I was sprung from the joint this afternoon. I don't know that I'm ready to be an independent adult or anything, but I'm definitely ready not to be lying in a narrow bed with a mind of its own (will explain) and under the care of very nice people who liked to wake me up every two hours. I had all the tests they were going to give me, and we learned a little. The good thing was there's no scary words to discuss like "mass" or anything stupid. But the bad news is it appears to be really just massive inflammation from arthritis, and there's nothing that can be done in a hospital except pump me so full of narcotics I may never poop normally again. (Don't ask. No really, DO NOT ASK.) So I'm home now, using the cute little walking stick I gave the Mr as a present to use on the way to his mining claim, and being on the receiving end of angry feline glares, as they accuse me of the worst sort of betrayal (disappearing for four days, and not feeding them meals plus "sprinkles"--which is little handfuls of six or seven kibbles which stop them from nagging me about empty bellies). I slept in my own bed for a couple hours, which was nice, but getting out of it was a whole new trick. The hospital bed was adjustable in ways that helped pick me up when I needed it, and in ways that annoyed the snot out of me as the mattress inflated randomly every time I shifted in the bed. My own bed is much taller than the average height they allowed me to keep my hospital bed. I need more chances to try it, but I think the height will be to my advantage when I roll out. Getting out of low chairs is pretty rough too. It will all take practice, and I won't predict how long it will take to get easy.
It's possible I may have significant help getting the practice I need getting around the house. When I left today, the discharge administrator (I forget her title) was in the process of finding out whether my insurance covers home visits by physical therapists. I don't expect to need them forever, but it sure would be nice to have someone work with me here for the first week or two, until getting into a car is easier to go to a physical therapy gym. We made sure we told everyone associated with this decision not to send any therapists who are allergic to cats. I can guarantee the little furballs will be in the way.
This has been an extremely tiring experience, all to learn that I probably just have an extreme lupus flare aggravating my athritic back. I'm terrified to learn what my copay for all of this will be. Before the man retired, I had no copays whatsoever. A year ago, I had that week-long stay in the hospital for the biggest surgery of my life, and I never once saw a bill. The only out of pocket expense I had was the nominal payment to the Publix pharmacy for antibiotics I took the day before I went in. This is going to be a whole different world. And here I am still without a solid real estate client to provide income. Hoo-freaking-ray. On that note, I'm going to move the white cat pressing against me with all her might, purring because her mommy is finally home, and I'm going to bed. Maybe things will look brighter tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment