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D
LOL Until you put it like that, every time I've ever heard the phrase "grace and dignity," old people, (grandparents and their siblings), were trying to get me to be refined and elegant. That calm elegant demire of gray-haired people decked out at a charity ball kind of image. aka the exact opposite of who I am, (except for the gray-haired part.)
And now realizing that was my grandmother trying to teach that to me, and she was also a believer, I just realized that might not have been what she was saying all along. Now I'm going to have to take a while to imagine me with dignity. I think I have it, but it's kind of like imagining both a 1972 Pinto and a 2015 Lexus are both still really just cars. I've been picturing myself more of a 1972 Pinto version of a Christian. The make and model don't really matter all that much just as long as it works.
And now realizing that was my grandmother trying to teach that to me, and she was also a believer, I just realized that might not have been what she was saying all along. Now I'm going to have to take a while to imagine me with dignity. I think I have it, but it's kind of like imagining both a 1972 Pinto and a 2015 Lexus are both still really just cars. I've been picturing myself more of a 1972 Pinto version of a Christian. The make and model don't really matter all that much just as long as it works.
D
I have never seen John that angry for that long. When he gets angry, it's like a firecracker -- big explosion and then it's over quickly. He was angry for an hour and a half, and I know I was nowhere near the beginning of his fume when I arrived.
Ends up it was exactly what we thought all along -- hemorrhoids. They wanted to observe him for 24 hours, but they chose ICU strictly because it got him off their hands faster. (Last time he was in the ER for ten hours before they could find him a regular room. The time before that, eight hours. Put him in ICU, and he's up there in two hours.) Easy on them.
It couldn't have been more traumatic for us if they told us he had another heart attack. All the fears, dread, horror of the beginning overwhelmed us. And John felt just like I did -- he stepped right back to last January. Two major differences though:
1. Last January was when he first realized he was in the hospital, and it took a good week or two to put together why. (Still on the ventilator, so he couldn't simply ask questions.) And then it took him another 2-4 weeks to get a full handle on it, because he also had hospital-induced delirium, so what he knew always felt normal, but his PT never did take him off his tropical island all alone to put him in that torture chair. That was a delusion that stuck in with reality. That's also terrifying when you realize what you think is happening can't possibly be happening.
2. I visit him for two hours a day. He's stuck there for 24/7 and with everything attached to him, he would have preferred being strung up by his toes. It would have been more comfortable. So he's stuck living it, and I'm merely worried for him.
Two doctors strongly hinted that there was absolutely no reason he should have ever been put in ICU. The damage was compounded because no one read all his records. One idiot had us believing he had AFIB again. Another had us fearing another clot in his leg. They found a little colony of MRSA in his nose, so another idiot had us believing he'd have to get antibiotics for months again. (Stupid part is we were assured he wouldn't have to have that done for the exact reason they told us he would have to have it done the last time. Everything is about getting him off their hands.)
And as much as they insisted he did have to have those IVs, the monitors, the gizmos and doohickeys attached on or in his body all over the place, so he couldn't relax, suddenly, 5 minutes before he was transferred, everything was removed, (except the leg cuffs, and that's still strictly because one doctor didn't read his leg clot history fully.) He was transferred to a regular ward, so none of that mattered anymore.
I helped settle him in to his new room, and when everything was calm and quiet, I gave him the blueberry pie filling I made for him as a reward, and as strictly something he could eat without it being a scheduled meal.
He was so happy to be in a bed he fits into without all those doohickeys, he danced a jig (horizontally in bed.) I told him when I'd be back tomorrow to make sure he gets that swallow test, and kissed him goodbye.
He burst into tears. (Real tears, and he usually doesn't get tears when he cries.) Scared me all over again, until he could control himself enough to explain. Out of the three medical places he's been since all this started, he's spending the night in the worst of the worse in my mind. I already knew what happened to him two months before he did, so I didn't get that that particular ICU was his worst memories! He was so relieved to be out of there and finally sure enough to believe this wasn't a setback at all, that he burst into tears of joy.
(He really needs a different way to cry when he's happy, so I don't worry so much. lol)
Ends up it was exactly what we thought all along -- hemorrhoids. They wanted to observe him for 24 hours, but they chose ICU strictly because it got him off their hands faster. (Last time he was in the ER for ten hours before they could find him a regular room. The time before that, eight hours. Put him in ICU, and he's up there in two hours.) Easy on them.
