Incompetence

ORIGINALLY WRITTEN AROUND NOVEMBER 14/09

Do you ever go somewhere for an appointment or to get something done and wonder how the hell they get anything accomplished?

I do. I have run into two situations where everything would have been so much better if the people who worked there just did their jobs and used a little of their brain power.

The first has been going on for a few years. I needed to change family doctors and gave my (then) cardiologists office the information. Well, for some reason the staff there don't like to send anything like reports to my family doctor. He has treated me for more than three years now and still only receives information if the report is sent to another doctor who very kindly forwards the information on. I have even mentioned this to my cardiologist and he says he'll tell the girls to send it. But nothing happens.



(UPDATE March 31/15) I have found another heart doctor. Must more responsible and diagnosed the problem very quickly. My family doctor gets all information about me.
And, after finding the new doctor and being diagnosed, almost instantly, I feel so much better and have heard from inside sources that the previous doctors ( there are three) don't send any information out to family doctors.

*****

Now my family doctor is really nice and has always made sure my prescriptions are up to date. When I call the drug store and one of them has no repeats, he has been very good about refilling them when the drug store faxes them.

Then, about three months ago, something changed. A prescription wasn't filled. I called the drug store on it and they had faxed the request three times by then. I called the doctor's office and they said they never received it. This boggles the mind as they filled the other script that was faxed the same day. When I pointed that out they said it was never received.

Now this week, I needed my blood pressure medication and another med refilled. I called the drug store with one week to spare. Went to pick it up yesterday as I was out and it wasn't ready. The drug store only heard back about one script again. So they re-faxed and I called the doctor's office and was put through to the lady that handles that stuff. She told me that they only received the one request. I said I didn't understand that when the drug store had record of them both being sent. She just said again, we DIDN'T receive that one, only this one that was faxed right now. She also said the doctor isn't in on Friday and they don't refill prescriptions on Fridays, anyway, so I would have to wait until Monday and CALL BACK!!!!

WTF ! ! ! ! !

This is blood pressure medication ! ! ! ! !

Anyway the druggist was kind enough to advance three tablets to get me through till Monday.

There is something wrong with the staff there. This is not the first time we have had issues such as this. Another time, my husband had a specialist appointment that needed to be changed. The receptionist told him it was his job to call them and change it !!!!!!!!!!!????????

My hubby is not a doctor-going kind of person, so for me to get him there was a feat in itself. Then to have this idiot give him the wrong info. He didn't know that the patient can't call a SPECIALIST and have the appointment changed. Otherwise everybody and their brother would be calling them. It has to come from the doctor's office.

Anyway that's enough for today. My blood pressure is going up.

(UPDATE March 31/15) Found out they had someone else that was supposed to being going through prescriptions and making sure they got where they needed to go. However, they were okay at first and then got either over confident or careless about the job. That person is since gone, and things move much better now.)

Finally got a doctor's appointment . . .

But its with the neurologist.
So that's when I expect I'll finally know what is going to happen. Had a bit of an interesting day on Tuesday when I called them to ask what happens next.

I asked "Have you got the report yet?"
and she responded with "When's your next appointment?"
"I don't have one!"
       "Didn't you make one the last time you were here?"
"No, I didn't know I was supposed to."
       "You're supposed to make one every time you leave the office!"
"I didn't know that. No one told me to make another appointment. I thought I would be seeing the surgeon after this last test and you'd be calling me with the information."
       almost under her breath: "you're always supposed to make an appt." Then. "Well 
       luckily I have a cancellation next Wednesday at 1:00."
"Okay, thank you."
       "Well you finally got the spectroscopy done. That should let them know everything."   
       (or something to that effect)
That's when I told her that when I got to the hospital I questioned the nurse about the contrast dye being used for that special procedure. The nurse had said to me that the test had been changed to a contrast MRI. I was surprised, disappointed, but as I said they're the ones that know what they're doing. In the back of my mind was "I waited 5 weeks to get the same test I had last time?"

       "What do mean they didn't do it. Who changed it?"
"I don't know. That's what the nurse told me. She said the doctor had done it."
        "But that's what the doctor wanted. That's what he asked for. He asked specifically for that test. And that's why it was booked at this hospital. Because they're set up to do it."

So now, I'm upset. I have waited all this time, probably the longest five weeks in my life, and find out I didn't get the right test????? How long will I have to wait for this to be sorted out? I don't think I can take much more of this

w a i t i n g ! ! !

I told her I'd call the hospital myself because I was very ... let's just say annoyed.

Of course I got the machine, but basically my message was that I needed to hear from someone TODAY about this.

About a minute later I was called back and asked my name and number and he would get right back to me. And son of a gun if he didn't! Turns out the radiologist has the last say in what pictures they need. I guess its so the surgeon know where to go??

I don't know, but anyway I should find out on Wednesday April 1st. What a day to find out.

Last (?) MRI done

It got to be Thursday night and I still hadn't even received a reminder call. I thought it best to call them as me showing up and finding out I didn't have an appointment for whatever reason, may have lead to blood shed. Or at least a darn good screaming match.

When she answered I said I was just calling to confirm my appointment for the next day. She asks my last name and says 'yes you do; at 1:15'. Nothing else. So, knowing the answer, I asked anyway.

"Do I have to do anything special for the test."
"No. (pause) No metal on your body or clothes."

The next day I show up and proceed on the expedition to find this place. Well holey mackerel. I entered the hospital at the far east corner and walk down this long hallway forever to where there is a sign pointing to Diagnostic Imaging. I turn left and its another long corridor. I stop in where I thought it said to and the lady says: 'oh, a little farther. Go down this corridor to the end and turn right.'

Off I go and turn right to find the longest hallway yet. At the end I can see a little tiny desk with someone sitting at it. I thought at first it was an oasis, but as I got closer I could see it was a receptionist. She signed me in and gave me a questionnaire to fill out. (You'd think they'd have all this info by now. Just give me one that has the blanks for me to fill in or where I can say yes this has changed, or no that hasn't.)

I am 15 minutes early for my appointment, which I'm happy about. But then it becomes 15 minutes after my appointment and there is no mention that they may be running a little behind or something. I am patient, because even though I want to get this over with at least I have made it to 'the day'. After another 10 minutes they take me in where they hook up access to a vein for later injection. I asked about the spectroscopy and find out that they have changed it back to a regular MRI with contrast dye. Another one?????

Would have been nice if I had been told that. But anyway, I sat for another 15 or so minutes talking to someone else getting an MRI on her shoulder. She was a nice young lady and didn't feel right having an MRI when so many other people need them, but her doctor says he has to see what's causing the problem. Yet another nice, young person with manners.

It took about half an hour and it did seem like they took pictures from a different angle or something. I'm only guessing by direction the thumping noises came from. And for some reason, I moved a couple of times. I didn't even realize that I was moving.

I have to stay there for a few minutes after to make sure that the place where the needle came out stops bleeding. I see my nurse walk out and say have a great weekend to the receptionist and there I am alone. I checked my arm and figured I was safe to go. Off I  headed to follow the cracker crumbs back to the beginning.

So, here I sit, at home, not knowing:
when there is an appointment,
where it is,
with whom,
nothing.
I guess I just wait for 'the phone call' that puts you into instant, albeit short, panic mode.

I hate sitting around waiting. I mean I can do it and all, but it sure as hell pisses me off. All I can do is keep reminding myself that we have the greatest medical system on the planet and that I've come this far; a few more days to see how the next chapter works isn't a biggie.

What I am doing these days

I have taken some time from work for a few reasons. I had a rough year last spring in that I had a major infection written about in Wow, was 2014 busy ! ! ! ! ! ! ! 

Different things have been happening to me, like my jaw shaking, or headaches, or falling over like someone has taken my gravity away, or falling asleep with no notice. Each time one of these things happened, especially the falling I'd ask the doctor, they'd do blood tests for what they thought it might be and find I was fine.

Great! I was beginning to feel like a full fledged hypochondriac. Finally, after falling asleep behind the wheel (May long weekend - 2014 - southbound hwy 89) and narrowly escaping a head on, I waited for the doctor's office to open on the Tuesday and told him what had happened. They immediately did some more tests and started to set up an appt. with a neurologist. It took until November 11th for me to get in to see him. He ordered various other tests and on the 16th of December 2014, I was told they found a 'brain lesion'.

Lesion because it does not sound as bad as tumour. Tumour everyone automatically thinks cancer but a lesion is benign.

I was scared but also relieved as it meant I had a reason why stuff was happening. So I was to see him February 18th  and a second MRI was ordered with contrast dye. That gave them a better picture. But I have still not spoken to a neurosurgeon. They wanted to get me in to see him ASAP but apparently he wants all the tests done first. At first I was pissed off, but later I realized that that was a better way to use his time. I mean he is already busy doing cancerous tumors and so as much as I am going CRAZY waiting to know what is happening, it is finally only three more days till the last (for now) MRI which is really a fancy one called: MRS (Magnetic resonance spectroscopy ) that will give them a much better idea of what is going on.

I have no other appointments scheduled so I am not sure what the procedure is now. I guess I'll sweat it through the weekend and hear something the beginning of next week.

Also, to be continued

I have been going through and cleaning up drafts

Previously written in August 2009.

So we have been thinking about getting a new puppy. My Sidney is 7 years old this Saturday (the 15th) and I want another dog for him to play with while he is still young. Its also a good idea to get another dog while he's young as it makes the transition easier for him.

And I am thinking ahead. It will kill me if anything happens to Sid. He is such a wonderful little dog and I love everything about him.

So, I had been contacting breeders and not really having much luck. At first I was thinking of a Shih Tzu, Shetland Sheepdog, or Standard Poodle. Points can be made for all three breeds.

Finally narrowed it down to another Shih Tzu as they are the loveliest little dogs. All three breeds require a lot of work on the coat, but maybe the new one will go to a groomer (still deciding).

I put down a deposit for a male puppy and then waited; . . . . . and waited and waited. The females didn't come into heat for some reason and when she finally did have puppies we had already gotten another dog.

I had mentioned it to hubby at one point that I has always wanted a Standard poodle and he reminded me of that. Standards are $1500.00 and I just didn't have that kind of money at the time. Which is how we happened to buy a miniature poodle that I named Emma.

They have their own blog under the "Blogs I Like" header to the right.

I apologize for not keeping this blog up. I have been guilty of that with all of my blogs actually. But I have made a promise to myself to get back in the groove. I found I have so many things I want to write about.

* * * * *

Fast forward to Tuesday March 10, 2015


The reason I brought this post out from the dust was because on Monday February 9th, 2015 I had Sidney put to sleep.

I was right. It hurt so bad. I felt like my heart was broken. The only good thing is that he is not suffering anymore. I don't know for sure what was wrong with him, but there was something. I could see it in his actions and his demeanor, and especially the way he stuck to me. He had lost his site quite suddenly and was doing somewhat okay but suddenly he started to cry EVERY time he was more than a few inches from me. That was not like him at all. He used to bark when he wanted something.

Then he fell part way down the stairs, so I used to walk behind him and help him. One time he came up the stairs and only made it halfway. I heard him falling and thank heaven he didn't break anything. I started putting barriers up to keep him where I was, but sometimes he'd get past and down he'd go again.

If I was going downstairs and coming right back he had been trained to 'wait'. He would lay down at the top of the stairs and stay there until I came back. I didn't want such a short legged dog going up and down the stairs any more than he needed to. he had NEVER ignored that command. Until this one day. I was heading back towards the stairs and I heard him fall. He hit every step on the way down. All 15 of them!!!

I was so scared for him. So sad for him. I started to think about his quality of life. The noises that he was making were nothing like I'd ever heard from him before. I started to watch him and noticed that his tail was always down now; he never wagged it; he cried all the time; he slept on his tummy with his head between his paws (he never did that before); he didn't even pay attention to Emma any more. She tried to get him to interact with her, but nothing.

I think in those last few days after I had made the decision I saw that tail come up and wag once and that was when I asked him if he wanted to see Dr. D--------. He knew.

When we got him there he was given brownies. I thought that was so cool. And so did he! He always had a good appetite. And here he was getting the 'NOT ALLOWED FOR DOGS' CHOCOLATE.

We talked about him and he lay there the way you see him in the picture; all regal and stuff. Talked about some of the things he did. He used to go down a slide, and get slippers, and he could say 'mama' (all on YouTube) and he never had a mean bone in his body.

Then I asked if we could do this. The Dr. started the needle and within a couple of seconds he was gone. He just lay his little head down between his paws and that was it. My Sidney is gone. From my house but never from my heart and my memory.

Ever been depressed?

I mean really depressed. Not feeling sad or just a little off. I mean really full blown, crying for no reason, not enjoying life, wishing you could disappear, not being able to live, barely able to function, not able to get a thought together to answer a question, being glad (and sad) that breathing is automatic because otherwise its too much work, depressed?

All I can say is, it is the most horrible place to be. Take the depression test , and see a doctor. I'm glad I did.

I actually didn't know what was happening to me. I remember my husband would talk to me and ask me a simple question and my brain could just not come up with a response. And he wasn't asking me for the meaning of life! Sometimes it would be as simple as 'what do you want for breakfast?' I would look at him and my mind would register that he had said something to me. I would wonder why he was asking me this absolutely impossible question, but I could not for the life of me figure out what I was supposed to say to him.

I remember walking down to the park by us and walking along the bay shore. I would cry on the way there. I would sit, looking at the water and thinking if I just went in there I could drown myself. Then, I figured the water wasn't deep enough, anyway. Good thing I had forgotten that you can drown in 3" of water.

I was still going to work and there was this one girl there who was like a vulture on carrion. She used to pick at as often as she could and I didn't have it in me to fight back. I ended up taking a half sick day and as I was driving home thinking I could drive into the bridge abutment at 100kmp and that would be the end of all of this.

Except that a week before my doctor had given me 'the test'. He asked me the  'do you ever think of killing yourself ' question. I found out that 'yes' was a warning answer. He asked me to promise him that if I thought of suicide I was to speak to him first.

So that promise made me continue past the bridge and to his office where as soon as they saw me they put me in his office and he saw me right away. I was put on medical leave and made to promise him once again that I would keep in touch. He knew a promise would work on me.

Thus started months of talk therapy. I will have to take medication for the rest of my life or I'll end up in that space again. Oh, I tried being off meds to see if I could live without them, but the depression came back. More than once! But never as bad as the first time. Never. And if taking meds for the rest of my life keeps me away from that horrible place, then fill the prescription and give me a glass of water!


And as if that wasn't bad enough, it was happening to me at the same time as my brother was in a very severe depression as well. He tried to kill himself a couple of times. The second time he was released from the hospital, he went home on his third attempt he succeeded. It was also the day before my birthday.


Couple that with the fact that my Mum was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease and was at the stage where she would forget recent things. So at my brother's funeral my Dad was having to tell her over and over again, what was happening and why they were there.

I really don't know how he did it. He had lost one of his sons, plus had to tell my Mom whose funeral they were at and why. So he was reminded over, and over, and over that not only was his second son gone, but that his wife was 'gone' as well.

* * * * *

to be continued . . . .

Backyard Chickens

When I lived in the country I had chickens. Giving the chickens fresh water, collecting eggs, topping up the feeders. Just great. It NEVER, ever seemed like work.  Didn't matter what the weather was like, going out to the chicken coop was always a pleasure. Well, except for the night a raccoon came by and killed and partially ate 5 chickens. (If they want a chicken, while I won't be happy about it, just take one and go.)

