Thursday, January 20, 2011
Does anyone else think this?
Why is it that, as we grow in years, the majority of everyone else our same age looks SO much older???
Monday, January 17, 2011
Aging parents
Today I transferred my father from a rehab facility to a full blown nursing home...something that he said he never wanted.
Memories of a strong willed, opinionated, mischevious man who loved being around younger people flashed through my mind as I gazed upon this frail...almost helpless person that had taken his place.
He wanted to live forever...and had put it into writing after a hospital bout with my mother just 2 months before he went into the hospital with what was initially diagnosed as a urinary tract infection. A man who had swam 20 laps between his and a neighbors pier just 2 days before the trip to the ER. That was almost 3 months ago...
I think he thought that modern medicine would be able to keep him as physically and mentally alert as he was before the life extending measures were used.
A month ago he changed his mind...signed a "do not resesitate" form and told me he wished it had already happened. I asked what he meant..and he gave me the "finger across his throat" motion and gave me a very serious look and we just sat there for a few moments... no further words needed to be exchanged.
Memories of a strong willed, opinionated, mischevious man who loved being around younger people flashed through my mind as I gazed upon this frail...almost helpless person that had taken his place.
He wanted to live forever...and had put it into writing after a hospital bout with my mother just 2 months before he went into the hospital with what was initially diagnosed as a urinary tract infection. A man who had swam 20 laps between his and a neighbors pier just 2 days before the trip to the ER. That was almost 3 months ago...
I think he thought that modern medicine would be able to keep him as physically and mentally alert as he was before the life extending measures were used.
A month ago he changed his mind...signed a "do not resesitate" form and told me he wished it had already happened. I asked what he meant..and he gave me the "finger across his throat" motion and gave me a very serious look and we just sat there for a few moments... no further words needed to be exchanged.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Way to end the day
I spent 9 hours with my mother yesterday...visiting my father...grocery shopping...doing anything she wanted only to have her BEG me to use vaseline on my face like she does and to remind me that I have more wrinkles than she does. My mother is 82.
you just can't put all your trust in doctors anymore
Good Lord...what did we do before computers?. The medical profession has surely started shaking in their boots at the thought that we...normal, average folks have the world at our fingertips. I mean...even three years ago Wes's sister, brother in-law and I googled the shit out of anything to do with cancer...or any medical terms that they would non-chalantly throw out there and it helped us understand what was going on...what the next procedure was about...and on and on.
Last night I received a call about 1:00 a.m. from the nursing home that they were taking my Dad to the ER. He had been feeling woozy and nauseated for the last couple of days but multiple attempts to ease the symptoms were always delayed because of having to check his chart...or contact the doctor. Last night his oxygen level dropped in the 70's and he was having electrical charge-like spasms going through his body.
My ballsy sister, Dawn, and my niece Jessica (who live in Birmingham) rushed over to the hospital. Dawn went barrelling in there and said she thought that he was probably over medicated...that she didnt know if he was just a pain in the ass to them or not...but that they she always thought they gave him too much pain medicine. Long story short...whoever the nurse was that changed out his 125 mg worth of fentanyl pain patches had either did it twice...or failed to remove the older patches. So there we have it...an 82 year old man...with 250 mg worth of pain patches attached to his body...and that doesnt count the Loritabs or the Sleeping medicing that he gets everyday. They said they were going to call the doctor to see about taking some of the pain patches off. Well...Dawn said .."call the doctor hell...I'll go in their and rip them off of him." I am sure they realized she wasnt kidding...my sister doesnt kid around much...they removed them and he almost immediately started feeling better.
He is back at the rehab/nursing home today.My sis had me on speakerphone while she was recording the conversation with the "staff" there...and rightly so...giving them hell. She made it very clear that she did not want the tip of that nurses shoes to make one step into my fathers room.
So whether or not you are comupter literate or not...have the kahunas to step up and ask questions...and better yet...to demand answers when it comes to medical care for you or your loved ones.
You go Hurricane Dawn!!!! Love ya.
Last night I received a call about 1:00 a.m. from the nursing home that they were taking my Dad to the ER. He had been feeling woozy and nauseated for the last couple of days but multiple attempts to ease the symptoms were always delayed because of having to check his chart...or contact the doctor. Last night his oxygen level dropped in the 70's and he was having electrical charge-like spasms going through his body.