It couldn't have been more traumatic for us if they told us he had another heart attack. All the fears, dread, horror of the beginning overwhelmed us. And John felt just like I did -- he stepped right back to last January. Two major differences though:
1. Last January was when he first realized he was in the hospital, and it took a good week or two to put together why. (Still on the ventilator, so he couldn't simply ask questions.) And then it took him another 2-4 weeks to get a full handle on it, because he also had hospital-induced delirium, so what he knew always felt normal, but his PT never did take him off his tropical island all alone to put him in that torture chair. That was a delusion that stuck in with reality. That's also terrifying when you realize what you think is happening can't possibly be happening.
2. I visit him for two hours a day. He's stuck there for 24/7 and with everything attached to him, he would have preferred being strung up by his toes. It would have been more comfortable. So he's stuck living it, and I'm merely worried for him.
Two doctors strongly hinted that there was absolutely no reason he should have ever been put in ICU. The damage was compounded because no one read all his records. One idiot had us believing he had AFIB again. Another had us fearing another clot in his leg. They found a little colony of MRSA in his nose, so another idiot had us believing he'd have to get antibiotics for months again. (Stupid part is we were assured he wouldn't have to have that done for the exact reason they told us he would have to have it done the last time. Everything is about getting him off their hands.)
And as much as they insisted he did have to have those IVs, the monitors, the gizmos and doohickeys attached on or in his body all over the place, so he couldn't relax, suddenly, 5 minutes before he was transferred, everything was removed, (except the leg cuffs, and that's still strictly because one doctor didn't read his leg clot history fully.) He was transferred to a regular ward, so none of that mattered anymore.
I helped settle him in to his new room, and when everything was calm and quiet, I gave him the blueberry pie filling I made for him as a reward, and as strictly something he could eat without it being a scheduled meal.
He was so happy to be in a bed he fits into without all those doohickeys, he danced a jig (horizontally in bed.) I told him when I'd be back tomorrow to make sure he gets that swallow test, and kissed him goodbye.
He burst into tears. (Real tears, and he usually doesn't get tears when he cries.) Scared me all over again, until he could control himself enough to explain. Out of the three medical places he's been since all this started, he's spending the night in the worst of the worse in my mind. I already knew what happened to him two months before he did, so I didn't get that that particular ICU was his worst memories! He was so relieved to be out of there and finally sure enough to believe this wasn't a setback at all, that he burst into tears of joy.
(He really needs a different way to cry when he's happy, so I don't worry so much. lol)
i've given birth eight times. every time my husband told me it was harder for him than for me.
mad: lol)now that i've witnessed a loved one suffer, i think he may be right. not that the loved one isn't suffering! but it's hard to watch and not be able to do something. and by that, i probably mean, control stuff.
so i think the above may be a masterpiece of understatement. it's not 'merely', in my opinion. it's truly tough.
and praise God things have improved.
D
And the hits just keep on coming. John just called. (He thought I called him.) He has diarrhea. Feels like the last time he went from ICU to this wing. He was only supposed to stay a day or two and it ended up being about six weeks. Please pray they let him back to the nursing home tomorrow. They've already tried putting in a picc line. He's a bloody mess before they gave up.
I know I shouldn't curse on here, but the word that keeps coming back to both of us is he's in a hellhole.
I know I shouldn't curse on here, but the word that keeps coming back to both of us is he's in a hellhole.
A
Dear God, heal John so he can get of the hospital, surround him with nurses,and,doctors who,are competent and can show your love. Please continue to encourage Lynn and John, allowing them to display Your love,and devotion through their words and actions to,each other and those around them. In Jesus name we pray, amen.
D
Parents show their love for their kids in two ways:
1. Gifts.
2. Responsibilities.
It feels like we're being tasked to clean up after the dog. I do appreciate God has given us responsibilities but I'm getting tired of looking at the business end of a dog now. I want a toy.
(I so hope that doesn't get God sending me to the kennels.)
1. Gifts.
2. Responsibilities.
It feels like we're being tasked to clean up after the dog. I do appreciate God has given us responsibilities but I'm getting tired of looking at the business end of a dog now. I want a toy.
(I so hope that doesn't get God sending me to the kennels.)
D
He just called. Diarrheas ended right after he called, so I'm thinking that means prayers work. AND they're telling him he has an appointment for the swallow test.
His biggest gripes today are it's too hot in the room. (And it probably is, since it's hot in here, but I'm attached to my TENS unit, so can't turn on the fan.) And his wound vac is beeping, but absolutely no one in the hospital but Pat knows how to treat his wound (a lie, or willful neglect) and she's not there, so it won't be treated until he's back at the nursing home later.
Every moment his wound is off the wound vac leaves a gaping hole in his butt unattended, so it oozes which can lead to infections, and guaranteed to leave a stench from the infected waste that already was sucked off in the last eight days. There is no skin there and we're absolutely thrilled because it's only 3" wide by 3" deep now -- strictly because the wound vac heals him in double-time. If he didn't get that bedsore, he would be home by now.
