My momma told me there'd be days like this . . .

Helpful Hospital Tip of the Day:

Plan your hospital stays on non-holiday weekends. Hardly a doc in sight over the Labor Day weekend, and I swear to god, we've got the B-squad PT and OT therapists on staff. Either, that, or they're uber-sadists, hell-bent on making Bob cry uncle. . . appear to have no clue whatsoever of Bob's situation, nor any experience with the brace Bob needs to wear when they transfer him from bed to chair and back again. I hate to tell someone how to do their job, especially when I'm sorely under qualified to replace them, but when Bob's crying out, his legs all akimbo, face contorted in pain, well, then, I can't help but to finally jump in and cry out, Noooo! Turn him toward the window, then put the brace under him—hold his legs! Hold his legs! Now, roll him the other way . . . I know we all gotta start somewhere in our careers, but for the love of God and little lambs, read the effin' charts before manhandling a patient with a big ol' chunk missing from his pelvis . . . Praises be that Bob's nurse is a 25-year veteran blessed with a compassionate soul and a take-charge attitude, and took over where the PT/OT peeps left off . . . hopefully the more experienced PT/OT staff will be back on during the weekdays . . . and maybe a few more docs, too . . . too bad Bob's ortho doc gave me his cell phone number. Too bad for him that is. He'll be getting a call and an earfull from yours truly tomorrow, holiday or not . . .

So all the mental confusion and lethargy that Bob's experiencing hasn't dissipated, in fact, seems to get a little worse every day. Had visitors yesterday and today, but pretty much slept through the visits. When he is conscious, he's often hallucinating, agitated, frustrated that he can't communicate what seems to be real to him but makes no sense to me . . . a few days ago, I bought—hook, line and sinker—the explanation that perhaps it's due to the fact he doesn't need all the pain meds anymore, that now they're overkill, and he's getting too much . . . but they've decreased his Dilauded to the point where he's only taking it as needed, and that's very infrequently, yet still no improvement. . .

Someone said his CO2 levels have been somewhat high, another '"theory" is that his electrolytes are off, both of which may contribute to feeling confused, lethargic . . . someone else tossed up the idea of "hospital psychosis" tonight . . . Practicing medicine, at its finest. . . again, how the hell am I to be Bob's advocate when the professionals are tossing around theories? Though, if you have time, take a minute and look up hospital psychosis. . . what you'll read following that link is exactly what Bob is exhibiting right now, and right now seems like the most plausible, most benign explanation for Bob's behavior. . . he's experienced this before, after his second heart attack, back when I thought he'd suffered brain damage . . .

I don't want to be arrogant and take all the credit for his stability for the past three months, but once we got him home after his last MI, and I quit work to be home with him, started feeding him real food, he was getting pretty good rest, feeling comfortable at home . . . he immediately stabilized, never exhibited this behavior at home, even with the insane amounts of narcotics he was on . . . coinky-dink? Perhaps not . . .

So, instead of pumping him full of more drugs, more crap, how 'bout working to get him well enough to go home? I get it, when someone's too sick to be at home—Bob's been in that position, too—but when a patient is showing signs of amazing recovery, let's get the show on the road, and supply the family the tools to successfully stay there!!! Oh, no, wait . . . that would be preventive care . . .

Home is the best place for him, for any patient, in my not-so-humble-opinion, when at all possible, or a reasonable facsimile of it. Home, with good nutrition, familiar things around, a sense of safety, stability, routine . . . things that cost nothing, but reap rewards a thousandfold. Hellooooooo!!!!!! Preventive care, anyone? Oh, that's right, preventive care isn't profitable care . . .

Bob's "full liquid" diet was stopped today, as he's felt incredibly uncomfortable—painfully bloated, hasn't had any sort of "movement" in his bowels since prior to surgery . . . they've tried laxatives, an enema, suppository, all with no results yet. . . miserable, uncomfortable, can't sleep . . . to top it off, his roommate, a really sweet old man who (in addition to, breaks my heart because he's all alone, has no one visiting him, no one "advocating" for him . . . Elenaor Rigby play over and over in my head as I sit in Bob's room . . .) unfortunately, constantly talks, guffaws, snorts, hoots and hollers in his sleep, which makes getting a good night's sleep impossible. Two nights' straight, the hootenanny has played on, with no sleep for Bob . . .

Tonight, Bob's nurse made the executive call and moved his roommate to another room, for both patients' sake . . .the plus side to the holiday is that the "hospital census" is down (we heard that over and over all week, mainly because all the docs are gone, so no one around to take care of anyone), therefore lots of empty beds to fill. . . what to do, what to do—get sick over a holiday weekend, have your own room, but no one answers the call button . . .or, end up with an insufferable roomie but lots of docs to look over you . . . tough call. . .

Bob needs a good night's sleep; his roomie was going to a window-side bed, and will hopefully help him recover better, too . . . a good step forward. Someday, we hope, all hospitals will be private rooms only . . . the constant stream of interruptions, of distractions, of sometimes, downright disturbing intrusions must extend the average patient's stay at least three days, to recover from the trauma of hearing their roommate's shit . . .

I finally got home after a 10 hour day at the "office. . . " Let the dogs out, cleaned up a bit, talked to my sister, Nancy, my Mom . . . Bob eventually called me, nearly 10 p.m., and said, "Hey, guess what? I threw up everything I've probably eaten since Monday—I could taste the beef broth, the pudding, the Jell-O . . ." So, essentially, everything from the top half of his digestive system came back up to haunt him . . . evidently, something must be blocking the lower half . . . sorry to be so crude, but it's having a huge impact on how Bob's feeling, how he participates in therapies (which is hardly at all, right now), how it'll affect his transfer to a therapy program following the hospital . . .

For all the complaining, ranting, venting, it was sofa king awesome! to see Bob's friends Bob and Wally today, and my baby sissy, Gretchen! Even though Bob wasn't the most gregarious of hosts, I know that, deep in his psyche, in his heart, deep in his cerebellum, he knows you guys were there, and I'm tellin' ya, it fuels the fire in his belly . . .

LOVE! to all!! xxooxxoo!!!