hospital window from Baptist South...my life's entertainment now reduced to seeing how many of the three enormous lighted angels at the Alfa Building directly across from me will be working tonite, walking the H-shaped corridors outside my room, and the high point of my day: anxiously awaiting the reaction of the guy who parked his silver out-of-state car in the blue-lined non-space designated to be used as access points for the two adjacent handicapped spaces which were already taken. Two policemen moved an orange and white barrel directly behind the car...but didn't ticket it. But, he hasn't emerged yet. And here I stand...waiting...waiting.

Yes, one can get a little stir crazy in here, luckily there is "naked man" who "resides" in the room next to mine to keep my spirits up. No, don't even go there...but he IS an amusing topic of conversation here. He certainly isn't here to break up the tension...but moments such as those do break up the tension I'm sure.

You see, I've been here since Sunday, when I awoke with the apparent symptoms of a stroke and the trappings thereof: unsteady gait, difficulty swallowing, uncoordinated arm movement, and scariest of all - not being able to speak and reason properly.

So, I am here. The barrage of tests so far have pointed to a Transient Ischemic Attack (TIA) as the culprit. I am, essentially, "back to normal" - or should I say, "my normal".

But as I walk my IV pole, with the obligatory wonky grocery cart-type wheel, down the halls, I am reminded of how precious...and fleeting human life is...and no matter how impervious we think we are - we are very frail creatures...us humans.

Oh, that's probably not saying much - or maybe it's speaking volumes, depending on your interpretation of it. Personally, I am not usually places where I see trauma every day - I don't usually talk to the grandparent of a child who just lost his ability to walk by a totally unforeseeable accident. I don't usually see people strapped to neck and back braces trying desperately to negotiate the slightest of steps...I don't usually walk past doors with signs which state things like "turn patient every two hours".

I know these things happen and I know people deal with these things every day...but I am usually far removed from these situations. Today I was moved by them.

And today...I really want to start "get busy living" more than anything.

Hospitalization - Part II

Sure, major surgery has its inconveniences which are to be expected (I pointed some out in Part 1 of my Hospitalization blogum located below) but what they are really good at is the little things. Little things mean a lot. Little things can be cute, as in kittens...little things can kill you, as in germs...and little things you can take for granted...well, they'll be the ones I'm referring to here. I can only speak on my personal cases of being in the hospital and for this story I'm sticking to things which occurred this time around.

- Bodily fluids and why are they fascinated with them in the hospital? Furthermore why do they have one bathroom for me and not another one for my visitors?? Do they know WHAT lurks IN my personal hospital bathroom? I feel like the consummate bad criminal in any killer movie when they reach to open the bathroom door...

"DON'T open THAT!!!!"
"Well, why? Whatcha hiding in there I can't look at?"
"Uh...nothing."
"Well, if it's nothing, tell me what it is."
"It's nothing I say."
"You aren't telling me the truth, are you?"
"You CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!"

Why does the dialogue ever have to progress that far? I'll be honest with everyone here and now why those bathrooms are for the patient and the patient alone. They give you little bowls and containers with demarcation/deliniation lines...and they give them adorable little names...oh, like "hat". "Time to empty your 'hat'" they say. Well, they don't sell these hats in any haberdashery shop I've ever been in, nor at 'Bed Bath and Beyond'...they are WAY beyond what they sell. I think they get them from a guy who knows a guy who comes around in the back of the hospital twice a week...or they probably order them online or eBay.

Word to the wise...hospitalization is a series of private processes, especially for women who don't routinely sit on the sofa snarfing down nachos and guzzling back beer with men playing "pull my finger" games. Now, nothing's wrong with being that type of woman...but I'm not...I am more on the "demure" side of the fence. I don't want anyone to enter places to see things that even the nurses and doctors shouldn't have to see. So, when you reach your hand out to turn my bathroom door knob...let's just say the only way you aren't getting vituperatively scolded a well deserved "NO!" would be if I were in a coma...but if I were in a coma I wouldn't really be using the bathroom so you could probably use it. I believe you get the point here by now...even if that point is moot.

- I am 46...I'd like to be younger but I'm not. I have, to my credit, built up some medical vocabulary where I feel confident enough to speak to doctors and medical staff using and have them use back with me without my having that "huh??" look on my face. This comes from my odd habit of reading the PDR, medical papers, and hanging out at WebMD.com and MayoClinic.com much more than anyone should. But when a doctor says uncommon words, 99 percent of the time I know what they are saying and they don't have to spell everything out for me in plain laymen's vernacular. I find this to be a bonus and I think they appreciate it as well. But one thing eludes me during my stay this time and I will try to explain best I can. Enter one nurse after I rang the bell...the dialogue goes somewhat like this: Her: "What can I do for you?" Me: "Well, I have to be unstrapped from the blood-clot leg cuffs before I can toddle off to the bathroom and this is where you get to come in." Her: "Well, do you have to go 'tee-tee' or something else?" Me: "Ummmm - I only have to urinate." Now, I am not five or 10 even for that matter and I certainly hoped I exuded a little more knowledge than one click above brain-dead...why she called it "tee-tee" is a mystery to me...but I wrote it off as perhaps she normally works on the pediatric ward. And then after a bit of contemplation I figured I would indeed use this whole dialogue bit in a blog...yes, that's the way my mind works.

- For the love of all things sacred...please feed me something that might get my gastric juices flowing. Even Pavlov's dog would have just sat in the corner and licked his...uh...bells wouldn't have sent any salivary glands salivating in any experiments if he had pawned this stuff off as food in those experiments. And speaking of experiments, I think the Nutrition Department were conducting some of their own. During my "soft bland diet" phase, at lunch and dinner "something" which can only be envisioned as that dough blob that pops at full force out of the Poppin' Fresh dough cylinder when you poke the seam with a knife blade. Honestly, THAT is what it looked like and they were determined to get me to eat it and they had days and days to prove that theory.

-- Day one I was tempted to taste it - but I stood my ground as it didn't look like a pudding and it wasn't exactly an ice-cream as it never melted...so I put it in that illustrious food group in which Fruitcake belongs and sent it back. Voila! I'll get something else later for dinner. Or so I thought. There, mysteriously - right top quadrant of the tray...it was back again. Surely it must be a whole different one you are thinking. Au contrare...it looked the same...but instead of being pristinely white this time...it had diminished to "eggshell". Again I held my ground and returned it - surely it can't return again tomorrow I thought. Ha! I won! Well, I shouldn't pat myself on the back so quickly...plus I had an abdominal incision...it kinda hurts to twist like that.

-- Day two I hear voices from Poltergeist II in the back of my mind..."They're ba-aaak" - and sure enough, it was. Again, had I access to those paint colour swatches I could've discerned this one wasn't even "eggshell" anymore, but now was more closely graduating to "ecru". By the time they came to collect it - I made a joke about how it returns but always a shade darker...I think they either didn't get it or they now knew I was wise to them. I was certain it wouldn't make it to my dinner menu.



-- Enter my children who haven't had me at the house for days dealing with my witty banter (oh go along with me - I had major surgery) on a continuing basis...so I had to relay to them the "scary ever-colour-changing blob which shows up at each meal except breakfast" tale. My daughter hatched a plan - "Stab it!" she says. "NOOOOOOOOO!!!" I say..."Didn't you learn ANYTHING from watching those Sci-Fi movies from the 50s? That 'thing' will slide off the plate, slip under the door, kill three people at the nurses' station and then double back and break my window to kill me when my back is turned to it whilst I'm reporting the whole incident to the police on the phone!" It happens EVERY time - best not tempt providence. And, true to form...the colour was indeed a little darker still...and had lost some sheen...it was now fast approaching "faded ivory piano keys" shade. My son was brave, even with my cautionary words of impending doom...he totally annihilated the poor unsuspecting "upper right food tray blob" and alas, it came back no more. I really don't want to think about why it didn't too long so I'll just gloss right over that whole episode. But at the time, it was pretty much my only form of entertainment...so much so we took photos.

Word must have gotten back to the "mother ship" that I was not going to cave in and consume that thing so I believe they decided they had no use for me anymore and when the doctor came in to see me the next day he stated if I ate some "real food" and "participated" in some honest to goodness "pull my finger" jocularity, I could vacate the premises and be on my merry way home. For years I've tried to class up my interactive comedy website by not catering to the lowest common denominator, "fart jokes"...and here it all came back to bite me on the proverbial...um...arse.

So, again, some of the littlest things you take for granted are your ticket out...and this was to be the one time I would proudly proclaim "I did it!.

Hospital Stay...or Should I Go?

I figured, for your reading enjoyment, I would do this installment in two parts (actually, truth be told - I did it so I would be able to split one long story into two...but "your reading enjoyment" sounds much less self-serving) :) ...

Part 1:

By now, if you know me...or at least kept up with my blogumns (I refuse to call them blogs as they are more like short stories or columns), you'll have gathered that I was in the hospital for a few days following what can only be referred to as "a hysterectomy of some necessity". And "yes", to answer that question that everyone asks, "they took my ovaries out as well".

But, to add to the discomfort of the obvious...the hospital has a few tricks up their hospital gown sleeves to get you up and out that door they always manage to not close behind them (even tho it was closed when they came in) to get you out as fast as humanly possible. Sure, people might say they release you too soon...but I'm betting most people jump at that opportunity to return home for just the most "take for granted" reasons that are out there. We are, after all, creatures of comfort and the hospital is hardly packed with creature comforts...staph infections, yes...but those are a whole different creature and I could easily digress, but I won't. I will, however, point some things out one by one that got me thinking about all this...however, this is not a Top Ten list, so they come in no order whatsoever...you be the judge as to which would send you packing fastest.

- Why is that television set ALL the way up there? "So you can see it better when you are lying there, flat on your back, in your bed" you might say. Wrong! First off, no matter how prone you get, it's still too high to watch comfortably. Try again. "Because if they had it lower, people would bonk their heads into it and then sue?" Well, you are getting warmer - people would indeed sue if they hit their heads into it...but they are in the hospital and probably wouldn't be able to sue them "REAL good" because they nearly bled to death since they were on the floor for hours before someone found them. Someone's bound to find you in the hospital since someone always comes in every hour to take blood, take blood pressure, take your urine away, talk about your urine, talk about your bowel movements, give you medication, and just to leave your door open to annoy you. Here's a little trick I found that works wonders: Want them to stop coming in for a while so you can get some rest? Buzz for a nurse...that will ensure no one stops by for a while. (Oh, I'm joking here...they were very, very, very nice this time around to me.) But to answer my own question...my son actually figured this one out: The television is that high so that you can screw up your neck so you can stay in the hospital longer - or at the very least generate some more business their way.

- How do they expect me to sleep on this horrible mattress with a blood pressure cup attached to my arm that goes off every 30 minutes, blood clot leg massagers that inflate/deflate every three minutes, two IV lines...one put in at exactly the right (or is that 'wrong') angle to make it virtually impossible to bend my wrist for any support whatsoever to help me get up, an IV baggie that keeps getting lower and lower and you remember watching that episode of Marcus Welby, MD where there was one little air bubble in it and the person nearly died because of it, them coming in every couple hours to poke, prod, or generally annoy me to do something, and why do they insist on leaving my light on that they know I can't turn off without getting up...other than to shut the door they continually leave open? Answer: They don't - it's the hospital...leave already.

- You mean I have to actually time my bathroom breaks with the commercials now??? Only those with TiVo will understand this little luxury that, once you experience, you will never live without. You might think it's pretty silly as you've lived your whole life until that point getting up during commercial breaks to make that run. Well, you get a hysterectomy, then lie there waiting for a commercial for 15 minutes when you have to go. Really go. Oh...then remember you have a TiVo at home. Enough said.

- Okay, I just had an operation and I have to be on a "liquid diet" followed by a "soft diet" until I pass gas and can eat "real food" again? First off, this is a hospital..."real food" is debatable. But, I am sure I can live for a day or two eating this stuff. Bring it on. (Two days later...) Well, call me an idiot...I underestimated these people. You see, people IN the "Nutrition Department" of the hospital undoubtedly have a lot of time on their hands between meals to sit around thinking of things that no one in their right mind would ever voluntarily eat...er um..."eat" being the key word here. "Eat" in this case means anything you could sip up thru a straw without much sucking involved. In fact, I believe they have, in their possession, dozens of catalogues of totally inedible food that people didn't know existed that they can order from. Where are these items...I've never seen them in any store? There's a reason they don't have them in a store - the hospital is their sole client. Somewhere out there are companies devoted to making "nourishing" meals that are so incredibly bland and unappetizing in taste, texture and aesthetics they don't have to market them. But the containers they come in try their hardest to get you to taste them...silly names, dancing cartoon figures, vitamins with even sillier bios than their names, etc. They have a lot to learn. Willpower is much stronger than words. So is the gag reflex.


End of Part 1

Back Home Again

Well, I've been in the hospital for the past few days...went straight from a gynecological appointment to the hospital, so I had to pretty much make a decision right then and there as time was of the essence. That wasn't much fun.

Not feeling the best yet, nor will be according to everything I've read...for quite some time. Will try to post some of my hospital food photos and such in the next few days...things that I at least found quite interesting. Hey, you have to keep yourself entertained somehow while there, don't you?

Thanks go out to those who prayed and sent me good wishes and kept me in their thoughts - please continue to do so, if you don't mind...as I really am rather hurting.