Dodging the Bullet...Again
Wed., September 10, 09:03 PM
This morning I thought I was really gonna lose it. Patience, dignity, calm — all gone within a few minutes. Let’s go back to yesterday.
Husband was at day care yesterday, when I got a call from the nurse. “He’s all right,” she said, “but I have to let you know.” What had happened was that he got up from his chair and started toward the bathroom, not watching where he was going and just shuffling instead of lifting his feet. (He walks as if the feet are just too heavy to lift.) He caught his foot on the cord of his oxygen concentrator and went down on his knees.
He told the nurse he was fine. Of course. She checked him out, took his vitals, made sure he hadn’t hit his head. I watched him when he got off the bus; he was a little shaky, but no worse than he had been when he got on that morning.
At six-thirty this morning, I brought him his first pills and he said, “I’ve got news. I have a sharp pain in my wrist.” I told him we would take him over to the VA emergency room, but he couldn’t have breakfast for an hour, so just go back to sleep. In that hour I made breakfast for U.D. and me; left a message for the day care people; and tried to get dressed. U.D. did her morning chores (meow, it’s her cat) and left a message for her boss.
Husband was irritable and nasty. He needed assistance; he didn’t need assistance. He snapped at both of us. He was rotten. But somehow we got him out of the house and into the car. (Though I had attempted to get an “early” start, it was after nine o’clock.)
Unloading a patient at the emergency entrance is a lot easier than the main door. U.D. pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk, and I helped Husband out of the car. (I would have had a long walk to get a chair if we had not been carrying our own.) She went to park the car, and I pushed him to triage. The waiting was minimal. A nurse took his vitals and current history (she had his general history and meds on the computer). We waited a bit and the E.R. doctor called him in for examination. She sent us to X-ray.
The X-ray waiting room had a convenient restroom, from which I heard a tech say, “Mr. H—, we’re here to take your chest X-ray.” U.D. yelled, and I returned to explain: he may be due for a chest X-ray, because I don’t remember when he had the last one, but that was secondary to what he was there for. I asked her to check back with the doctor who ordered it and, sure enough, another order came through for the hand-wrist Xray.
Back to the waiting room, where I asked the clerk to notify the doctor that Husband had had his X-ray. Then to the next waiting area, because the other one had filled up. Let me say, nevertheless, that emergency care at the VA is a lot easier than at the trauma centers at the city hospitals.
Eventually we were back with the doctor. X-rays showed swollen soft tissue but no breaks. She put Husband’s forearm into a splint, and he had another question: who was going to help him with personal care? Mr. I-don’t-need-any-help wants a nurse? Does he think we can have one round the clock in case he needs someone? The doctor left messages with the nursing coordinator and said we could take him home. “Don’t I get some pain medication?” I asked the doctor if she thought Tylenol was sufficient and, of course, she did. U.D. had left messages with the respite care center and also for Son; the doctor took our numbers for nursing care, and we came home.
U.D. waited to see if Husband needed any more assistance, but he managed to undress and use the bathroom without help. I gave him some Tylenol, and he went to sleep. I finally got some computer time and thought I might get ten minutes or so on the trike, but the oxygen man called. The office called me Tuesday and said he would not come this week if I didn’t need supplies, but he had to check the concentrator — which I mentioned to the caller, who didn’t seem to think it was important. No trike.
So I waited for the oxygen man and started Husband’s lunch. He felt fine; he was fine at supper time too. I shall make sure he has more Tylenol before I go to bed, and then he can get more in the morning. I fully intend to send him to day care; I talked to the director this afternoon, to bring her up to speed.
I suppose it could have been a lot worse. I took a two-hour nap. I was worn out.
Guess what? The newspaper published most of my letter (see the previous post). They left out the quote: “True leadership is the art of changing a group from what it is to what it ought to be.” (Virginia Allan). I thought that was important, but otherwise my message was there. They even added a cartoon:
