Inspirational song: With a Little Help from My Friends (The Beatles)
When we first moved out here, I had a lot of trouble just sliding back into my old relationships from twenty years ago. I'm not the same person I was, and I know a lot of those old circles of friends have grown and changed in ways I'll never relate to. So I was hesitant to assume that I'd be welcomed back with open arms. A few people have reconnected, but not many. Last night was the first real chance I had to meet up with a couple who have been dear friends since I was pregnant the second time, who I've seen a few times since we moved away, but not since we came home last summer. Even though I could tell over the course of the day that my back was deteriorating, I sucked it up and climbed in the car, despite the increased pain, so that I could finally spend a night draining a couple of bottles of wine with some of the most creative and fun people I know. Once I found a place to park, I had to text them and say I'd come inside as soon as I could force my body to let me out of the car. Halfway down the block to their house, I took a long stride from asphalt to curb, and nearly fainted from the sudden cramp in my hip. Over the course of the night, I kept sliding on the couch, as my body curled backwards and to the left, away from the hip that hurt so much. By the time I needed an intermission from the movie we watched, I needed both friends to help me stand and step mincingly toward the powder room. At the end of the night, no amount of self-medication could control the muscle spasms, and I had to ask my friends to help me back homeward. The wife drove me in her little truck while the husband followed in my car. We hadn't made it to the edge of town before I admitted to myself I couldn't go home. They brought me to the emergency room in my hometown hospital instead. It was absolutely the right decision.
I lay on a hard gurney in a private cubicle in the ER until 3 am, about 2 1/2 hours after I was put in it, until they finally arrived with meds. Injections of fentanyl and valium went in first, stinging the crap out of my hand where the port was, then a bag of saline was connected. I drifted off into an uneasy sleep for all of 15 minutes, until the nurse call button fell off of my bed, waking me as it clattered to the floor. I spent the next hour and a bit arched in pain, tears clouding my glasses, wondering how long it would take for someone to check on me. I was absolutely unable to roll over on the gurney, or even straighten up on it so my arms had equal space to rest, so there was no way I could hop down to retrieve the button to call for help. It was an awful experience.
Sometime after 4 this morning, some employee of the ER (doc, nurse, intern, dominatrix...) came in to evaluate me, and was utterly dismissive of my suffering. I'd explained to everyone that this was a 10+ on the pain scale, and no, I was not able to roll over to stand up and use the potty chair I'd needed and failed to access. I'd even had more meds, this time injections of toradol and something (maybe percocet?), plus oral prednisone, and still there was zero pain mitigation. The nurse/doc/person who spoke to me said that her only job was to evaluate whether my situation was emergent, and if I couldn't get up and walk, they could transfer me to a nursing home for physical therapy. She said this twice. Was it supposed to be a threat to get me to jump up and say, "Ha-ha. I was just kidding. I was only here seeking access to drugs."? Eventually she said the other option was to admit me for intractable pain, which was obviously the correct solution. A nursing home? What the hell was that about?
Around 530 this morning, a much friendlier and less stressed out team took over my care, as I transferred from the ground floor to the top of the building. I was finally able to get up for the first time in 6 hours to pee and climb into a softer, wider bed. I've been on different meds, all pills this time, that don't fade in 15 minutes. I learned this afternoon that oral valium stays in the system long enough to help me get in and out of beds, chairs, and wheelchairs, although not without effort. My x-ray showed nothing of value, and I apparently have to wait several more hours waiting for a month-long, exponentially worsening pain to magically stop before we decide it won't and I qualify for an MRI. Perhaps that will come in the middle of the night.
In the meantime, my daughter went to the house to let out the dogs who had been locked up for 18 hours, feed all the Smith Park ani-mules, pack me a change of clothes, and bring a goodie bag of snacks. This kid knows how to take care of an elderly patient, I tell you what. This afternoon, I had a party in my room, with my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, my favorite padre and his wife, and rotating cameos by half the nursing staff on this floor. I got tulips from my sister-in-law, a rare treat for me (seriously I am the person who most wants flowers in the hospital, and I think this is the third time ever I got them, counting surgeries, births, and illnesses). My padre volunteered not only to pick up Mr S-P from the airport tomorrow night, he also risked his health (cat allergies) to go feed the mules their dinner.
Between my friends who rushed me to the ER last night, and the collection of friends and family who visited me today, this has been the best major medical experience I've ever had. Two days ago I felt very alone. Today I feel supported by friends and family. The pain in my ass isn't going away, but the loneliness in my heart is.
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