Tag Archives: hospital

The Hospital From Hell

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Last week was one I’d like to never repeat. 

It all began with Dad’s blood pressure going up…and staying up. He was having a-fib episodes. He recorded his BP for 3 days and decided he needed to go to the ER. Off we went.

I expected to have to wait; it was the ER after all. They took Dad to triage right away. His BP sky-rocketed to 203 over something. I can’t even recall the numbers now. But that was too high and he should have been seen right away. 2 hours went by in the waiting room before someone came in and took Dad’s BP again. It had gone down to 188 over something. I was glad it went down but it was still too high. He could have a heart attack or stroke! I figured they’d be calling us back soon. 

Yeah right. There was virtually no one in the waiting room when we got there but quickly filled up. There were people puking in bags, a sick Mennonite baby, an ankle injury, a 7-year-old with a life-long issue with twisted intestines who was screaming at the top of his lungs in pain, an elderly woman who fell and broke her shoulder, and numerous others. (Dad and I were wearing masks, thankfully!) Everyone was being called back before us! I was getting pissed because high BP is a serious issue! With his readings being so high you’d think they’d put him on the priority list. They kept telling us that as soon as they had a room, we’d be called back. Geez. I wondered how they had a room for all of those others they took before us! Finally, after a 7-hour wait, they called us back.

The doctor came in right away, which was a surprise! He ordered an EKG right away and a drug to bring his BP down. The nurse came in sometime later and asked if anyone set Dad up with an IV. I asked, “Why does he need an IV?” She was a snot about answering. Not very pleasant at all. I mean, how the hell am I supposed to know why he needed an IV. She told me it was so they could give him the meds to lower his BP. I said, “Ok, that’s fine but don’t they have a shot for that?” She got snippy and said, “I’ll check.” She left and came back with a syringe and proceeded to bare Dad’s arm for the shot. 

I asked, “How long will it take for his BP to come down?” She told me she didn’t know. She said it would be slow and that the IV would have been quicker. I snapped at that point and said, “It would have been nice to know that beforehand!” I mean, fuck. I was worried that she had the wrong patient and about Dad being poked and prodded while they try to find a vein for the IV. He was shivering cold, for Christ’s sake! If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of this then you know it’s sometimes hard to get a vein right away when the patient is cold. And if you have a nurse that isn’t that competent, which you won’t know until she needs 20 minutes to find a vein, then it’s even worse! Anyway, she could have explained that the IV would have been quicker and then we could decide which way to go. The bitch acted like it was killing her to tell us what was going on!

After more time passed, the nurse came back in and untucked dad’s t-shirt. She just grabbed it and pulled it up. Now, I’m not a medical “professional” but I did work in a nursing home for several years as a Med Tech and CNA. My training included intensive coverage of patient rights, privacy, and dignity. You are supposed to tell the patient what you’re doing, as you’re doing it. Dad didn’t know what the hell was going on. The nurse started sticking little tabs/sensors all over his torso. He was agitated and asked, “What the hell’s going on?” She said she was getting him ready for the EKG. Why the hell couldn’t she tell him that before she started pulling on him? I was getting pissed. 

And regarding patient privacy…every damn time someone came in they left the door and the curtain open! So, they let the cold in again and every time someone walked by they had to look in! I was getting tired of closing the door and curtain. Oh, and that snotty nurse said she would bring dad a warm blanket but she never did! 

Dad’s BP was taken automatically every 30 minutes. It went down slowly but it did go down. But then the last BP reading was higher; it jumped from 168 over something to 179 over something…and about then the nurse came in and said they were letting him go. I asked, “What about that?” I was pointing to the machine that had his last reading on it. She acted like she had no clue what I was talking about. I told her, “His BP shot back up!” and I added, “These are dangerous readings!” So, she took his BP again while she said the drug will continue to work to bring it down. The doctor came in and suggested dad see his regular doctor….DUH. He said that he will need to see a cardiologist for the a-fib. Geez. So helpful they are. 

After 8 1/2 hours, we were on our way home…in the dark, which I am not used to. We’re talking an hour’s drive along country roads. My eyes play tricks on me in the dark. The lights and glare from other vehicles, and other lights, make it very hard to see, and to have to watch for deer, possums, and other critters is scary! At one point, I heard this loud dog barking. It scared the daylights out of me! I didn’t see anything at all but I imagine it was a stupid car-chasing dog that came awfully close to my car as I was passing! He got lucky. 