His biggest gripes today are it's too hot in the room. (And it probably is, since it's hot in here, but I'm attached to my TENS unit, so can't turn on the fan.) And his wound vac is beeping, but absolutely no one in the hospital but Pat knows how to treat his wound (a lie, or willful neglect) and she's not there, so it won't be treated until he's back at the nursing home later.
Every moment his wound is off the wound vac leaves a gaping hole in his butt unattended, so it oozes which can lead to infections, and guaranteed to leave a stench from the infected waste that already was sucked off in the last eight days. There is no skin there and we're absolutely thrilled because it's only 3" wide by 3" deep now -- strictly because the wound vac heals him in double-time. If he didn't get that bedsore, he would be home by now.
D
These are exact quotes from John's "doctors." (Neither is a doctor. They're medical students.)
"We took care of that Swallow Test for you. It's canceled."
"The Nursing Home says they have no bed for you, so you go back tomorrow."
Is there any doubt anymore that I'm not seeing this clearly? It really isn't about John. It's about THEIR convenience. The swallow test was three floors down from him. Didn't even have to get an ambulance. I was there early enough to take him myself, but they laid that on him before I got there. I was there early because I knew they'd stop it somehow!
And, I panicked over him not having a bed anymore at the nursing home, because his clothes, glasses, music, Bible, and devotional is over there. Did they just throw is stuff out? I walked over to check. That's not what they said.
What really happened in the hospital called the nursing home minutes before telling John that. Minutes. As in 11:30 AM, when he should have been transferred by then already. So, no. The nursing home can't drop everything to arrange for an ambulance to pick him up. They already scheduled shuttle service for their residents all through the day. (There is a steady stream of ambulances, wheelchair vans, and a wheelchair bus going back and forth all day.) The hospital asked them if they wanted John now or tomorrow? Duh, now!
BUT the hospital knew since yesterday he was ready to go back today.
And, oh no. That's not enough. Every Monday they clean his bedsore and empty that funk collected throughout the week. The hospital decided yesterday, that he was going back today, so postpone it until then. Besides, it's a holiday, so Pat, the wound care specialist wasn't working.
Again today, "Pat isn't working today." That stuff coming out his wound is as gross and nasty as you're imagining. (I'm pretty sure buzzards would fly away.) That's why he has a wound vac, otherwise the stuff just sits on the wound with the ever possibility of it getting infected, particularly since it's on his hiney, and you know what else happens there. But that stuff is why he needs the wound cleaned every other day. It funks! AND, if that wound doesn't heal quickly John doesn't come home. It IS the cause for the delays for the last three months. Can't sit -- restricted with wheelchair -- can't exercise.
So, since I was already upset that they took away John's room, I talked to the Nurse Admin at the nursing home, and asked what about that wound? Chantia to the rescue! (One of the nurses that tends the wound.)
Nursing home is one city-block (an eighth of a mile) from hospital. It's on a steep hill. The hospital is on a long hill. I walked back again. I got settled back into John's room, and the same nurse who has been telling us for the last 28 hours that his wound cannot be tended because Pat is not around comes strutting into John's room to notify us that, "Just because Pat's not around, doesn't mean his wound can't be tended. Pat's not the only one who can do it, she's just our wound care nurse. I'll be back in a few minutes to do it."
I told her, "The only reason we keep saying 'Pat' is because you guys keep saying 'Pat.'"
I'm thoroughly aware more nurses can do it than Pat. It's a disgusting funky wound on an "old man's" cheek. I'm also fully aware why they don't want to. TOUGH! IT'S YOUR JOB! Don't like doing your job, do something else for a living! I certainly would never want to be a nurse. I'm fully aware what the job is.
I'm writing a letter to the Director of the hospital, but will make sure John's out of there and then out of the VA's nursing home before I send it. Because one thing I learned was poop goes downhill fast and at the bottom of the hill are the patients/residents in the pig slop trough!
I am so angry I want to kick someone. No. Wrong! I want to line up the staff and kick them ALL!
"We took care of that Swallow Test for you. It's canceled."
"The Nursing Home says they have no bed for you, so you go back tomorrow."
Is there any doubt anymore that I'm not seeing this clearly? It really isn't about John. It's about THEIR convenience. The swallow test was three floors down from him. Didn't even have to get an ambulance. I was there early enough to take him myself, but they laid that on him before I got there. I was there early because I knew they'd stop it somehow!
And, I panicked over him not having a bed anymore at the nursing home, because his clothes, glasses, music, Bible, and devotional is over there. Did they just throw is stuff out? I walked over to check. That's not what they said.