My ballsy sister, Dawn, and my niece Jessica (who live in Birmingham) rushed over to the hospital. Dawn went barrelling in there and said she thought that he was probably over medicated...that she didnt know if he was just a pain in the ass to them or not...but that they she always thought they gave him too much pain medicine. Long story short...whoever the nurse was that changed out his 125 mg worth of fentanyl pain patches had either did it twice...or failed to remove the older patches. So there we have it...an 82 year old man...with 250 mg worth of pain patches attached to his body...and that doesnt count the Loritabs or the Sleeping medicing that he gets everyday. They said they were going to call the doctor to see about taking some of the pain patches off. Well...Dawn said .."call the doctor hell...I'll go in their and rip them off of him." I am sure they realized she wasnt kidding...my sister doesnt kid around much...they removed them and he almost immediately started feeling better.
He is back at the rehab/nursing home today.My sis had me on speakerphone while she was recording the conversation with the "staff" there...and rightly so...giving them hell. She made it very clear that she did not want the tip of that nurses shoes to make one step into my fathers room.
So whether or not you are comupter literate or not...have the kahunas to step up and ask questions...and better yet...to demand answers when it comes to medical care for you or your loved ones.
You go Hurricane Dawn!!!! Love ya.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
gyno visit...part deaux
I walked my crushed pride...and breasts...down the hallway to waiting room area to finish up my day. Looking around there were mainly younger people...a lot of them pregnant...a cop in her uniform waiting...which was wierd. I dont know why I found that strange...but she had her little walkie talkie thing on her shoulder, badge, gun, etc. A young oriental girl's cell phone rang to the sound of a rooster crowing which took several people aback causing them to stop in mid-sentence...or mid-thought...just as I to did. I remember thinking that maybe it is the year of the rooster or something.
I heard my mis-pronounced name come over the speaker beckoning me to the lab area to be met by...yet another...cute and young little 97 pounder telling me to step on the scales. I gave her the look and said... "c'mon...really... I mean...can't you just write down "fat"...or "heavier than last year" or something?" Y'all know "the look"...we all have our unique "look" we use in various circumstance that call for it. Of course, she just laughed and told me I was "funny" and wrote down that big ass number. I asked her if she had a bathing suit that I could just go ahead and try on while I was there...I mean...that and a full length mirror would be all I needed to just send me over the edge.
She handed me a slip telling me to go to the restroom and follow the directions for a urine sample and report to the other lab...so off I went. I got in the stall...which wouldnt quite lock properly and realized I was about to bust...I hadnt been to the bathroom for about 6 hours and a 20 oz Lipton Diet tea. Where are the cups? Crap...I had to pull up my jeans and go out by the sink to get one. I could have filled up about 20 of them...but I completed my task and proceeded back out to the lab to have my finger pricked for a blood sample. I dont know what size needle she used but when I got back out to the waiting room...I had bled through the band aid and was bleeding on the People magazine I had just picked up. Lord.
I heard my name announced...completely different from the time before... and headed to room "8". I was asked to strip and was shown where the drapes were and was told the doc would be right in. So...there I sat...naked and draped...trying to avoid my reflection in the mirror over the sink...waiting.
My doctor came in...she is really nice...and asked how I was doing ...any problems...or social changes she should know about,etc. I told her...besides evidently being a "free bleeder" (showing her my finger)...everything was ok...that I was a little stressed...and fat as a pig. I briefly touched the surface on my 82 year old parents...who had been in and out of the hospital about 10 times in 14 months...dad in the nursing home/rehab not doing well...mom at home with sitters during the daytime...that I was trying to balance out time with my boyfriend while taking care of them and their affairs, etc. She gave me some words of encouragement and went on with her business.
I asked if she had a lap band that she could use while she was in there.
I heard my mis-pronounced name come over the speaker beckoning me to the lab area to be met by...yet another...cute and young little 97 pounder telling me to step on the scales. I gave her the look and said... "c'mon...really... I mean...can't you just write down "fat"...or "heavier than last year" or something?" Y'all know "the look"...we all have our unique "look" we use in various circumstance that call for it. Of course, she just laughed and told me I was "funny" and wrote down that big ass number. I asked her if she had a bathing suit that I could just go ahead and try on while I was there...I mean...that and a full length mirror would be all I needed to just send me over the edge.
