In case you think I haven’t been to Cooklandia lately, here’s a shot of his gorgeous self from last night’s show at Busch Gardens in Williamsburg, VA. I ended up not going because I kept getting a wonky vibe not to. Turns out, the wonky vibe was a certain someone’s heart attacking him the previous week. I coulda gone but …. didn’t.
However, Hal is next weekend and oh hell yeah – my ass will be there!
Yes, folks, it’s your long awaited part two of “Tour of Duty: the hospital years”. Although now that I’m thinking it through, it’s really not as much fun or as entertaining as part one. Still, I will endeavor to add some humor to the retelling as is my wont.
Once we got past the blarf-fest that was the morning, things were fairly smooth. The doctor had ordered some Ativan for Duty since he was wigging out only slightly. Apparently, someone vomiting blood took precedence over chill pills and I had to go in search of the nurse to get them. (I know, right?) The pill knocked his ass out so I took the opportunity to go eat lunch in the cafeteria. My half-eaten breakfast bar (abandoned when blarf-fest started) seemed rather unappealing. The procedure was scheduled for 1:30 and it was 11:30 so I figured I had time to spare and Duty was snoring happily on the bed.
After a mediocre lunch of fish sammich and soda, I decided it was time to head back. I mean, what else was I gonna do, right? Now, let me say this- being admitted to the emergency area required something akin to high level government security clearance as well as the ability to navigate large crowds of sick and sometimes unruly people. I had neither. While I was waiting for someone to accompany me back there, I saw Duty’s really nice nurse race by and wondered where she was going. Probably to her 37th blarf-fest of the day.
My chauffeur (aka: the person who takes you right to where your loved one is stashed) showed up and let me tell you – damn, everyone moves fast there which is a good thing in a life-threatening situation but not so good for a fat ass like me! I could barely keep up with the old farty peeps. Anyway, they took me back to Duty’s room and …. no Duty. Is he dead? Did I hit a weird time/space continuum? It’s barely 12:15. Oops! They were taking him off to be prepped for the procedure and his nurse that I saw flying by? She had run her butt all the way down to the cafeteria looking for me. Isn’t that sweet?
I quickly got into the swing of things and *ran* all the way up to the prep room with another nurse just to kiss Duty on the head before he went in. YEY for wonderful nurses! So, I settled myself in for a nice wait in the family room outside the critical care unit. And waited. And waited. …. and then waited some more. (snore) Checking on his status, I was told he was still in the procedure area so I decided I’d make another visit to the cafeteria for a soda and sit outside in the sun because it was hella cold in that hospital. The nice (but a bit high strung) lady at the nurse’s desk gave me one of those beepy things they give you in restaurants when your table is ready and said it will work anywhere in the hospital. The doctor would come chat with me after the procedure.
(Damn this is getting long and I’m not even to the bedpan part of it! Sorry.)
I had just sat my butt down outside when … BEEEEEEEP! So, I go racing back to the area to talk to the (adorable, funny and talented) doctor. Duty looked well, if a bit out of it and things went just fine. They cleared up the 90% blockage and he has to go back in a month for the next round. All well and good and I thank you, Dr. Gorgeous McCuterson.
Duty must lie still for 4-6 hours and not move his right leg AT ALL because if the place where they inserted the catheter (groin-age) starts to bleed, they have to start the 4 hours all over again. Still in a haze, Duty doesn’t overly care. We chat, I rub his head and all is well with the world. That is, until he decides he has to pee. Urinals are offered. He is not happy. He’s never had to pee in a bottle-like thing before. “This is humiliating” he says. And oh, by the way, what does one do when a poo event is on the way? The nice nurse says “need a bedpan?” and he just about has a conniption. “This is humiliating and barbaric” he proclaims.
Yes, yes it is, I agree. Still, what are your options? Nurse brings both bottle and bedpan and Duty says he wants me to stay but not her. (Oh sure, I get all the fun, right?) Guys have no idea how easy they have it with peeing in a bottle. I want to smack him on the head with said (empty) bottle but he is in a delicate state and it’s just not love and light and all that other woo-woo crap I espouse. Panic ensues when the nurse puts the bedpan under him. Seriously, y’all – this is more traumatizing to him than having a heart attack. Nurse reminds him that his situation is just temporary and that lots of people have to live this way and he is brought back to reality.
Finally, after much angst and whatnot, we have pee-age in a bottle (which is not at all like time in a bottle, just sayin) and all is right with the world. I leave to go feed cats and will be back in a couple hours once he’s in a room. I come back later and hang out for a bit and find out that he’s been cleared to use the toilet. AH! Life! She is good again!
After a decent night’s sleep, he’s ousted from the room because peeps need it and he’s halfway to being well so they stick him in some alcove (I’m not kidding) to wait out his remaining time before I can take him home. Fun!