What really happened in the hospital called the nursing home minutes before telling John that. Minutes. As in 11:30 AM, when he should have been transferred by then already. So, no. The nursing home can't drop everything to arrange for an ambulance to pick him up. They already scheduled shuttle service for their residents all through the day. (There is a steady stream of ambulances, wheelchair vans, and a wheelchair bus going back and forth all day.) The hospital asked them if they wanted John now or tomorrow? Duh, now!
BUT the hospital knew since yesterday he was ready to go back today.
And, oh no. That's not enough. Every Monday they clean his bedsore and empty that funk collected throughout the week. The hospital decided yesterday, that he was going back today, so postpone it until then. Besides, it's a holiday, so Pat, the wound care specialist wasn't working.
Again today, "Pat isn't working today." That stuff coming out his wound is as gross and nasty as you're imagining. (I'm pretty sure buzzards would fly away.) That's why he has a wound vac, otherwise the stuff just sits on the wound with the ever possibility of it getting infected, particularly since it's on his hiney, and you know what else happens there. But that stuff is why he needs the wound cleaned every other day. It funks! AND, if that wound doesn't heal quickly John doesn't come home. It IS the cause for the delays for the last three months. Can't sit -- restricted with wheelchair -- can't exercise.
So, since I was already upset that they took away John's room, I talked to the Nurse Admin at the nursing home, and asked what about that wound? Chantia to the rescue! (One of the nurses that tends the wound.)
Nursing home is one city-block (an eighth of a mile) from hospital. It's on a steep hill. The hospital is on a long hill. I walked back again. I got settled back into John's room, and the same nurse who has been telling us for the last 28 hours that his wound cannot be tended because Pat is not around comes strutting into John's room to notify us that, "Just because Pat's not around, doesn't mean his wound can't be tended. Pat's not the only one who can do it, she's just our wound care nurse. I'll be back in a few minutes to do it."
I told her, "The only reason we keep saying 'Pat' is because you guys keep saying 'Pat.'"
I'm thoroughly aware more nurses can do it than Pat. It's a disgusting funky wound on an "old man's" cheek. I'm also fully aware why they don't want to. TOUGH! IT'S YOUR JOB! Don't like doing your job, do something else for a living! I certainly would never want to be a nurse. I'm fully aware what the job is.
I'm writing a letter to the Director of the hospital, but will make sure John's out of there and then out of the VA's nursing home before I send it. Because one thing I learned was poop goes downhill fast and at the bottom of the hill are the patients/residents in the pig slop trough!
I am so angry I want to kick someone. No. Wrong! I want to line up the staff and kick them ALL!
A
You will have to take a deep breath and let it go.
Hand it all to Jesus for the night. Forgive the nurses their hardness of heart and pray that God will change their attitude from self interest to love and care of their patients.
Thank God for the nurses that do their job (maybe a thank you note to the helpful ones will help?)
Will continue to keep you, John, the hospital and nursing home staff in prayers.
May God's will be done earth as it is in heaven.
Hand it all to Jesus for the night. Forgive the nurses their hardness of heart and pray that God will change their attitude from self interest to love and care of their patients.
Thank God for the nurses that do their job (maybe a thank you note to the helpful ones will help?)
Will continue to keep you, John, the hospital and nursing home staff in prayers.
May God's will be done earth as it is in heaven.
C
Lynn..first off..you have my sympathy in this struggle.I'd Like to commend you for standing by your spouse's side through his illness. These days very few wives will show that kind of devotion..but I know it gets hard on you sometimes. We don't know each other and I've never experienced What you're facing..but I'd Like to also keep you and John in my prayers if that's fine with you.
D
I give desserts to John's nurses to show them how much I appreciate what they do. I wouldn't give the time of day to these nurses, and that IS being generous. Either shut up and look away from them or tell them what I'm thinking. Not a single nurse, doctor, or nurse's aid has helped him one iota. The swallow test today was to find out if he could drink thin liquids again. He can't drink water, but there is something called "nectar thick" water he can drink. They have containers of "nectar thick" water, apple juice, cranberry juice, orange juice (which his stomach can't take), and packages of coffee thickened to stir in hot water.
Last night, I asked for a reminder of where the ice machine was. (John has been in that hospital so often, every single nurse's station knows I'm good for getting ice for him. I know the west wards better than the east wards, so I simply forgot where the ice machine was on the east side.)
