Since I work at home, holidays don't mean as much any more. I have an unusual schedule because I like to work late at night when the phone won't ring and I don't have a lot of interruptions. This Labor Day weekend, I had hoped to get back into the sewing room and finish a couple of projects. It didn't happen. The best laid plans of mice and me.
I haven't been feeling very perky now for some time. Not that I ever run marathons or go to the gym, but just general malaise. It had been getting worse over the past week, and by Friday, I was totally exhausted by the time I changed the catbox. I worked on some PhotoShop stuff for some patterns I'm reworking, and around 4PM got ready to go to the post office. It wasn't as hot as it has been in recent weeks, only upper 80's, still very steamy due to the humidity.
After collecting my mail (which included a hilarious Devil Duck from a friend in Canada), I thought I'd swing by the Deals dollar store to pick up a few frozen food items. I went in, got my $15 worth of cheapie stuff, and headed out the door. The heat hit me in the face like a brick. I have a gimp tag on my car, so I wasn't parked that far away. By the time I reached the car, my head was spinning. I tossed the bags into the car, fell onto the seat and started up the ignition to get the air going. I had a bottle of cold water in the car, and I drank most of it right then, letting a little of it splash onto me to cool me off. I felt like I could barely catch my breath. I was having visual disturbances. I almost panicked, because I had forgotten my cell phone at home.
I sat in the car, face in the A/C vents, for a few minutes until I got cleared up enough to drive. I made my way home on some less busy streets, since it was now Friday/holiday/rush hour traffic. When I got home, I gathered the bags, locked the car and by the time I got to the front door to unlock it, I was almost stumbling. I fumbled with the lock, had to shush the cats to get them from making an exit, and I could hardly boost the bags onto the kitchen counter. I was breathing heavily, my pulse pounding in my ears. I knew what was going on. My hematocrit levels were bottoming out.
There was frozen food in the bags, so I began wildly stuffing the contents into the refrigerator. I felt like I was about to black out, as the visual disturbance once more loomed. I sat down on a kitchen stepstool lest I fall right over. I scared the cats. They circled me like they didn't know exactly what to do. Then Ringo came up and began to administer fuzz therapy in the form of rubbing on my feet. He meowed at me, and rolled over on his back for a tummy rub. I didn't have the strength.
My now-famous hives began to emerge, adding insult to injury. I grabbed my cellphone and retreated to the bathroom to disrobe and take a cool shower to help ease the itch. Taking off my clothes was such an effort and sent me into more labored breathing that I decided I better call for help. I called my ex, and he came over while I was in the shower. When he got there, I was still sitting on the edge of the tub, barely able to stand. I got dressed, and we headed for the VA in Memphis, an hour and a quarter away.
The ER at the VA has moved, and the entrances are different than the last time we were there, causing us to have to walk further than planned. I signed in, stating shortness of breath and fainting, and was taken directly to triage. Immediately they ran an EKG, and in a very few minutes, had me back in a cubicle in the ER proper. It was now about 8PM.
Now for the blood draw. No fewer than three people came in to try to get blood out of me. My veins had done a disappearing act. Usually they can find SOMEWHERE to stick me, but no luck. The ER nurse called the phlebotomist on the hosptial floor for assistance, and she refused to come down, saying they should stick me in the leg. I was not for that, and neither was Ralph (seriously, he was great!), the ER nurse. He finally found a place where they could draw blood, and off to the lab it went, and I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I heard the exasperated comments of the staff, trying to get beds for us patients, and there were none. One man had been in the ER for forty-eight hours, because there was no bed in cardiac care for him, and the only other heart monitor systems are in the ER. I was going to be a problem, too, since they can't put female patients in the male wards, and they would need a private room to vacate.
I waited. A doctor came in to check on me, and told me that he would bet I was "a quart low" and would need blood. We would have to wait for the lab results. Meanwhile, I was having quite an attack of the restless leg syndrome, and that made my already painful back even worse. I asked for some pain medication, and was rewarded with a Percocet. Unlike a lot of people, that drug does not make me euphoric in the least, and gives me a nasty hangover when it wears off. I was miserable and it was now 1 AM.