And that’s the end of the story – I don’t think part two was worth waiting a week for, alas.
A week later and he’s doing just fine. We get to go back and do it again in a month (minus the heart attack and attendant drama) and this time, he swears he will do all his bathroom business BEFORE the procedure. We’ll see how that works out!
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I do lubs you all muchly but I just haven’t been a writing fool this week – exhaustion got me the other day and last night Duty and I watched “The Blind Side” – a movie I got from Netflix back in MAY! We are just now watching it. We suck.
Anyway, look for postings and more to resume this weekend.
How DARE they make me work at work!! heh Also got permission from Duty to share some of the more delicate parts of the story (he gets first right of refusal, though) so look for some more hospital hilarity soon. I might have time today – but if not, know it’s coming.
He’s continuing to do well, is already bored to death with hanging around the house, is mindful of his stamina issues (and what drains it) and is being a wonderful patient.
More later.
Duty had a heart attack.
There. I said it. And he’s just fine. Which is good. But at the time, it was rather scary.
This might be long. Please forgive me in advance and know that writing about it is cathartic for me plus added snark makes me feel alive.
I, weary from work and in one of those “I feel and look gross” kind of moods, come home to find Duty home early because the baseball game he went to was rained out. He mentions that his left arm doesn’t feel right. I, still weary, mumble something and decide I’m going to take a nap. (Clearly, I’m not paying attention that it’s the LEFT ARM.)
Weary old me trudges upstairs, gets undressed and actually thinks these very thoughts: “I’m so glad that I don’t have anywhere I have to be or anything I have to do.” and curl up in bed, drifting off to a peaceful sleep. Karma, she is not so nice.
About 10 minutes later, I am somewhat rudely awakened by Duty saying that he really doesn’t feel well and I agree that he’s a sweaty mess. I dress quickly and we head off in search of the local urgent care. Guess what? It’s no longer open! I decide we will drive into Annapolis to the hospital but remember that there is another urgent care on the way. We go in there where they take him back right away and call me in to the room. Yep, he has had (or is sorta having at that moment) a heart attack. Doc says he must go to the hospital and in an ambulance yet. Duty, such a hard ass, says he will not go by said ambulance and that I can drive him. (Uhhh, whut?) Doc retorts: ”What if you go into cardiac arrest while she’s driving you over the bridge? Do you want to put her through that? (Way to go, Doc! He’s had practice at this!)
Duty begrudgingly consents. An ambulance magically arrives and they strap his ass in and off he goes. I decide I have time to stop at Dunkin Donuts for an iced coffee because it’s gonna be a long night. Tra la la.
Now I know what people on various political forums are talking about with the chaos in emergency rooms. Good God almighty. I am thankful that Duty’s ailment necessitates immediate action or else I’d probably still be there. (I silently thank God for our good Tricare insurance thanks to D being retired Navy. I can’t imagine going through this without that.)
Blah blah blah some medical stuff – blood pressure is high, they took blood, yada yada yada. Duty’s arm no longer hurt (yey for meds) and he held hopes that they would release him. (hahahah thought I. You ain’t going nowhere.) And that’s right. They are keeping him overnight. I leave about 10:30pm.
Oh, four readers of Love, the past few days have been …. shall we say … interesting? I will write about it at length soon but for now let me say this:
1. To quote Tom Petty: “Waiting is the hardest part”
2. I truly dislike hospitals but who really does like them? (besides the Cousin O’Love who runs one)
3. Emergency rooms are not for people who are well and truly grossed out by sounds of vomiting in stereo. (i.e.: me)
4. I am fine as is Duty so no worries.
More later, I promise.
LOL kitty just fuh U:
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Mostly because his Godmother sucked hardcore at diaper changing and putting bitty arms through tight t-shirts. Bless his heart for being so patient with me. Although he did barf milk on me later as payback, I’m sure. He barfed on Cousin O’Love too and as far as I know, she knows how to change a diaper (for a boy) and get heads through shirts. In fact, I once saw her set the land speed record for diaper changing in a department store elevator so I’m pretty sure he didn’t barf on her for that.
I got to hold him lots and lots but also tried to remember to share the babyholding. When he cried was a good signal for me to trade off with someone. (Someone = the mama)
But we had such fun at Luke’s party. Lots of kids (kept my distance), cake (no distance, thank you) and presents. Kid presents are awesome! He wanted to play with them all right when he opened them. Lots of strategic hiding took place, don’t ya know? Anyway, here he is wearing the chef hat (but not the jacket) that Duty and I gave him. Cousin O’Cool says he wore it while out in the moon bounce too. YEY for picking out fun presents. 
Newsletter goes out tomorrow. Wish me luck! At least I finally got it out before the end of July! heh
