Surgery--Again

That comes through, osso, that comes through.




(nods to Osso and the rest of the gang - heh heh)

To explain, many years ago and far away, thinking... 2003, I blew my wad re money, for legitimate reason, to connect to a gallery one of our artists showed at, and went to NYC for almost a week. Don't get me started, or if you do, see my link, which I'll come back and link/post.


I didn't meet some people, and that is almost as bad as the good was good.
That was when I met Diane for the first time, and Paola (no longer with us), and Roberta in person, and others. I did not meet, goddamnit, JoeN & Frank, my fault for not trying to connect - I was busy being aggravated.

Love is sweet, and ALWAYS reciprocal--or it's not love.

Here it is, try not to sleep while reading....

osso in ny

JL and I met at the airport in Phoenix. Not good enough, we've got to get a coterie to go visit him and Luchi, one of these days. (It is in the talk stages..)

Never mind all that, we met Roberta...

Sister.

Another day. I'm awake. Not coherent yet. When I am, I'll report.

Appreciate all the nice stuff people are saying. Hope they got the right Roberta.

It never ceases to amaze me how you can make connections that are true and solid. Genuine intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. Find people who are friends.

Gonna take a shower. Hope I don't drown. Unlikely in a shower, isn't it?

Just don't lie down on your back and go to sleep...

I know and love more people on a2k that in so-called real life. Roberta is one of the treasures in that group, including Osso and JLN and, of course, that old blue eyed cowboy, Dys. There are others I wouldn't mention because they might not feel the same. I tend to sit back and read their posts and let that be enough.

So Osso, there is no way Roberta in going to fly anywhere. We will have to kidnap John and Luchi and pick up a few others on the way east.

Osso and Diane, such beautiful thoughts.

Hey, enough with all the nicey nicey. I haven't had a fukkin' cigarette since fukkin' Monday. Had a little trouble spelling cigarette and Monday, but fukkin' came out just fine.

I was gonna take advantage of the nonsmoking opportunity to stop. Hah. Mistake. Not a mistake. A good idea. Right, wrong. Who gives a flying fuk. I want a cigarette.

I'm wearing a fukkin' patch, should anyone come up with the brilliant idea. Not worth shhhit, but what the hell. I don't get much in the way of free stuff, so I'm wearing it.

In addition to the cigarette problem, I'm pissed off. Not an important thing, but I'm not one to pick and choose when I get pissed off. Either I am or I ain't. This time I am.

Took my shower. Whipped out the brand new clean brace to wrap around my clean bod. Doesn't fit. Not even close. I specifically asked when given the brace/binder/whatever the fukk it's called whether it would fit me. I was told that they had only one size. Does this mean that they were out of large sizes or that they have only one size and give the little ones to the fat people anyway. What a colossal waste.

I called the fukkin' hospital and asked what I should do. "Well, wash the brace and skip a day." So I respond to this by informin the person at the other end that my written instructions specifically state that I should wear the brace at all times. So then he tells me to wear the dirty brace.

Jeezzus Aitch Keeerist. I need a cigarette and a clean thing.

I am pissed off.

Have a nice day.

Hey, every time I said the f-word (spelled slightly not right), it was turned to little stars.

You know what I mean when you see a star.

Fack, Roberta, I don't know what to say. I'd be pissed off too.

Ordeal on ordeal.

Is there a Pacify Patient Unit at your hospital? I'd call and raise hell--even on a weekend. They should be open--patients have reason for anger on weekends, too.

Ordeal on ordeal. Not fair.

**** you and the horse you rode in on.

Semicoherent?

I arrived on Monday at 7 a.m. along with about 20 other poor slobs. Seventeen of them were gone by the time it was my turn. Somewhere between 11 and noon. Met the doctor. Very handsome. He explained what he would be doing. Holes, no incision. Dissolvable connections, so stitches or staples.

Then I was in the recovery room--for a very long time. Why? No room at the inn.

I don't remember much about the recovery room, but friends inform me that I went on at great length about the handsom doctor. Hey, old and feeble do not equal dead.

Got a room and was wheeled in, hooked up. Told to press a button every time I needed relief from pain. My neighbor, also a late arrival, was told the same thing.

