grrrrrrrRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!

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Or maybe I should say, AAAUUUGGGHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because once again, I'm trapped in the Big Downtown Hospital. As an inmate. InPATIENT, 'scuse me.

I'm trying out the Brief Update mode now, trying to keep you faithful folks from worrying about me. Especially...especially because - ah, reality intrudes - there is reason to worry, now; precarious health, no money, and no internet service at home, and we don't know why.

I did make it through the Thanksgiving weekend at home. Nearly 100% of it. Around 11pm, I started bleeding again, another coumadin bleed. It was coming from my mouth - we hoped, as opposed to some other internal origin - and after a slow but steady run of some 14 hours, I finally gave up and went back to the ER.

Where, after some treatment, and then some heart pain, they decided to admit me.

For the last time. I won't be going back. It's time to find a new place to go.

But!!! BUT!!!

Ready for the silver lining? 'Cause you know I almost can't write a *gggrrr!!!* post without one.

WELL!!! I'm slowly but surely getting Unadmitted! As we speak, Transport is allegedly on their way up, to take me down, and out, to where Walter will put me in our car, and we can go home.

Home.

Home again.
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Yes. I'm home again, oh Joy and Happiness.

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I am SO glad, SO so glad! Home. Home. Home.

I spent the last two weeks in the Icky Place [the hospital], again. Before that I had two weeks at home, but in some ways it was like the Icky Place: IV drip antibiotics, Lovenox belly shots, nurses coming, no getting out of bed except for any doctor appointment I could get to without canceling due to illness...Too sick, way too sick. Too sick to have been discharged once again, *dear* Broward General, in the first place - home IV's or no.

Where am I? Oh - Two weeks in the Icky Place, after two weeks at home. Before that? Another couple weeks in the Icky Place, until early November I think. I love Halloween, but for years running I keep missing it for various and sundry silly reasons. This year it was because I was in the Icky Place again.

I'm working on a big-ass ol' post about these more recent adventures. I've decided to stop trying to make any kind of predictions about events in my life any more, especially about timing, so I don't even want to say *I'll post it soon.* I can, though. say this: it'll be way too long to read anyway; I am near the end at least; and, I'll post it as soon as I can.

Walter reminds me to let you all know it was me, not him, behind the complete lack of updates since the last post. Apparently the last time he posted such, I went haywire on him. I have absolutely no recollection of this incident. I'm a little distressed to hear it and immediately apologize. He said it happened during a bad sick spell, yes, but I sounded totally lucid, so he didn't put it down to the illnesses or drugs, like he does when I'm not lucid.

I told him, --That happened a few other times, the nurses told me, getting noticeably mad and being verbal about it, even during apparently *lucid* times. But they said they could tell right away it wasn't really *me* in there at the time, lucid or no. So please understand, while I did mean the *please don't post without asking first* part, I most certainly did not see any reason or justification for *yelling* at you. How could you know not to post an update when I never said so? Usually I want you to do updates so people don't worry, I can't stand it when my readers worry.--

This time, Some Things changed since my own last post. The last six or eight weeks of bad illness instilled those changes - some permanent, some not - and I do remember I'd just wanted to explain a bit about how it all took place, before early updates went out. That's all. I was working hard on the Big-Ass *Most Recent Adventures* Post, and was surely way too optimistic about when I'd finish it. Way way too sick to think like that, when those Some Things have clearly changed.

So - I want to apologize to all you readers, too. I doubt it will happen again, where I neither *update* personally nor ask Walter or Nancy to do it. It was indeed a very serious bout; but I'm home now, discharged in the early afternoon on Thanksgiving Day.

Home. How really, very, sweet it is.

HAPPY BLACK FRIDAY EVERYONE!!!

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Okay. A belated *Happy Black Friday!* too. But it still counts! Um, because it's still Thanksgiving Weekend, and the *Madness Continues,* as no doubt some ad campaign somewhere is hollering out.

Me, I don't begrudge anyone their Retail Therapy, no no no. It's just that it doesn't usually work that way for me, so on the Really Big Shopping days I call it a spectator sport and stay home.
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*HAPPY THANKSGIVING EVERYONE!!!

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Okay. A belated *Happy Thanksgiving!!!* But it still counts, because it's still Thanksgiving Weekend. Plus, some folks that miss the Actual Day are now just sort of moving it to Saturday or so forth. Wisely, yes?
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I'm alive. And I'm home. And I'm maybe, maybe, safe.

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I'm alive. I'm home. HOME.

And I dare to think this: I may, even, be safe.

Safe. Staying at home now.

After almost 5 months *away,* 4 or 5 admissions to the hospital, and 2 into the step-down nursing homes.

ach. Quiet. Don't want to jinx it...

I have so much to tell you all. Right now it's 3:10 pm and there are calls to make before 5 pm, you know how that goes. But I'll be back soon, probably before most of you even read this.

Bear with me. Just 2 days ago I lost the use of my Left Hand Swearing Finger. (A finger that, of course, I treasure.) The tendon, which was already in that contracture state, decided to blow completely. Now I can move the finger up and down at the place it attaches to the hand, but I can't bend it. (And yeah, it hurts.)

Then I ended up back in the ER, with coumadin (warfarin) issues. aGAIN. argh!