Since no one gave him thickened fluids, he was willing to go through the hassle of sipping ice water. (Directions for how he has to take a swallow: Take only small sips. Hold fluid in your mouth for three seconds, and then really gulp as hard as possible to swallow it. Swallow three more times. Cough hard to extract any possible liquids that slipped down the bronchial tube. Relax. Make sure all fluid is out of mouth. Repeat.) So, I'm not exaggerating that him drinking 6 ounces of water would take him an hour or more. But he was willing to go through that, since they kept promising the thicker fluids but never brought any. Instead of telling me where the ice machine is, she brought in a pitcher with some ice and mostly water in it and four plastic cups together. (Same nurse John explained why he needs thickened liquids, and she promised to get him some, brought ice water to him an hour later because she forgot everything he said and his request.) It took him a minute of trying before he asked me to help separate the cups. (He got two and then two together, but couldn't pull the two together apart to one.) Pitcher of ice water is still risky for him because of strength and coordination. Sure enough, he spilled some of it in his bed and more onto the table, but he poured a cup of nothing but water. (At least the ice slowly melts so he can manage that.)
Today they said he had to get a test after he peed to make sure it's all coming out. They measure volume and if he couldn't produce a full volume, they would keep him longer. They put him on an IV just so he could have enough fluid, because they weren't bringing him thickened fluid other than four ounces at breakfast, and they told him if he couldn't go, he'd stay there until he could. And after he goes, they push an ultrasound deep into his skin to see if his bladder is empty. (Deep enough he makes faces because it hurts.) The nursing home did this to him the first three days he did go by himself and then they stopped because he really does know if he has to go or not. They just bumped him back ten days for no reason, and added the pressure that if he failed, he'd be punished. He kept asking for nectar-thick liquids. They kept going out to get some, but never did. Desparate to pee, he sipped some of my soda. He didn't get any fluids to drink last night or today, other than 4 ounces at breakfast and then at lunch. (The ice water is room temperature by the time he was ready for the second cup, and his room last night was 80 degrees.) We asked everyone who came in. They all promised. No one returned with any. It was so bad, I planned to grab one from the caf in the nursing home, but forgot.
He stopped asking. He'd rather dehydrate then beg for something he won't get. And he won't let me fight that battle for him.
He got 4 oz. of thickened fluids for dinner. If it was orange juice, he got nothing to drink.
And they decided to put in another picc line to draw blood at 8 AM still thinking he was going back to the nursing home today. They've been trying to put two picc lines in him since Saturday, but he kept refusing. One was more than enough. All they did was give him medication for an ulcer he never had and to draw blood. One picc was more than adequate for five needles. He gave up saying no today, so they decided the back of his hand was good to leave a needle in him. Never did get it in, so they changed their mind and promised to change his sheets since there was a pool of his blood on them. That was 8 AM. He was still lying in his own blood when I left at 2 PM.
They push everything off his table right onto him to place his food tray on the table, and then never move it, so he's been eating with gauze, needles, and pieces of plastic from packaging on him. His drugs are given in pudding, because he can't swallow liquids. I picked up upside down, still mostly full pudding containers off the floor, because they won't clear off his table ever and he can't reach the trashcan (because of pressure cuffs on his legs he never needed. He finally took them off himself. I placed them on the floor at the foot of his bed, so he didn't have to share foot room with them. The nurses never even noticed to let us know what they think about that.)
No baths. He came in because his bottom was bleeding. That wound hasn't been treated in three days. He has diarrhea last night. Think maybe he wants to get cleaned up? The room was so hot he ended up sleeping buck naked without even a sheet on him last night.
John got a roommate today. John is quarantined to the point each staff who comes in the room has to suit up. (I'm supposed to too, but I didn't give him the MRSA. We both are into cleaning our hands often and doing safety regulations hospital staff is supposed to do too. Found out today they're really proud because they're up to washing their hands 56% of the time after using the bathroom. More than double how they did in February -- the last time he was in that hospital and got C-diff AND MRSA.) His roommate? He is on chemo for cancer. Brilliant!
Nothing they do -- since they do so very little -- is worth a thank you. I thank when I can. John tries hard to thank for everything. (We also talk to them. Find out how they're doing. And I check to see if I can do anything to help.) That's why we're considered the "sweet couple" at the nursing home. We haven't thanked anyone for anything, because no one has done anything worth thanking them for.
Last night, I asked for a reminder of where the ice machine was. (John has been in that hospital so often, every single nurse's station knows I'm good for getting ice for him. I know the west wards better than the east wards, so I simply forgot where the ice machine was on the east side.)