Other than that I loved having chickens. They know you're a source of food and they also always knew when I had found a bug or had something that was going to be thrown out that they could have. They'd be waiting at the fence for you to throw today's treat in the run. They were especially good at cleaning off bones. The end of the day you just had to go and pick up the bare bones.

But there were two excellent reasons to have chickens. One, they are very soothing to watch and listen to. Better than fish in an aquarium. (The eggs are bigger.)

And two, for me there was nothing so relaxing as looking after chickens. I would come home from work and do my chores. I always put a date in pencil, on the top end of the egg so I knew when they were collected. Customers really enjoyed that.

* * * * *

I think with Mental Health Awareness so much in the forefront now, that having chickens can be a solution for some people. I don't know how many of you remember the 'old days' when most dentist's offices, and some doctor's offices, had an aquarium in the waiting room. We used to sit and watch the fish just go back and forth and it sort of kept your mind off the real reason you were there.

One of the complaints is that chickens are noisy. A rooster crowing first thing in the morning, and some times even in the middle of the night, is just not everyone's cup of tea. BUT, they have now developed sex-link chicks. That means that the male and female chicks are a different colour when hatched.  

"Avoid ordering Barred Plymouth Rock, Rhode Island Red, and Colombian Rock X, which are more difficult to sex as chicks. In sex-link birds the sexes have distinctive colour or marking patterns, which will greatly reduce the chance you’ll get unwanted males." this is a rough quote from Frey's Hatchery in St. Jacob's, Ontario.

There is one type that you can get where the males are yellow, and have grey markings down their back like a chipmunk. The females, however, are the same colour as chipmunks!

And you haven't seen cute until you've seen a day old chick.

2014 continued

So, I am sent home, again,  and the next evening I find myself once again in emergency because my antibiotic is running out and no one has phoned yet about changing the bag.

Nothing is set up so we end up running back to emergency where they run through another dose of medication. Back home we go and that afternoon I finally receive a call about a nurse coming by to check on the wound, change the IV, etc.

Thus started my 77 days, or 11.75 weeks, or 1,872 hours, which accounted for 154 bag changes of antibiotic. Of those, the first 21 days I had someone here two times a day. I asked them to show me how to do it myself and that meant I only needed someone once a day. Then it got to every third day as the PIC line needed to be removed, the area cleaned and a new line put in. Now this just means that the PIC line itself is still in my arm, but that the parts outside my body must be changed every three days. After all, we don't want an infection there too. :-)

The part that really defeated me each week was when the  drugs were delivered. I'd look at it thinking maybe there would only be a little while longer. Like maybe this was the last week. Then I'd see the date and it would be for 9, or 8, or 7 more weeks before they thought I could stop.

In the mean time my leg took an awful, awful long time to get better. It was quite the battle we had going on there. At one point shortly after I was home again it was so swollen that my leg was actually oozing fluid. The skin was so tight it was literally squeezing it out. I told the nurse about that and he made note and called later to see how it was. Luckily that must have been where we turned the corner, because ever so gradually after that we crept forward.

Each time I went to see him, my doctor was still worried. He kept thinking he was going to have to go back in but not wanting to just yet. I finally told him to stop with the worrying because we were turning the corner. He said "you could still lose the leg." And I said "I will worry about that if the time comes." I was trying to be positive and he was try to keep me prepared. I was already thinking what would I do if I lost my leg. And then decided I would not think that way. I would keep on eating healthy and taking the antibiotics.

Mind you eating anything was a chore, let alone trying to be healthy about it. I couldn't stomach much because I felt so lousy. The good news about all this was that I lost 41 pounds from February to July.

Actually had to go buy new clothes. And as much as I don't like doing that it is even harder to do when you feel like crap.

Time to publish. Next chapter soon.

So my story takes another interesting (?) turn

THIS BLOG IS SUPPOSED TO BE BEFORE THE ONE TITLED "WOW, WAS 2014 BUSY"

for some reason I can't seem to get it there.

On February 25th of last year, (2013) I finally had my right knee replaced. It was painful and hard work, but so much worth it. I could walk normally again; I could function at work better, etc.

After about 4 months the left knee finally said 'enough' and I asked about getting it done. I asked to be on the list and toward the end of November 2013 I was offered a date of mid January 2014. Great except it was a little too early for me. Ideally, I thought if I could get it done on the anniversary of the right one it would be easier to remember for future reference.

I was able to get a spot in February one week ahead of last year's surgery. So now starts the getting ready part. I start doing the physio that will be required afterwards. That way I feel the muscles have some kind of memory of what they will be doing. It worked last time and for my hip 7 years previously.

Our 28th wedding anniversary, Christmas and New Years came and went. No sooner are we into January when this package comes with all the information of places I have to go and doctors I have to see. Yay!!

One hospital to get medical tests done. Another for x-rays and meet the anesthetist. Then one to see the surgeon and one last talk about surgery then its just a week to surgery.

I have to admit I was not concerned about it. In fact I was looking forward to being able to stand and to walk:

• distances ! ! ! 
• up stairs ! ! ! 
• safely ! ! !
• confidently ! ! !

Wow, was 2014 busy ! ! ! ! ! ! !

I had my left knee replaced on February 18, 2014. Surgery went well, except that I noticed my leg looked like it was getting red. I mentioned it and was checked and sent home with some antibiotics. That was on Friday February 21st.

I was to have the bandage changed on Tuesday, the 25th, so I went to the clinic over near the hospital and she didn't like the look of my leg. She suggested I go to the hospital and have it checked out. I did.

I live downtown and had to go up 'the mountain' (we live in the Niagara Escarpment so we are in the 'lower' city and the 'mountain' is what we call the top of the hill) to the hospital where the surgery was performed. I caught the first bus and had to transfer downtown. The bus driver started moving the bus as I got up and I fell. Not all the way but far enough to scare me. I had pulled the bell and she claims she never heard it and then told me I have to pull it before the stop I want. She proceeded to yell at me some, and I back at her. She wouldn't let me off at the stop because she was 'past' it. She did, however, let me off around the corner. I only had to walk about 50 feet instead of the 5' I should have. PLUS I was already not doing well at all.

When I got back to the bus stop I felt like hell and must have looked it because a lady asked how I was. I told her briefly that I had to get to the hospital and she offered to pay for a cab for me.

Sally Braveheart says "oh, no. Its okay. I'll be at the hospital soon." (wish I had thought to get her name to thank her again). I needed that bit of kindness after the stupid bus driver.

I get to the hospital and go to the emergency department where I am looked at pretty quickly. I had a bit of a fever and the intern (or resident) had a look and wanted me to come back tomorrow when my surgeon was doing clinic.

The following day (Wednesday, the 26th) I went to the clinic and turned myself in. They put me in a room and had my surgeon look at me right away. Well, to say he was pissed is candy coating it. When he found out that I had come to the hospital the day before and NOT been admitted he was livid. I don't mean he foamed at the mouth or anything but he was angry. He called in the one that looked at me the day before and told him a few things that it was suggested he remember.

They then put me in a different room where more serious things happen and said he wanted me admitted again. I had to wait for a bed but they started IV antibiotics right away.  They also took several blood tests to see what was happening. (Your blood can't keep a secret.) My doctor came in several times to check on me and one of those times was when I found out how very bad this was.

I was told they may have to remove the knee, pack it with antibiotics, let that settle down, and then replace the knee again and pray it all went well. Or, I could lose my leg.

WHAT!!!!!

What do you mean lose my leg??? Turns out the infection can get into the bone in which case there aren't many choices.

I was taken to a room on the orthopedic wing and this time my room was a semi-private room and don't I get the guy voted 'most cranky, self centred bastard' in the world. You know he's lucky I let him live. He complained about everything. You would have thought he was friggin' royalty. In fact that will be a whole different blog.

I was in the hospital from the Wednesday until Saturday afternoon. On the Friday I had had a PIC line inserted which goes through a vein in your upper arm and right into your heart so the antibiotics are spread faster.

The problem with that is I am now high maintenance. The bag of antibiotics has to be changed every 12 hours. PLUS, someone has to change the dressing and monitor my condition and change and clean the PIC line and all that stuff. So I was assigned a home care nurse.

I was not looking forward to depending on people.

* * * * *

And I am tired now so will write some more tomorrow.

This time it was over a month ! ! ! ! !

SO, what's been happening.

My INR (International Normalized Ratio) has been sort of stable. Hovering between 2.0 and 2.5.

They think I can go longer between blood tests now. That's fine with me. I don't mind needles but they have very limited hours in which they draw blood and sometimes I just can't get there in time. SO, okay, we'll try the 'every-three-week' thing
and see how it goes.

* * * * *

We have construction going on in front of our house. They are putting in new sewage and water pipes. Most of the soil around here is clay so consequently we get a LOT of dust. They have these big holes dug in the road. You never know from one day to the next which side of the road you'll be on.

This impressive looking machine is what they have go along the road above the concrete and it peels up the tar. Just ahead of where my car is, will be a dump truck. He stays just ahead and as the chewing machine works the old road way is peel, chewed and spit into the truck.

Wow, I am NOT what you'd call quick at this

On the way home from the hospital, we stopped at my parent's house to pick up my son and to let them see the new baby. I was so happy to see my son. He was happy at first and then started to cry that 'you left me alone and I didn't know where you were' cry.

Tore my heart out and I was so happy to see him. My parents were fussing with the new baby and I was fine with that. We got already, said our thank you's and headed home.

I was still trying to feel something.

We get home and I got her settled in and I take time with my son and then the new baby starts to cry. I pick her up and cuddle her and she just cries harder and I get a bottle ready and that quiets her for a little, but you can tell she is still not comfortable with me. I change her and put her down again and that is how it was for the next three months. I kept getting more tired, more angry, more confused, more fed up, more lonesome, more desperate, more alone.

Husband was working night shifts at the time, so he would come home, play with the kids, if they were awake, for a few minutes, go to bed for the day, wake up about 4, have dinner, play a little, watch TV, go to work and the whole cycle started again the next morning.

When she was 3 months old I felt I couldn't do this anymore. I seem to remember feeling so desperate, (about what I didn't know), helpless, alone, unloved, not needed. My parents didn't understand what was happening but they took her in for a few months. It helped take some stress off. I was sent to see a doctor because they thought there was 'something' going on. But no one seemed to know.

One doctor thought the answer was to put me on Valium which, if you have taken it, basically turns you into a zombie. Another one sent me to a psychologist who examined my daughter separately from me and decided that I didn't know how to relate to a child and that I "didn't know how to play".

Really????

^^$#*&@**(&(^@^$

Somewhere during this time I had a moment with doctor Valium where I felt like I could finally open up to him and he gets a phone call. He answers it and the next thing I know he is talking stocks with someone on the phone!!! I put up with it for a minute or two, then got up, told him this was supposed to be my time, and hung his phone up. I left and never heard from him again. No follow up, no nothing.

Most of this timeline is confused in my memory because I was living on and operating from some other planet.



Eventually there was one day when I was at home alone with the babies and I couldn't take the crying anymore. I found myself with my hands on other side of her in the crib, screaming my lungs out at her.

THAT was when I knew I would do something to her if I didn't get a break.

Wow, that took me some time to get back to this story didn't it.

To pick up where I left off, I was, to say the least, HURTING: mentally, physically, psychologically (although THAT would only be discovered over 25 years later).

I was having severe labour, again all in my back, but not dilating. I got to the point that I didn't care who checked whether I was or not, as long as they could help get this baby out.

After about 20 or so hours 'they' started to fuss around me a little more. I am then told, by I don't know who, that I am going to have to have a c-section as there is nothing happening and they want to protect the baby.

WTF! ! ! ! !

Nothing was discussed with me.
Nothing was explained to me.
Nobody said there might be a problem with the baby.
NOBODY asked me what I thought.

They started to wheel me there and suddenly things started to happen and they barely got me to the delivery room before she wanted OUT.


They whisked her away somewhere and I was left there with them doing what ever it is they do to you after you deliver a baby.

I did NOT get to see her.
I did NOT get to touch her.
I did NOT get to hold her.

They take me to my room, and my Mom is sitting with me when a doctor comes in and says: "She stopped breathing once, we don't know if there is any brain damage, we'll let you know" and he leaves. My Mom told me years later that she saw a mask fall over my face when he said that.

When they finally did bring her to me, I held her and felt nothing. I thought that it was just like what happened with my son. I thought a few hours will pass, I can cuddle her and nurse her and she will love me and I'll love her right back.

Except that she wouldn't nurse from me. So they supplemented her with a bottle. We kept trying to nurse, but she didn't seem to want to. Whether it was harder than a bottle I don't know, but I keep trying. I told the nurse about her not even wanting to drink from a bottle and the nurse took her in her arms and right away she would drink. The second day the pediatrician came in I asked him if he knows why she won't nurse. He says" you don't need to nurse. There are plenty of good formulas out there."

So they switch her to the bottle full time, and the 'not drinking while I'm holding her' gets worse. I am sad and confused. And also in a lot of pain, because now that the milk has come in, I am HURTING ! ! ! ! !

Its too late to have the shot to prevent it from happening, so I am stuck with compresses and ice. Yay. It comes time to go home and still I felt nothing.
I wanted to stay at the hospital.
I wanted to see my little boy.
I wanted to sleep.
I wanted to nurse.
I wanted to LOVE MY BABY!

* * * * * 

Can you sense the frustration coming?

This may explain why I'm who I am

On January 27th, 1974, I gave birth to a little baby boy. It was 10:30 at night and I remember crying once I was back in my room and 'recovering'. It had been a 28 hour labour and I was very tired.

They had shown me the baby in the delivery room and when the nurse came to check on me that night I was crying. She asked what the problem was and I explained that I didn't like the baby. I thought he was 'funny looking.'

The nurse told me I was tired and just wait until the morning. Well, I did, and when they brought that little boy to me, I was ecstatic!!!!

I was amazed, in love, smitten, thrilled, overjoyed, pleased, happy and in LOVE!

This little moving creature was mine. I made him (with some help of course). And he was meant to be my little boy.

* * * * *

During his first year of life, I had such fun with him. As he was turning one my then husband had a very bad car accident that laid him off work for several months and destroyed the brand new car. Around that time I discovered, even though on birth control, that I was pregnant again.

My late ex mother in law saw me and said, in a snotty sort of, looking down on me in a not very pleased, it was, my fault are you insane, sort of way and 'asked' me  "you're not pregnant AGAIN, are you?

*

Fast forward to July 17th, 1975. The doctor had decided that I would be induced for this baby, so I showed up pretty early in the morning with the phrase the doctor told me to use:  "I'm in labour," and with that I was taken to a room.

They hooked me up to something or other and I was 'off'.

Okay not really, because nothing happened ! ! ! ! !

So they increased the dose. In the meantime I find out the buzzer I have is not working and I have no idea where the husband is. I scream and I holler, but nobody answers. There are already enough people doing the same thing.

its now evening and my Mum arrived and sat with me for a while. Finally, 'he' shows up (he was downstairs watching the hockey game) and asks how I am doing.

So now I'm: hungry, angry, lost, hurting, scared, fed up and overall wondering why I started this in the first place. (Don't forget this happened while on birth control.)

If you have a child, you should watch this and tell all you know, whatever age.

Don't be afraid to act on your intuition.

You know how you start here and end up there??

Well, I was hanging around on YouTube and found this video. So heartbreaking yet uplifting.