My ex was falling asleep in the chair. He needed to go home, and I worried about that long boring drive with him so sleepy. (Same stretch of road where I fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car nearly six years ago.) Almost 2AM, no sign of whether I was going to be admitted for sure. I told him to go on home; I'd call him in the morning. Well, later that same morning to be precise.
The nurse came back round and told me that one of the vials of blood they had drawn was "no good". WTF? Since I don't have knowledge of how that could happen, it just makes me wonder how the others were. I had already been stuck seven times in attempt to put in an IV line, and for blood drawing. I was already black and blue all over my arms. I looked like a battered woman, and was in a sense. Nurse Ralph told me that he could probably do best by drawing out an artery on my wrist. This is how they draw blood for arterial blood gases, and it can be really painful. Been there, done that. I was nervous about it, but it has to be better than taking it in the leg, so Ralph assured me that he once worked in a prison hospital, where the junkies had no veins left to stick, and he was good at hitting this artery, carefully feeling for the pulse. Bingo! One shot and he was in there, no fishing around for this guy. I wanted to kiss him, almost. ; )
Another group of doctors, the attending physician, the resident, and a med student, all female, trooped in to evaluate me. Poke, prod, look at the rims of my eyes, etc. Questions, questions, more questions. They decided to check for blood in my stool. (With an ostomy, that's easily done.) The occult test was positive. I'm bleeding somewhere, albeit slowly, since nothing was visible. They order the blood for sure.
Four AM. The word comes from above that beds are opening up. A little scary, because no one gets formally discharged in the middle of the night on a holiday weekend. The gentleman who had been waiting forty-eight hours was taken up to a room. The man gasping in the next cubicle was carted away. Then it was my turn. The staff was so short-handed that Ralph had to roll me upstairs on the gurney. I've never seen a nurse do that before. There has always been someone on duty to transport patients to the floors.
They take me to the fifth floor, generally the neurosurgery floor. My room was a double, but both beds were empty. It was a negative pressure room, one that is used for isolation. The door had to remain closed, or an alarm would beep. I heard plenty of beeping over the next few hours. The tech came in to take my vitals, and shortly two nurses came in with the promised blood. They determined that the IV port I got downstairs would not do for transfusion. They stuck me again. At least they didn't go on a fishing expedition, either.
There is a new procedure at the VA for transfusion protocol. It's like a missile launch; two people have to be there to confirm it. While I was down in the ER, I had been tagged numerous times by different people and now had four armbands. One of them was the crossmatch band, with little biohazard red stickers for the blood match. The two nurses had to check my name, social security number, blood type, and a couple other things before they could think about starting the infusion. Actually, I have no problem with check and recheck in the least. Especially when it comes to something like this.
It took some time to get the lines ready, as there is a filter on the line, and it has to be routed through another IV line. I watched in a way I don't think I have before. The dark crimson blood is cold when they bring it in. It takes a few moments before it begins to make its way down the tubing and into your veins. It's still cool as it gets to the entry point, although you can't feel the coolness past that. I idly thought about how this was the colour they settled on for Daredevil's movie costume. Blood red.
By now it was nearly 5AM. I was exhausted to the point of dozing, but was awakened at ridiculous intervals by the automatic blood pressure cuff inflating, or someone coming in to ask more questions. It took until almost 8AM for the unit of blood to finish, then they brought me another one. I tried to sleep. The shift had changed, and a new group of people began the parade into the room. I turned on the tv. There was a movie channel in the hospital, and I sort of watched "The New World", only because it had Colin Farrell in it. Beautifully photographed, but boring as hell. Best part of it was the way they cast the Native Americans. Some beautiful people in this movie.
All this time, I had been NPO, no food or water. The docs had told me I couldn't eat until the GI doc came in. He finally showed up, and that gave me the go ahead to eat, since they couldn't do the testing yet (that will be outpatient, later). I reminded him on the way out the door to tell the appropriate people, please. I know I've waited hours for food before, when a doctor forgot to issue orders that I could eat. At 5PM on Saturday, I got a meal. Real food, too! A barbequed pork chop, baby lima beans, turnip greens, tea, milk, a slice of whole wheat bread and a chocolate chip cookie. I have never eaten turnip greens in my life, but I did then, and they tasted pretty good. Add another item to Things I Thought I Didn't Like But Will Eat Now.
