DUMBER AND DUMBER
I guess, the older you get the more likely that from time to time, you are going to have to turn to medical care. Oh, geeze, how I dread that prospect.
I’ve already shared how much I hate emergency rooms. That came about during the 6 years that my brother spent his final years living with us. During those years Jim went to the Emergency Room 3-4 times per year. At first it was a relatively new experience for me, so I approached the times with an open, accepting attitude.
About the 3rd year my attitude started to shift. After many experiences of sitting in the waiting room/exam room 5-6, 7 and sometimes 8 hours with literally nothing happening I had lost all my patience. On our final visit to the ER, the doctor screamed at us “This is not an emergency!” Maybe not for him, but it was for Jim. I asked the doc how long this would be, he said probably 5 hours. I looked at him and said, “Call me when he’s ready to be picked up.” and left. They admitted Jim for a week-long stay.
Let’s move ahead to current time. On Saturday evening, October 11, I was really, really sick. I couldn’t stop throwing up! I couldn’t stop shivering. I was completely and totally miserable. Sickness continued through Sunday, calmed down a bit by Monday. Had a doc appointment on Tuesday. She thought I might have Hep A, as I was very jaundiced. Blood tests said “NO”. Ultrasound showed that my gallbladder was filled with gall stones. Evidently the sickness was brought on by my body passing a gall stone.
I made the decision immediately that the gallbladder had to go. Was not going to go through that again. The surgeon was out of town for a week. Saw him when he returned, scheduled surgery and waited it out.
Now here’s where the story really begins. The surgeon informed us that it would be a 5 hour, out-patient procedure and answered all of mine and Pete’s questions. Surgery took place on Nov. 13. Surgery went well, recovery….not so much.
Turns out that my body really did not like the anesthetic. The major issue was that my oxygen absorption rate was very low. Doc did not want to release me. So, after spending all day in the Recovery Room, I was finally moved into a hospital room about 7 PM, Thursday night.
I felt fine. Just wanted a good night’s sleep and to go home the next day. DID NOT HAPPEN. I’m not sure what was going on at the Nurses Station that night, but several times throughout the night there was yelling, screaming, laughing….it sounded like a serious party was going on. I couldn’t believe it. A ward full of sick people, in the middle of the night, and there was absolutely no way to sleep.
The next day I asked about my usual medications. My requests were ignored. I asked at least 4 times during the day. I knew my daily medications were listed in my file, my comments were essentially ignored. I knew what would happen if I didn’t get them.
I didn’t get released on Friday, as my body was still trying to smother me. But that night, things got a little more exciting. After dinner my heart started racing. No big surprise, that happens when you don’t get your Metoprolol. Night nurse was a wack job. She freaked and a stat EKG was ordered. I told them that if I could have my meds, all would be well.
Finally, about 3 AM an intravenous dose arrived. Immediately, my heart calmed down.
Just to be clear, I am writing the highlights of my hospital stay…..there was so much more, but I can’t spend the day here at the computer.
Let me just say, I was not impressed with my care at the hospital. I wrote a scathing review when the hospital survey arrived at my laptop.
And this makes me sad. Sad, because I know it could and should be better. My Mom was a nurse and spent her entire life caring for others. She was an outstanding professional in her field. I know how patients should be cared for….what I experienced was nowhere near even the low bar.
And guess what….now it’s gonna get worse, since the federal government has decided that nursing is not a profession!!! Geeze, it just gets dumber and dumber!!!!

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