More catching up on the hospital stay . . .
Monday, July 15 Well, a good night’s sleep was not in the cards. I slept for a little bit, then was wide awake. I was taking my pain meds which usually made me sleepy, but for whatever reason, I could not fall asleep. I finally turned on the TV and watched lots of mindless television hoping to bore myself to sleep. I’d drift off for a moment, and then be back awake. Maybe it’s because I’m so ready to get out of here. Maybe it’s because my bed seems to be made entirely of doorknobs. At any rate, not a good night.
Therapy scheduled for 8 a.m., so I wanted to take my pain pill about 7ish; however, breakfast had not shown up, so I took the pain pill at 7:15. Breakfast finally shows up about 7:40. I can eat about a third of it, when my appetite just shuts down, so I decide to get ready for morning PT.
I get up on my own using the walker, deal with the toilet area, and I remember just feeling so tired that I rested my head on the walker arms. I moved over to the sink for teeth brushing etc., and it hit me like a wall. I felt dizzy, nauseous, cold sweat, trembly – you name it, it was not a pretty sight. I managed to make it to the chair in my room and called the nurse. After describing my symptoms, she put a call in for the doctor, and the technician gave me a cold compress and some ice chips which helped. We decided that it might be taking the pain meds before breakfast since I had had a problem with that when my breakfast was delayed on Saturday. I did ask her if it could be a low blood sugar since I had not been eating well, and I’m pretty familiar with hypoglycemia as my husband has been a Type I diabetic for almost 42 years. The nurse didn’t seem to think so since I had eaten some breakfast.
The longer I sat, the better I felt, although my hands still trembled. I continued to sit in the chair, elevating and icing. I felt that if I returned to the DoorKnob Throne, I could not be responsible for my actions.
After about an hour, I felt in control enough to finish my morning ablutions. Just that simple act, wore me out, however; and I returned to my chair (which also happened to be a recliner.) My husband was supposed to head out today to bring me home, so I called him and filled him in on the latest wrinkle. I told him I wanted him to proceed as if I was still being discharged. I was so depressed by the turn of events that I couldn’t help crying as I rung off.
The Social Worker appears as I’m in the throes of the crying jag and is appropriately sympathetic. She’s still working on the home therapy, and I ask her why it was denied since practically every other insurance company approves this. They told her it was because I wasn’t “Home bound.” Well, the depression left immediately and anger took its place. “Excuse me,” I said. “Not home bound? I can’t drive. My husband is 100% disabled and can only drive short distances. Let me at ‘em.” She was unaware of my husband’s situation, so she said she’d take it on from there.
My surgeon comes in and is apprised of the new wrinkle in my health. He seems disappointed that I was unable to make it to therapy, as they wanted me to have two more therapy sessions before discharging. His disappointment does not equal mine.
The day moves on with positive breakthroughs in the insurance covered therapy. Evidently the person who denied the coverage on Friday should not have even been answering the phone, much less denying coverage. Coverage is on, now they just need to find a therapy company who accepts my insurance. I have something called ChampVA which comes from my husband’s 100% service connected VA disability. It’s not as well-known as Medicare or Tri-Care, so a little harder to find facilities with a contract.
I’m feeling much better, making sure that I eat before pain meds. I still feel somewhat wiped out by getting up and moving around, but no dizziness, cold sweat etc. My PA comes in and wants me to stay another night. NOOOOOOOO! I tell him I must go home today. Finally I convince him that if I have a good therapy session, he’ll let me go.
Therapy time comes, and I work on the Nu-Step, do some stretches, walk with a cane instead of my walker, and my therapist says I’m gold. I can raise my leg several feet while lying down, and I’ve got 90 degree ROM. My PA comes down, but still is not convinced to let me go without my home therapy being sewn up. I beg and plead, was close to bribery, and he relents. He goes off to fax paperwork and order meds, and I go up to my room to wait.
The discharge nurse appears and begins having me sign papers. All looks wonderful until a doctor whom I have not seen before, but is identified as the Chief of Medicine comes in. He is most upset that he had not heard about my little incident this morning. He is convinced it could have come from a cardiac problem and wants to run all sorts of test etc. If I could have gotten down on my knees, I would have. I try to tell him that I truly do not believe it is cardiac. At length, he tells me that if it happens again, I’m not to think twice, but immediately go to an Emergency Room. I promise faithfully. Everyone leaves, the discharge nurse comes back and says the pharmacy is really backed up, could be another hour before we can leave, so I better order dinner. I’m so excited (insert sarcastic font here) to have another cardiac diet meal before I leave.
Hundreds of years pass, the discharge nurse takes me down to the pharmacy; my husband goes to get the car. Moments later, I am wheeled to the blessed car, and we head toward home. Of course by now, the Chicago evening traffic is in full swing, so lots of stop and go. I made the mistake of getting in the front seat because I knew I could extend my leg; however, I had not counted on the hours of sitting with my leg down previous to the actual escape. The swelling is palpable. I ask my husband to exit the Tri-State Tollway at the first oasis, so I can remove to the back seat and have my leg up.
It is close to 7 p.m. before we pull up to our house – even the lumps in the driveway look good. Our five month old Cocker Spaniel puppy is in her “playpen,” and greets me with abandon. In no time at all, I’m on our recliner sofa, leg elevated with pillows, Iceman strapped around my knee and totally happy. There is no place like home.
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but I have heard that people have to do that. I just had to take aspirin for three weeks. Once again, such a difference in doctor/hospital protocols. I'm hoping our very own Dulcimer Diva will be preforming at the Homewood French Market this summer and we can all meet up! My second surgery is fast approaching, so we'd better get on it!