Since no one gave him thickened fluids, he was willing to go through the hassle of sipping ice water. (Directions for how he has to take a swallow: Take only small sips. Hold fluid in your mouth for three seconds, and then really gulp as hard as possible to swallow it. Swallow three more times. Cough hard to extract any possible liquids that slipped down the bronchial tube. Relax. Make sure all fluid is out of mouth. Repeat.) So, I'm not exaggerating that him drinking 6 ounces of water would take him an hour or more. But he was willing to go through that, since they kept promising the thicker fluids but never brought any. Instead of telling me where the ice machine is, she brought in a pitcher with some ice and mostly water in it and four plastic cups together. (Same nurse John explained why he needs thickened liquids, and she promised to get him some, brought ice water to him an hour later because she forgot everything he said and his request.) It took him a minute of trying before he asked me to help separate the cups. (He got two and then two together, but couldn't pull the two together apart to one.) Pitcher of ice water is still risky for him because of strength and coordination. Sure enough, he spilled some of it in his bed and more onto the table, but he poured a cup of nothing but water. (At least the ice slowly melts so he can manage that.)
Today they said he had to get a test after he peed to make sure it's all coming out. They measure volume and if he couldn't produce a full volume, they would keep him longer. They put him on an IV just so he could have enough fluid, because they weren't bringing him thickened fluid other than four ounces at breakfast, and they told him if he couldn't go, he'd stay there until he could. And after he goes, they push an ultrasound deep into his skin to see if his bladder is empty. (Deep enough he makes faces because it hurts.) The nursing home did this to him the first three days he did go by himself and then they stopped because he really does know if he has to go or not. They just bumped him back ten days for no reason, and added the pressure that if he failed, he'd be punished. He kept asking for nectar-thick liquids. They kept going out to get some, but never did. Desparate to pee, he sipped some of my soda. He didn't get any fluids to drink last night or today, other than 4 ounces at breakfast and then at lunch. (The ice water is room temperature by the time he was ready for the second cup, and his room last night was 80 degrees.) We asked everyone who came in. They all promised. No one returned with any. It was so bad, I planned to grab one from the caf in the nursing home, but forgot.
He stopped asking. He'd rather dehydrate then beg for something he won't get. And he won't let me fight that battle for him.
He got 4 oz. of thickened fluids for dinner. If it was orange juice, he got nothing to drink.
And they decided to put in another picc line to draw blood at 8 AM still thinking he was going back to the nursing home today. They've been trying to put two picc lines in him since Saturday, but he kept refusing. One was more than enough. All they did was give him medication for an ulcer he never had and to draw blood. One picc was more than adequate for five needles. He gave up saying no today, so they decided the back of his hand was good to leave a needle in him. Never did get it in, so they changed their mind and promised to change his sheets since there was a pool of his blood on them. That was 8 AM. He was still lying in his own blood when I left at 2 PM.
They push everything off his table right onto him to place his food tray on the table, and then never move it, so he's been eating with gauze, needles, and pieces of plastic from packaging on him. His drugs are given in pudding, because he can't swallow liquids. I picked up upside down, still mostly full pudding containers off the floor, because they won't clear off his table ever and he can't reach the trashcan (because of pressure cuffs on his legs he never needed. He finally took them off himself. I placed them on the floor at the foot of his bed, so he didn't have to share foot room with them. The nurses never even noticed to let us know what they think about that.)
No baths. He came in because his bottom was bleeding. That wound hasn't been treated in three days. He has diarrhea last night. Think maybe he wants to get cleaned up? The room was so hot he ended up sleeping buck naked without even a sheet on him last night.
John got a roommate today. John is quarantined to the point each staff who comes in the room has to suit up. (I'm supposed to too, but I didn't give him the MRSA. We both are into cleaning our hands often and doing safety regulations hospital staff is supposed to do too. Found out today they're really proud because they're up to washing their hands 56% of the time after using the bathroom. More than double how they did in February -- the last time he was in that hospital and got C-diff AND MRSA.) His roommate? He is on chemo for cancer. Brilliant!
Nothing they do -- since they do so very little -- is worth a thank you. I thank when I can. John tries hard to thank for everything. (We also talk to them. Find out how they're doing. And I check to see if I can do anything to help.) That's why we're considered the "sweet couple" at the nursing home. We haven't thanked anyone for anything, because no one has done anything worth thanking them for.
D
They changed the dressing, so he doesn't funk as much. But he's not sure he wants me to visit him today because his wound hurts so bad and he couldn't sleep again last night. His wound hurting that much hasn't happened in weeks. He just found out last week that he can get it treated without needing pain meds before hand. So either she was angry and took it out on John's wound or she's totally incompetent and can't really change do the wound right for a wound vac.
It's quite possible it's the later. He got the wound vac a week before he was transferred to the nursing home, and that wing (across the main hall from this wing) played this game for the full week. Back then he was supposed to get it treated every day for the first week and yet everyone claimed they couldn't do it, so it never happened. (They also told us it shouldn't be treated every day -- a story we ought until the nursing home told us the reality.) At 8 AM, he was told he'd be going to the nursing home that day at noon, but they needed to treat the wound first. He was told by the nurse who would do it, that she'd be right back to do it at 10 AM. At ten after 12, the lobby called to tell them the ambulance was there, and that's when they did the wound. He was supposed to get 10 mg. of oxycodone before being treated, because it was that painful. Not enough time, so doubly painful. Triply painful because right afterward he had to lie on the wound in a gurney that is a little thinner than he is, and then hit every pothole between the two front doors. But for some reason the wound hurt wore then when it was first opened up.
We found out why when the nurses looked at it for his emissions procedure -- it was done backwards, thus shoving something that looks like the suction cup for a suncatcher right into the crack of his butt and into the wound itself! And he also found out the only reason they changed the wound was because the nursing home demanded it get changed before he got there or they would send him back.
This is intentional and willful. And John IS the pingpong ball batted around.
And, I can't say too much in front of the nursing home staff because they are connected to the hospital and poop STILL goes downhill to land right on John.
It's quite possible it's the later. He got the wound vac a week before he was transferred to the nursing home, and that wing (across the main hall from this wing) played this game for the full week. Back then he was supposed to get it treated every day for the first week and yet everyone claimed they couldn't do it, so it never happened. (They also told us it shouldn't be treated every day -- a story we ought until the nursing home told us the reality.) At 8 AM, he was told he'd be going to the nursing home that day at noon, but they needed to treat the wound first. He was told by the nurse who would do it, that she'd be right back to do it at 10 AM. At ten after 12, the lobby called to tell them the ambulance was there, and that's when they did the wound. He was supposed to get 10 mg. of oxycodone before being treated, because it was that painful. Not enough time, so doubly painful. Triply painful because right afterward he had to lie on the wound in a gurney that is a little thinner than he is, and then hit every pothole between the two front doors. But for some reason the wound hurt wore then when it was first opened up.
We found out why when the nurses looked at it for his emissions procedure -- it was done backwards, thus shoving something that looks like the suction cup for a suncatcher right into the crack of his butt and into the wound itself! And he also found out the only reason they changed the wound was because the nursing home demanded it get changed before he got there or they would send him back.
This is intentional and willful. And John IS the pingpong ball batted around.
And, I can't say too much in front of the nursing home staff because they are connected to the hospital and poop STILL goes downhill to land right on John.
A
That's just plain awful, but thank God he is away from that wing and back at the nursing home.
Will pray that his wound heals despite the latest incompetence and God protects him from selfish people and surrounds him with people filled with His Holy Spirit and there because of love for others and know how to help instead of hurt.
May God continue to guide, comfort and draw you both towards him.
Will pray that his wound heals despite the latest incompetence and God protects him from selfish people and surrounds him with people filled with His Holy Spirit and there because of love for others and know how to help instead of hurt.
May God continue to guide, comfort and draw you both towards him.
D
Good news. He's finally back at the nursing home.
It just kept on going at the hospital though. He was supposed to be transferred at 11, but we know that means 10-12. Well, brilliant doctors that they are, They "fixed him up real good."
Remember how this started? (Hemorrhoids.)
Remember what happened next? (Diarrhea.)
I don't know about you, but when we have bouts of diarrhea, the next day we're relieved because we don't have to go again. He didn't. So, brilliant doctor decided he need a stool softener, (which is just a low dose of a laxative.) Oh, and since they simply couldn't get around to getting him thickened water, they gave him THREE IVs (until his late night nurse thought that was ridiculous for a man who CAN drink, so he got the powder that makes water thicker.)
And, John is just getting to he point of using a commode IF he has his walker, but he can't do toilets yet, because they're too low and he simply can't stand when he's done. No walker! No bedpan in the room either!
So his bottom can't be any sorer if he tried, and they just worked the timing perfectly. He was scheduled to leave at 11. He was dressed to leave in his street clothes. At 2 PM -- when he surely should have been back in the nursing home able to get to the commode with his walker, he pages the nurse.
"I'll let your nurse know."
Two minutes later, it's too late. He's so embarrassed he's crying. (Of everything that has happened to him, that's the thing he can't deal with emotionally. All dignity is gone, in his mind.) When he calms down, he pages again, and, as far as politeness goes -- he thanked the person responding. Ten minutes after that first page they came to help... (no bedpan with them either) change him.