No rest for the wicked. The gaggle of med students, interns, and docs wandered in, and all the questions were asked again, along with poking and prodding. This is the bane of being at a teaching hospital, but in reality I am glad for it, because you really do get some cutting edge care. And then you get the poor little medical student who has to do the dirty work, like checking stool samples. I struck up a conversation with her in the ER, and she was back on Saturday to give me a "tilt test", which checks your blood pressure lying down and standing up. Bless her. This was her very first time to use the new automated blood pressure cuffs, and she had to read to operate it. She was very sweet, and I hope that attitude can stick with her through her schooling and serve her well as a doctor. I told her so.
I was told that I would be transferred when a bed became available down to the cardiac care unit for a twenty-four hour heart monitoring. Seems that when your hematocrit levels drop like this, it can stress your heart. Once again, I was shuffled around, this time to a private room overlooking the loading docks of the hospital and the fire station across the street. It was better than the previous room, where I overlooked the roof of an adjoining building.
A nurse came in to attach the heart monitor, which has six leads to it, but is wireless as far as being tethered to the wall. A great improvement over the old kind. We had a laugh about certain parts of the female anatomy that eventually succumb to gravity, and it was quiet for a while. I watched something on public tv, and don't even remember what.
The medications that I normally take were brought to me, along with some new ones, and I fell asleep sometime after 11PM. At 3AM, the phlebotomist appeared for another draw. I got up to go to the bathroom, noticing that I wasn't feeling wheezy now, and then went back to dreamless sleep until the breakfast tray came in shortly after 7AM. French toast and bacon, orange juice, milk, Special K cereal, and undrinkable coffee. Except for the coffee, I wolfed it down.
Dozing on and off, I got a phone call from my ex, letting me know he was going to see my mother in my stead, and that he would come over when he left the nursing home after lunch. I tried to watch another movie, but it was just too boring. Instead I looked at some public tv stuff, and kept trying to sleep. I couldn't call anyone because cellphones were prohibited on that floor, and all my numbers were in the cellphone, not my head. One bad thing about flash dialing.
The GI doc came in and told me that it appeared that I do have something going on in my gut that is probably causing the anemia. I'm going to have to have a scope for them to find out. I am not amused. They will have to go from the top, as there is no way in from the other end. He suspects Crohn's disease in my small bowel, which can cause a slow leakage of blood. Hoo boy. He also said they would cut me loose Sunday afternoon. I was overjoyed by that.
Lunch arrived: roast pork, parslied potatoes, broccoli with cheese sauce, and a slice of apple pie. Not bad. I could have eaten the platter they brought it in on, so the food tasted good.
My ex called, and handed the phone to my mother, who could not understand a word I said (being now quite hard of hearing). She was confused as to what was going on, and I smoothed it over saying I was coming home, they had just kept me "overnight". I did not say two nights.
I told him that they were going to discharge me that afternoon, but had no idea what time. He said he'd be up around 2PM. I tried to watch another movie, and fell asleep.
He got there about 1:30PM and the only thing on tv halfway interesting was the women's world championship beach volleyball finals. Note I said halfway. The nurse came in and unhooked the monitor and told me that I could get dressed. We cleared out around 4PM.
We stopped at Wendy's for a hamburger, and got Frosties to take to my mother and Mrs. Harris, her roommate. Sunday was Mrs. Harris' ninety-second birthday, and the doctors told her last week when she was in the hospital, that she probably wouldn't see another one.
My mother is not eating again. This is not good. I feel that when Mrs. Harris goes, my mother will not be far behind. They have come to really rely on each other.
I should go out to see her today. I don't honestly have the energy to do it, and if she has "a bug" that is making her ill, I do not need to be exposed any more. It creates quite a dilemma. Calling her only upsets her. I've found that out from my brother calling her. Another rock and a hard place.
If you have made it to the bottom of this, congratulations. Just recalling it all makes ME tired. Wake up! You have better stuff to do than read my blog! ; )