We clicked morphine into ourselves for the remainder of the night. No relief from pain, but major nausea and dizziness resulted.

More later.

Give them little white suckers away Roberta. YOU can do this, Its the right thing to do.

If I thought it would help I would blow smoke into the cd slot and hit file transfer.

Don't keep holding it in Boida!!!



Let it all out!






((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((((Boida))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))))


What's this wrap thing?

Are they gonna send you new ones?

The wrap failure is probably part of the structural breakdown of blah blah and, further, blah.

My concern on using the olden drecko wrap is if it gets near the "hole or holes". (Thinking... tap tap, steriile gauze... as an intermediary..)

But I'm not a nurse, much less an md. I agree with Noddy re some kind of patient ombudsman recourse. Probably a line, online or otherwise.

You've had two different sized wraps. SOMEONE should be able to help with this...

Gawd I love it when you talk dirty!

So tell me, if you were wearing a wrap before you took your shower why, pray tell, can't they find anymore? That one fit so they obviously have them in your size.

Want me to call? I have't had the chance to say, "No ****, Sherlock?" in ages and it's one of my favorites.

Someone offered me the number of a patient advocate. I declined on the grounds that it wasn't that important. I don't know whether it is or not. I'd have to go down there to get the ******* thing--probably not until Monday. I have an appointment on Wed. Maybe I'll call the advocate on Monday.

Gave in on the ciggies. Terrible, I know. Weak. Stoopid. Threw on a shmatta coat over a shmatta shmatta and went down for a pack. My head is clearer. No excuse. I'm not gonna give up on stopping.

=========

So they disconnected the morphine, suggested I might be leaving by the end of the day, and left.

The hopsital has a policy/procedure, whatever the **** it is--called ambulatory surgery. 23 hours. Leaving later? Is he kidding. I'm dizzy, nauseous, and in pain. Don't remember the afternoon visit from the doc. But I do remember asking for and not getting any medication. At all. Whatsoever. Nada. Bupkis. The nurses told me to use the stuff I brought from home!!! I didn't bring pain medication from home. Even if I had, it would have been over the counter.

The following morning the doctor arrived to hear me say that I thought I was an outrage that I did not have any pain medication for 24 hours and that my asthma was so bad that street vendors selling hotdogs on First Avenue could hear me wheezing.

Action. Asthma meds. Stat. Pain meds. Stat. Other stuff. Stat. I was finally officially admitted. I was in limbo for a day, which is why no one could reach me by phone. That was Tuesday. As the doctor was leaving, he suggested that I might be going home later that day. I muttered that I didn't think so.

Wednedsay things started to seem a little better. I was breathing like a relatively normal person. Still had pain, but a different kind. Now I think it was gas. Asked the nurse for some Mylanta. She had to get approval from a doctor. Midnight rolls around and I don't have anything for gas. The pain is phenomenal.

Doctor rolls around on Thursday. I tell him about the pain. He tells me I'm going home. Period the end.

A friend came to get me. I came home with pain medication and the patch. Nothing for gas. Doc said it wasn't gas. I say it was.

I've been treating the gas symptoms with some relief. Digestion is not what I'd call close to normal. I wait to Wednesday or go to the emergency room (a fate worse than death unless you're dying).

That's the story. Still have pain (I say gas). Home treatment.

Dirty wrap.

Not digesting normally.

Failed the no smoking plan.

Just to top it all off, I'm lying on the bed on Thursday, waiting for the doctor so I can complain about the pain. A schlemeil (coulda been a shmeggeggi, not sure) shlumps into the room and wants to know whether I want to sign up for medicaid. I tell him I've been rejected for medicaid. He says I could try again. I say. Could. Then I ask him why he's bothering me now. He says so that I can pay for the surgery. I say I paid for the ******* surgery and whip out the ******* receipt. He looks it over and schlumps away. I know that I'll be getting bills for this until the end of time.

Dat's it.

Are we having fun yet? Not this kid.

These binder/wraps are strong elastic so that things don't get loose. I keep thinking of a truss, but I don't know if trusses apply to goils.

Are they gonna send me new ones. Bunny hunny. Please don't make me laugh. It hoits. And on the off chance that they would send me new ones, what are the chances that they'd be the kind that fit?

Fed up.