How things can or cannot affect you

I've had asthma my whole life and never thought of it as some 'disease'. I knew it was a bother and that my parents had to take all kinds of precautions with me as a child. But, I never felt that I was at any 'risk' or in any 'danger'. I remember times that I ended up in a hospital and because it was a teaching hospital there would always be doctors coming around to do tests or to listen for the 'crackles' or wheezing.

It got to a point as a child that any time I saw a doctor approach I would lift my hospital pajama top up so they could listen to my lungs. It never bothered me that I remember. Mind you, I don't do that NOW when a doctor approaches me. Also as a kid, I had all kinds of scratch tests and breathing tests and x-rays and stuff. I used to have to go every week to get an allergy shot of some sort just to keep the hay fever under control and thus my asthma. Scratch tests were terrible as they were testing to see what you were allergic to. They made little pen marks on your arms(s) and beside each one made a tiny scratch with the point of a needle. Then a drop from each little vial of possible allergens was applied to its appropriate mark. If you had a reaction to something then the area they were testing would get swollen and then very itchy, but you can't scratch because it could interfere with the other places on the arm(s).

I remember when we would, as a family, go for a drive in the country. If we went down a dusty road, all the windows went up and the vents were turned off. If we drove past anyplace that was cutting straw or hay, same thing. It used to really bother my brothers and myself because it gets hot inside a car pretty quickly when you have two adults and four children in there.

Despite all this I grew up with a pretty healthy attitude about my 'disease'. It always surprised me when people made a fuss about the fact that I had ...... "ASTHMA".....

I remember having a bad night about four days after my brother had gone to hospital with his asthma. They admitted him and then one night my parents came home from visiting him to have the babysitter tell them how bad I was. Back to the hospital we go. So for about a week or so my Mum and Dad had their two oldest children in the hospital for the same thing and the other boys still at home. I don't know how they managed. I DO know that I thought it was an adventure in that I was 'away' with my brother and, even though we were in different areas of the hospital due to our age difference, he would come visit me or I would go track him down and we would play games or stuff.

I was always happy yo see my Mum and Dad when they came and they always brought a little surprise. One time it was a sleeve of tea biscuits, that I kept in my drawer ond doled as as I saw fit. Another time my Dad brought me this end of the roll newsprint. He worked at the Toronto Star then and sometimes the employees could bring home the end of the roll after a newspaper run. Can you imagine as a kid having a blank piece of seemingly endless blank newsprint to draw on? You could lay it on the floor in the hospital and draw what ever you wanted. Everyone just walked around you.

I guess I'm just thinking about how different things are now.

l find it interesting that I have to wear a Medic Alert bracelet that warns of my asthma. Oh, by the way, the only 'traumatic' thing that happened to me because of the asthma was when I was a teenager. I had to have a test done on my kidneys. The doctor told my Mum that the chance of me reacting to the dye they would have to use was like 1 in 100,000, but just to be safe we should have the test done at the hospital.

The doctor said to me you'll probably be fine and I remember saying 'with odds like that what do you want to bet that I'll react'? He just chuckled and I went home. We go to the hospital later that week and they hook me up. They say "we're injecting the dye now. How do you feel?"

I said "Fine," then almost immediately I remember saying "Oooohhh its getting dark in here." The next thing I knew I woke up in the recovery room, my Mum was absolutely frantic and I was covered in hives.

Apparently anaphylaxis is not good. I caused quite the stir in the hospital and had all kinds of doctors excited because they got to see a real, almost, fatal reaction. I guess when you're learning its nice to see what would happen. I just remember that my Mum was scared witless.

Me...

I took it in stride and remembered to tell the doctor " I told you I'd react."

Its odd how some kids grew up petrified of needles and to this day can't stand them. Whereas I see a needle coming and my veins are jumping saying here we are, come poke us.

Needles don't bother me. AT ALL. I have to get my blood tested every week to ten days now because of warfarin, but still it doesn't bother me.I think its because it was just treated as something that happens rather than this big scary thing and all this reassurance and talking about it. My folks just took me to the doctor and chatted about stuff and I read a book or played with the toys and dutifully walked in, got my shot, and waited till I was free to go. Then I went back to being a kid.

I guess my folks did a damn good job of getting me through childhood.

Tsk Tsk Tsk

It looks like one of us has been neglecting the blog lately.

Not mentioning any names......!

* * * * *

Well, I guess once the novelty of testing me every week had worn off, I got a little complacent with writing. That's just pure "I'll do it tomorrow -ishness". I keep thinking 'ehh, I'll write something tomorrow. I'm too (tired, lazy, sick, hurt, whatever) to have written that particular day. 

I think it actually comes down to sitting at the computer and not having a title. For me, having a title is sort of where I start. Once I have that, then usually the words start to come.

Now obviously I must have had something that makes me think of a title, but, to me, it always feels like I have the title first.

* * * * * 

So, the INR thing is only being checked every few weeks now..

They are trying for 4 weeks between, but then I have managed to screw that up. I have, at least three times, forgotten to take my medication. Turns out that's not a good thing. The warfarin level must stay at a steady level in order to do the job it was hired for.

Sooooooooo..... , last Friday, I come downstairs to take the days dosage of three different pills and see Thursday's pills still in the container.

(whoops) 

I am working that day and will not be home at the time I normally take them. Okay, I'll just put them in my pill container in the car and take them on break. At least that's what I think I may or may not have done.