I bought him four new shorts because of the weight he lost and because I'm doing his laundry, but one pair was way too big, so he only has three pairs. Now he only has two, so I have to buy him more shorts. I'm really not angry with him. (I have learned if that ever happens to me, last person I'd be embarrassed in front of is him, but I really think me being there when it happens makes it that much worse for him.) I feel horrible for him. He's the one who talked me out of throwing his pants right into the nurse station. (He has me leave, so I go down, have a smoke, and fume at the staff in my thoughts outside.) Except he doesn't know that's what I was thinking of doing. He quickly told me how nice the nurses were to him, so I didn't have the heart to do what I was thinking. That and I thought I had a chance to clean them until I saw how stained they were when I got home. Whew! Wasn't looking forward to facing that tonight, and Yippee! Trash night.
Do you think that was God's way of rewarding me for not going on impulse?
But he's back and he arrived in grand style! I told the EMT I was racing them over and I intending on beating them there.
They were pushing John through the lobby as I was signing in, so I laughed and told them I won. John corrected me, and said it was to his room. He won. And, he won even though most of the nurses were at the station when he passed by so they were all glad to see him again and made a big fuss.
The Nurse Admin told me she hasn't seen him smiling that big since he could first eat.
So, we're out of hellhole, back to the goal of getting him home soon.
On a good note, I've been trying to think how to insist John get an alternative healthcare insurance. He's the one who told me he's not ever going to use the VA again when this is over. It is now officially worth paying for both of us to get better health coverage than this! (About time! I've been trying to convince him of that for five years now. lol)
Oh, and the timing is perfect. We had to get a second mortgage in 2003, when we were too broke to pay our mortgage. (Another government program, but that one helped us to keep our home.) I'm paying the last of it off this month! It is about the same money we'd need for extra health coverage. Good timing! Surely God in that!
It just kept on going at the hospital though. He was supposed to be transferred at 11, but we know that means 10-12. Well, brilliant doctors that they are, They "fixed him up real good."
Remember how this started? (Hemorrhoids.)
Remember what happened next? (Diarrhea.)
I don't know about you, but when we have bouts of diarrhea, the next day we're relieved because we don't have to go again. He didn't. So, brilliant doctor decided he need a stool softener, (which is just a low dose of a laxative.) Oh, and since they simply couldn't get around to getting him thickened water, they gave him THREE IVs (until his late night nurse thought that was ridiculous for a man who CAN drink, so he got the powder that makes water thicker.)
And, John is just getting to he point of using a commode IF he has his walker, but he can't do toilets yet, because they're too low and he simply can't stand when he's done. No walker! No bedpan in the room either!
So his bottom can't be any sorer if he tried, and they just worked the timing perfectly. He was scheduled to leave at 11. He was dressed to leave in his street clothes. At 2 PM -- when he surely should have been back in the nursing home able to get to the commode with his walker, he pages the nurse.
"I'll let your nurse know."
Two minutes later, it's too late. He's so embarrassed he's crying. (Of everything that has happened to him, that's the thing he can't deal with emotionally. All dignity is gone, in his mind.) When he calms down, he pages again, and, as far as politeness goes -- he thanked the person responding. Ten minutes after that first page they came to help... (no bedpan with them either) change him.
I bought him four new shorts because of the weight he lost and because I'm doing his laundry, but one pair was way too big, so he only has three pairs. Now he only has two, so I have to buy him more shorts. I'm really not angry with him. (I have learned if that ever happens to me, last person I'd be embarrassed in front of is him, but I really think me being there when it happens makes it that much worse for him.) I feel horrible for him. He's the one who talked me out of throwing his pants right into the nurse station. (He has me leave, so I go down, have a smoke, and fume at the staff in my thoughts outside.) Except he doesn't know that's what I was thinking of doing. He quickly told me how nice the nurses were to him, so I didn't have the heart to do what I was thinking. That and I thought I had a chance to clean them until I saw how stained they were when I got home. Whew! Wasn't looking forward to facing that tonight, and Yippee! Trash night.
Do you think that was God's way of rewarding me for not going on impulse?
But he's back and he arrived in grand style! I told the EMT I was racing them over and I intending on beating them there.
They were pushing John through the lobby as I was signing in, so I laughed and told them I won. John corrected me, and said it was to his room. He won. And, he won even though most of the nurses were at the station when he passed by so they were all glad to see him again and made a big fuss.
The Nurse Admin told me she hasn't seen him smiling that big since he could first eat.
So, we're out of hellhole, back to the goal of getting him home soon.
On a good note, I've been trying to think how to insist John get an alternative healthcare insurance. He's the one who told me he's not ever going to use the VA again when this is over. It is now officially worth paying for both of us to get better health coverage than this! (About time! I've been trying to convince him of that for five years now. lol)
Oh, and the timing is perfect. We had to get a second mortgage in 2003, when we were too broke to pay our mortgage. (Another government program, but that one helped us to keep our home.) I'm paying the last of it off this month! It is about the same money we'd need for extra health coverage. Good timing! Surely God in that!