Friday, January 14, 2011

Day 11 of Brain Surgery

Everyone in Seattle is afraid of dogs!  Damn city-ites.  And it seems the sun is afraid of Seattle, because I have yet to see it and we've been here... 11 days.

Which means yet another celebrity has let me down.  Bobby Sherman, my teenage idol and first true love used to sing "the bluest skies you've ever seen are in Seattle".  Should be "NEVER" seen, thankyouverymuch.

We're all bonding here at the apartments - telling each other our hospital dramas.  There are alot of teen moms with premmie babies, and burn victims.  And a surprisingly number of people from Alaska.  In fact, I met, well, correction... Annie met a VERY nice looking guy from Wasilla, Alaska, which is where Sarah Palin is from, whom I do not like, but I think she's genius as far as getting elected as President is concerned.  Just feed the masses a dose of reality television to our reality tv addicted society, showing how "down home" she is, blah blah blah.

He had asked if Annie was very protective of me, cause he was wanting to get a dog for his wife.  He mentioned "we have our own version of security at home"... meaning GUNS.  He was the handsome, rugged Paul Newman type, and I was ready to go home to his log cabin with him.  To train the new dog, of course.  No other agenda, swear. 

I'm off-track.  Annie met a lovely man from Alaska, and he was quite enamored of my dog.  Too bad he had a wife.  We bonded over brain aneurysms, cause his wife had had one BURST at home in Alaska and they FLEW her to Seattle with a burst aneurysm!  She actually had 2 aneurysms, same as Kim.  When I think of the Idaho doctors who said Kim couldn't fly, so we drove and wrecked the car instead?  Grrrr.

Don't even get me started on the difference between Seattle hospitals, and Idaho... let's just say I was right in saying Idaho is backwards in so many ways, I can't stand it.  I NEED better medical care with my MS, that's all there is to it.  Even Kim, who is the grump of all grumps when it comes to medical stuff, is impressed with the care he is receiving.

Altho, there was the one time when a pompous, male nurse with a Santa Clause type beard, came in and introduced himself as "Rick".  He then proceeded to tell us how Kim would feel after the surgery, and something else I can't remember... something about how the nurses and doctors would tell him one thing, but it wouldn't be true... dang, I wish I could remember.  Something about going home after the surgery.  After he left, me and Kim were silent for a couple of minutes, both digesting what we'd just been told.  What he had said sound plausible to our naive brain-aneurysmed knowledge, but something was "off". 

Kim:  "What the hell was that all about?"
Me:  "Do you get the feeling he's from the crazy floor and impersonating a nurse?"
Kim:  "Totally".

We've not seen him since.

One thing that's been disturbing is the fact that people die in hospitals.  He's had 3 people on either side of him, die.  Me, who loves death drama... lordy, is that a weird comment... what I mean is that my true calling would be as a hospice advocate.  Anyways, here I am, at a cutting edge Trauma Center, with people dying all around me, and watching their family dynamics... and none of them spoke English.  Grrrrr.  I couldn't understand a damn thing the families were saying.

Kim's out of ICU as of yesterday.  When I walked in, he looked at the clock and said "Way to be late".  The day before, he hadn't been able to FIND the clock, much less tell time.  So for the last 3 days, he's progressed from being an awake vegetable to being himself again, as far as personality.  He's very slow in moving, is off all the pain meds for his head, and picking up on the humorous banter going on between the nurses.  I, however, am not so quick.  He asked me to see what number his air was on...

He:  What number is my air on?
Me:  Huh?
He:  It's at the end of the bed.
Me:  Huh?  (Trying not to be patronizing a guy who just had BRAIN surgery and couldn't remember his last name a few days ago)
He:  Go down there and look at what my air is.
Me:  What the hell are you talking about?
He:  (Pointing to the end of his bed)
Me:  (Discovering there's a computerized panel with numbers on it).  OH!  You mean your air mattress?
He:  (Nods his head), (but I suspected it was a lying nod), (he was pacifying me, hoping I'd catch on)
Me:  There's no numbers, it's turned off.  (as I turned it on, and the numbers say 240.0)
Me:  What number do you want?
He:  Four.
Me:  (Thinking wow, that's a long way from 240.0)
Me:  Is your bed too hard or too soft?
He:  (He nodded)

Just then a nurse came in.  He'd pushed the button for a nurse.  He meant his damn OXYGEN.  Evidently, in the ICU, the bed controls everything - it's plugged in to every function.  By leaving ICU, he was no longer in the designer bed model.  Who knew?

I asked for a heads up on discharge, as I cannot possibly figure out how we're going to get home with him recovering from brain surgery, me with MS, four bags among us, a dog who's now afraid of loud noises, going thru security, flying in a plane.  He's as helpless as a kitten, and there's NO way he's going to be able to help at all.  

Best regards,

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