She handed me a slip telling me to go to the restroom and follow the directions for a urine sample and report to the other lab...so off I went. I got in the stall...which wouldnt quite lock properly and realized I was about to bust...I hadnt been to the bathroom for about 6 hours and a 20 oz Lipton Diet tea. Where are the cups? Crap...I had to pull up my jeans and go out by the sink to get one. I could have filled up about 20 of them...but I completed my task and proceeded back out to the lab to have my finger pricked for a blood sample. I dont know what size needle she used but when I got back out to the waiting room...I had bled through the band aid and was bleeding on the People magazine I had just picked up. Lord.
I heard my name announced...completely different from the time before... and headed to room "8". I was asked to strip and was shown where the drapes were and was told the doc would be right in. So...there I sat...naked and draped...trying to avoid my reflection in the mirror over the sink...waiting.
My doctor came in...she is really nice...and asked how I was doing ...any problems...or social changes she should know about,etc. I told her...besides evidently being a "free bleeder" (showing her my finger)...everything was ok...that I was a little stressed...and fat as a pig. I briefly touched the surface on my 82 year old parents...who had been in and out of the hospital about 10 times in 14 months...dad in the nursing home/rehab not doing well...mom at home with sitters during the daytime...that I was trying to balance out time with my boyfriend while taking care of them and their affairs, etc. She gave me some words of encouragement and went on with her business.
I asked if she had a lap band that she could use while she was in there.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Annual gynocologist visit part 1
I mean tell me the truth girls...it doesn't get any better. Whether it is your 1st ...or your 37th visit...they just suck.
I have to admit...where I go...they do have it down to a T. My first stop was the mammogram...another joy in life. I mean...thank God for them...but there is no doubt in my mind that this sadistic, breast mashing piece of equipment was invented by a man.
Jessica...the little 20-something, no fat on her body, cute little technician... told me to get undressed from the waist up and was throwing out little amusing cliche's...like I'm sure she does a couple of hundred times a day in the attempt to make it a more pleasurable experience. My first surprise was that she didnt walk out of the room...or offer me a gown or a drape. Nope...she just watched me as I pulled off my shirt and my bra...desperately attempting to suck in my gut that was muffining out over the top of my too tight jeans. That failed move was followed by another pitiful move... to stand up straight so that my breasts might all of a sudden... perk up. Alas...even though she kept her smile and her chit chat going...I know she had to be disgusted at the sight.
She made me hug the front of the machine as she pulled and rolled each breast into the perfect position to lower the "vise" and told me to "hold my breath"...which...by the way...was no problem at all. I mean...you dont want to move an inch due to the fear of putting the least more pressure on your pancake flattened breasts!
Even worse that the flattened frontal smash...is the "sideways" smash. Not that the horizontal compression is natural by any means...but that vertical squash...well...it just ain't right.
After she finished she turned to me standing there...with my reddened...blotchy ...non perky breasts...stomach now souffled over my jeans with no attempt to "suck it in" ..and told me she was going to go check the films and not to get dressed in case I had to "redo" any of the poses. Needless to say...my ass was dressed 2 seconds after she shut that door.
I have to admit...where I go...they do have it down to a T. My first stop was the mammogram...another joy in life. I mean...thank God for them...but there is no doubt in my mind that this sadistic, breast mashing piece of equipment was invented by a man.
Jessica...the little 20-something, no fat on her body, cute little technician... told me to get undressed from the waist up and was throwing out little amusing cliche's...like I'm sure she does a couple of hundred times a day in the attempt to make it a more pleasurable experience. My first surprise was that she didnt walk out of the room...or offer me a gown or a drape. Nope...she just watched me as I pulled off my shirt and my bra...desperately attempting to suck in my gut that was muffining out over the top of my too tight jeans. That failed move was followed by another pitiful move... to stand up straight so that my breasts might all of a sudden... perk up. Alas...even though she kept her smile and her chit chat going...I know she had to be disgusted at the sight.
She made me hug the front of the machine as she pulled and rolled each breast into the perfect position to lower the "vise" and told me to "hold my breath"...which...by the way...was no problem at all. I mean...you dont want to move an inch due to the fear of putting the least more pressure on your pancake flattened breasts!
Even worse that the flattened frontal smash...is the "sideways" smash. Not that the horizontal compression is natural by any means...but that vertical squash...well...it just ain't right.
After she finished she turned to me standing there...with my reddened...blotchy ...non perky breasts...stomach now souffled over my jeans with no attempt to "suck it in" ..and told me she was going to go check the films and not to get dressed in case I had to "redo" any of the poses. Needless to say...my ass was dressed 2 seconds after she shut that door.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)