By the time we got home, it was after 2:00am. We were exhausted, especially Dad. We hadn’t eaten since lunch and we were too tired to worry about it at 2 in the morning! We both slept about 2 hours.

Dad got an appointment the next day to see his doctor and she didn’t do anything either. She just wanted him to record his BP readings for a week and then come back. Geez. He always keeps track of his BP. Why add another week? Why risk a damn stroke or heart attack with another week of high readings? His BP has been better this week but it’s still too high. I am ready to strangle these people! He will see her again on Wednesday and he will insist on seeing a cardiologist. He’s worried to death and that doesn’t help his BP. I’m worried and I’m afraid to take mine! 

I don’t know how much more of this either one of us can take! The next time we have to go to the hospital, we will go to the one on the Arkansas border. It’s the same distance and maybe, just maybe they will be quicker, more competent, and more respectful. Hopefully, we’ll get Dad’s BP down and I’ll have him with me for much longer. I’m just not ready to let go…and he isn’t either. 

 

 

No More Monkeys Jumping On The Bed

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Once when my sisters and I were young, my youngest sister, who was probably around 5 years old, was jumping on the furniture. She knew better. Mom and Dad were always telling us to “stop jumping on the furniture!” Youngest sister was a brat and a half and did it anyway. She fell and knocked her head on the coffee table. Then she ran like a bat out of hell because she knew she was in big trouble! Everyone was chasing her, trying to catch her because she had blood spewing out of her head!! So, to the hospital she went. I don’t recall how many stitches she ended up with, but to my knowledge, she never jumped on the furniture again! In fact, I don’t think any of us ever jumped on the furniture again!

Goes to show you, kids don’t always do as they’re told. They have to learn on their own. As parents, we just have to pray they don’t kill themselves while learning their life lessons.

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I’m Still Here….

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I had worried about having gallbladder surgery for the past month. I worried that something would go wrong. This inspired me to clean out closets, drawers, cabinets etc. I threw away a lot of crap that I had accumulated over the years. Such clutter. I didn’t want to leave such a mess for my family to have to deal with if something went wrong during surgery. I had voiced my concerns with close friends and family. They all told me “Don’t worry,” “Everything’s going to be ok,” “You’re going to get through this,” “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” etc. Deep down I knew they were right but you just never know when something might go wrong. I wanted to have things in order just in case.

I wrote letters to my children, my Dad, my sisters and a few close friends. Letters to be opened only in case of my death or in the event that I couldn’t speak for myself. These letters were hard for me to write but I did it. I wanted them to know how important they are to me. I couldn’t assume they knew. Sometimes we get so busy with life, we tend to not say things we should and sometimes we say things we shouldn’t. I wanted the last words from me to them to be what was in the letters.

I also made lists of things like internet accounts, bank accounts, etc., so that my family would know what needed to be done and how. I made a list of certain belongings that I wanted my family members to have. I made a list of special requests if I end up in a nursing home. Yes. I did that.

I know, it sounds ridiculous now but I really was worried about leaving my family behind.

My Dad and my son accompanied me to the hospital and I kept it together quite well. I didn’t want them to see how scared I was. They were with me up until I was moved into surgical waiting.

 

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Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie

 

The surgeon was about an hour behind. This led to even more stress and I could hardly wait for them to give me that sedative they had promised! When they did, I felt some relief, but it wasn’t as great as they said it would be. I was rather disappointed! When Paula, the surgical nurse came to see me, I had to go to the bathroom so she helped me wrap a blanket around me because my giant butt was peering out the back of that very fashionable hospital gown. Then she walked me to the bathroom with my IV bag in one hand and the other across the small of my back. She was very nice, as were all the other nurses, but she was my favorite of them all.

 

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Image Copyright Being Aunt Debbie

 

After I finished my business in the bathroom, Paula walked me back to my bed and then rolled me out of surgical waiting, through a set of closed doors and down a long corridor. I thought of the song Hotel California by the Eagles. Maybe I would never leave this place.

The operating room was freezing and everything was huge and sparkling clean. Paula helped me onto the thin, metal operating table. She put warm blankets over me. I farted. I thought to myself, “Oh my God, the surgeon is going to be so distracted by my bodily functions he’s not going to do it right!” Paula got my blood pressure cuff settled on one arm and a finger probe on the opposite hand. The anesthesiologist, Dr. Flock, came in and put probes on my chest. His name struck me as funny and I tried not to laugh but all I could think of was my Dad being silly. I know Dad would have jokingly said, “Get the flock out of here.” Paula strapped my arms down and also placed a strap across my upper legs. I was really scared at this point. Dr. Flock said he was giving me something in my IV bag (I don’t remember if he told me what it was) and that I would feel warm and sleepy soon. He put a mask over my face and told me to breathe deeply. I started to cry. Paula comforted me and I said something that I can’t remember now. My voice was very low and slow…

As my lights went out, Paula wiped a tear from my cheek and said, “It’s going to be ok.” THAT was the last thing I remember and all I can say is that Paula is a very, very special person.

The Fractured Hand

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I was on my computer last Friday afternoon, trying to get some work done. I was a day behind due to the fact that I had to take my daughter to her Drs. appointment on Thursday. Both of the kids (adult kids, that is) were home that day. My son was suppose to work that evening so he was killing some time. I think he watched a movie and played some video games. You know, typical young male activities.

I heard a commotion in the living room and I was due for a break anyway, so I decided to go see what all the ruckus was about. My son was laughing his ass off! My daughter was cracking up, too.

I asked, “What’s going on?”

C.F. says to me calmly, “You don’t want to know.”

I asked, “What did you do?”

He replies, “You don’t want to know.”

I asked, “Did you hurt yourself?” (Remembering the dirt bike incident here and how scared I was that something may have happened to him.)

He held his right hand up and there it was. He broke his freakin’ hand. Immediately my hands went up to my face in shock…. fear…. worry…. well, I don’t know what it was.

I said, “I have to take you to the hospital.”

He agrees, “YES, you do!” All the while laughing like a nutcase.

Apparently, he knocked down a little shelf in his room. This shelf holds a few of his model cars that he worked so hard on. The shelf fell, and everything on it hit the floor. C.F. was mad that this happened and then he punched the wall! He has punched the wall before and left a hole. No injury to himself, thank goodness. This time, there were 2 little knuckle marks on the wall but no hole. He hit the stud this time. I think he may have learned a lesson.

I took him to the ER at the hospital I thought was the best choice. It was closest for one thing, but I didn’t like the other choice. The hospital I chose was in Arkansas, not too far from where we live in Missouri. Now my son has Missouri Medicaid and I always assumed this hospital accepted Medicaid. Turns out the hospital itself DOES accept Medicaid but the Drs. do not accept Missouri Medicaid, specifically.

Great. Now C.F. will get a bill from every freakin’ Dr. that even looked at him cross-eyed that day.

Well, a lot of good it did for me to take him to the emergency room. They looked him over, x-rayed and splinted his hand, wrapped it up and put it in a sling. They gave him a referral to see an orthopedic surgeon and a script for vicoden and sent us on our way.

This being Friday, I couldn’t contact the surgeon until Monday morning.

On Monday morning I called the surgeon’s office.

“Hello. Dr. Moore’s office. Can I help you?” She sounded very nice.”

“Yes,” I said. “Does Dr. Moore accept Missouri Medicaid?”

She said, “No, I’m sorry he doesn’t.”

I explained the situation to her. I asked if I needed a referral to see an orthopedic surgeon.

She said, “Oh, No Ma’am. The only reason Dr. Moore was referred is because he was the surgeon on call that night.”

When I got off the phone, I got to thinking. If he was on call that night then why didn’t they call him to look at C.F.’s hand? It would have saved us a lot of grief.

I called a few other surgeons in Missouri — I was told I needed a referral BUT they didn’t have any openings at all for a couple weeks. One said none until next month. So, I figured I’d take C.F. to a different Dr. and get a new referral. I thought that having the Dr. make the calls we would get an appointment much sooner.

Boy! Was I wrong! It has been 6 days since C.F. fractured his hand and we are still waiting for an appointment with an orthopedic surgeon! It’s a good thing he’s not in a lot of pain! I don’t know what to do at this point. I have been calling the Dr’s. office, consistently since Tuesday morning trying to light a fire under them. They say they’re still working on it. What do I have to do to get my child medical attention? Since it has been this long, the bone has probably started to heal which means it will have to be rebroken in order to set it correctly.

I understand the surgeons are probably booked up but don’t they leave emergency spots open for emergencies?? Of course, this is hardly an emergency but he does need medical attention!

C.F. can’t do anything. He is bored to death. He can’t go to work. He can’t play his guitar, which is his life, he can’t play video games or even use the computer comfortably.

After all is said and done….if it ever gets done that is………I think he may have learned a lesson.