Because when I get home I look for the pills, and can't find them. I would not have taken them at home before I left because it was too early. I start to think and do NOT remember taking them on break time. Then I better take the proper day's dosage, in this case Friday's.

But then I remember that maybe I did take them because, seeing as how I'd missed the day's before pills then being early shouldn't be a problem. But I also remember thinking that that will mess up the next day because the timing will be off again. So what happened to Thursday's meds?

* * * * *

Now that was Friday. Three days before, on Tuesday we were stirred from slumber at 4 in the morning by Emma, the uber watchdog, barking at something outside. As we awaken a little more we hear these noises and the Hubby looks out the window to see three fairly young kids knocking down the safety pylons in front of the house.

(Sewer work, should, should be finished by the end of June, which means August, maybe, so there is a big sidewalk sized moat in front of the house. The pylons are to let drivers know that there is a drop off.)

Hubby is calling the police to report the vandalism. I decide to go downstairs and see if I recognize any of the little dears.

I don't need to turn a light on because, 1) it will mess up what I can see outside, and 2) I've lived here for 24 years I know where everything is! ! ! ! ! 

EXCEPT THAT; I had forgotten about a piece of equipment in the hallway. Yup, you guessed it. I tripped over it. It was all in slow motion and I remember parts of the incident but the most vivid memory I have is of 'coming back ' to real time, realizing I have a death grip on this piece of equipment, a monitor. By the way, the first thought was the fact that I had not ruined the monitor.

I get up, look out the front door, no little creeps anywhere, so I go back inside. When I get back upstairs and lay down, I find that there is a huge swelling over the artificial hip. Within five minutes, that has increased 100% in size. There is no real pain at this point. I get another hour or two of sleep and then get up to go about my day. Once I get downstairs and start the day I lean against something and I feet a lot of pain.

When I get in the car to go to the medical centre I sit into the nice comfortable bucket seat in my car and the side touches my hip area.

 &^%$#&    OUCH     &^%$#& !  

Same thing getting out of the car. I see the nurse who calls in a doctor who then both check it out again. They are amazed that I didn't break anything, and tell me to keep an eye on it. And use ice. (I am startled at myself for not once thinking about ice.) If there is any pain in the joint or difficulty walking, or other changes, then see them again or go to emergency. I actually felt okay about the joint except the surface pain.

Hubby calls to see how I am and I ask him to bring home ice. He decides to come home early to keep an eye on me. He was quite sad looking when he came home. Turns out he's feeling GUILTY for leaving the monitor there. Its NOT his fault. 

I am the one that gets really annoyed with kids being stupid.

I am the one that  decided to go downstairs.

I am the one that wanted to catch the little bastards out wreaking havoc.

I am the one that didn't turn the light on !

I am also the one with this really cool looking bruise that is now covering almost my whole thigh, front to back, hip to knee. I have to sit with one side off the edge so as not to cause pain. This picture shows the line from the chair edge and the bruise end of day one:

 The light part is right over the artificial joint.

So,

what have you been doing lately?.

                                                                      

Okay, so I've missed a couple of weeks

So, when last we spoke, my INR was at 2.2. Last week it went to 2.5 and I guessed I was staying at the same medication. The pharmacist had the week off because of it being spring break for the schools. She had her children at home and they took a small vacation.

So I kept the meds the same and went for the test on Monday morning. Tuesday the results were 2.5. I figured that since its within the range I should keep the meds where they are again.

Which brings us to this week. Meds were the same and the INR this week is 2.0. So I am guessing that I will get another blood test on Monday and see how its going.

Maybe I've stabilized now. That would be nice. it helps that my dentist knows about this stuff. I broke a tooth right off last Friday. It didn't hurt because its been root canal-ed, but when it broke it left behind some pretty sharp edges. Both my tongue and cheek were getting ruined.

I had an appointment for tomorrow to get it done and something possessed me to call them today. Sure enough they had a cancellation and were able to get me in. He figured that seeing as the tooth was going to come out anyway, he might as well pull the tooth right then.

So a little freezing and he gets his official tooth puller outer tool. He has to push it in first and then they twist and tug one way, then the other.

It only had one root but at the very end the root spread out into two little roots. It still came out without a problem. Now I have a mouth full of gauze and instructions of what to do. After the swelling leaves we wait until it settles down and then look at the options.

* * * * *

Today was my first x-ray and pulmonary function test. I have to get that every six months because of the amiodarone that I am on for the heart rhythm.

Then I also have to get liver and thyroid function tests because of the same drug from my own doctor. Those are done once a year.

I don't like breathing tests. I used to do lots of them for the Clinic's testing of ways to diagnose asthma.
Funny, the tests aren't THAT hard but I really don't like going there and doing them any more. Its not that they are hard, its just that I've had enough of them. The odd thing is I don't mind having needles, or blood drawn etc. But I just don't like the breathing tests.

Blood results

This weeks INR is 2.2. The pharmacist wasn't there today so I had to ask. Sort of wondering why no one called me, but I guess as its in the 'normal' range that the results didn't raise any red flags.

That's good. So this week nothing changed ! ! ! ! !

Just keep doing what I'm doing and I am guessing I will get checked on Monday again.

Sort of anticlimactic isn't it.