Last night a cut on my leg started an uncontrollable bleed. The doofus insurance company hadn't arranged for a visiting nurse to come do the blood tests to adjust the warfarin. I noticed my blood was looking sort of...watery, so I stopped the warfarin, pending the Invisible Blood Test conducted by the Invisible Visiting Nurse.

And for the ER, I brought in a rather spectacular bloody bandage to show how much it seeped overnight.

Which was a good idea. Because, of course, it stopped bleeding once I got to the ER.

I told them it was just like when the fridge is on the fritz and the appliance guy finally shows up, usually 2 hours late, and the fridge has decided to work for now. So Mr. Appliance Fixer comes out from behind the fridge - grinning of course, grinning fit to beat the band - and says: --Seems to be doing fine now, ma'm-- and hands you a ridiculous bill that should be actionable, Lord above.

Doc said go back on the warfarin, put heavy pressure on it if it bleeds again, and ride it out.

Yuuu'ho-kay Doc.

Plus there seems to be a lizard trapped in my Special Electric Air Mattress, which I pretty much live on, 24/7. Poor thing, jumping around inside, looking for a way out. Hitting its little head on my legs here and there, bop! bop! bop bop! And how in the world did it get in there in the first place?

But - BUT!!!!! - the electric bill is PAID!!!!!, YAY!!!!!!!!!!!! We have lights again! And we can keep the three kinds of insulin cold and run my oxygen machine and crank up my hospital bed at the foot (elevate elevate elevate) and at the head (head should be upright when patient enters or leaves the bed) and I can charge my camera battery too, if I can find the charger.

And since I'm on the internet again, FINALLY, I can try to find that dermatologist I scheduled an appointment with because my ID doc is very concerned about these infections all over my right arm. (They're the ones that let me escape the most recent nursing home by getting admitted to the real hospital again. heh heh heh!) She - get this - this doc who can diagnose a new infection from 10 feet away, with her eyes closed and both hands tied behind her back - she sees some that she can't identify.

Eeeeeek!

So it should be interesting, at least.

Okay. I better go. I shall, I will, be back; there's so much to tell you all. Even lizards in air mattresses and The. Best. Readers. In. The. World. sometimes must wait a bit for more good news.

Well...I hope it's good news, anyway. At least it will be to Lizard and Friends, if we can free him.

And me? Yes. I LOVE to be alive.
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Okay. I'll Keep on Talking Even if I Don't Have Much to Say.

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Right now both my hands are in painful ruins, and the voice software is ever so close - but not usable yet. It makes it hard to communicate. This post took bits and pieces of about 12 hours. Not easy ones, to tell the truth.

But I had a bad night last night. So. Why would that count any differently just now? Because it would have been way worse without the comments and emails I got before I tried to sleep. Add in the sense of reconnection with the readers who haven't checked in yet. Mona. I owe you a glad debt of gratitude.

You folks are a significant part of what's been keeping me going not just since March, but through some pretty rough times the last few years. For whatever reason, however it works, I don't seem to care any more. It does work, and that's enough for me.

Awww, mush! Enough.

heh heh! LL. Half-Korean/all-Southern motorcycle mamas are not the only tough ladies around. Which, ah, needn't necessarily preclude me requesting a bit of advice here and there. In my humble opinion.

My Pops. I've been worrying about you worrying about me since this whole long episode started.

I'm so sick I can't even review much of previous posts or comments. But you figured that out, plus that it really does take physical strength to heal and to write, and helped me out once again. That's just a part of why you're such a great Pops.

As to the potential malpractice (??!)...in this case I, mmm, left out that the goof was ours this time. Mistakes are almost always made, on both sides, right? To me, it's when they happen like what that jerk nurse did at Imperial Point that a line gets crossed.

I miss you too, all of you, heard from already and those to come. I hope to keep up posting, even little bits, but that means I'll have to stop a lot. A new bag of antibiotics has been hung off my IV pole, and I need to baby my IV site so carefully, it's time to quit for the night.

I'll be back.
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We're Here. We're Alive.

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Walter and myself have both been trying to let you know how and why we're here and alive - not just those bare facts.

But - forgive us - some bare-facting will have to do for a start.

I'm still in the hospital, the big one. I've been discharged and readmitted at least three times. After Walter and I recovered from the Chest Cold from Hell, I came here because I was coughing up small amounts of blood again, had bad lung and chest pain, and felt generally terrible.

So. Lung issue. Turned out to be pneumonia. Got isolated and treated and sent home. Survived.

After I'd spent a luscious day or two at home, Walter woke up from a sound sleep one morning just because my lungs were rattling so loudly the noise got him. We returned to the hospital, but this time under the admittance of my primary.

Far more serious this round: double (meaning both lungs) MRSA pneumonia. Fluid in left and right pleural cavities. 500 cc's had already been removed from the right pleural cavity, and it was rebuilding all over the place.

Combined with all that general ill health, another heavy outbreak of maybe-MRSA lymph node infections, and some other stuff, I almost didn't survive that bout. Meaning my parents, Walter, other docs should be notified, legal papers or verbal permissions signed or heard, all 'o that dreary ickiness...

I'm not trying to be a drama queen here. But it was an interesting experience. Certainly, it was unpleasant. Extremely. And frightening - though mildly! - in a way I'd never experienced fear before. Somehow I think we may be better off having a chance to approach death very closely once, just that one time, before it actually happens, before life is irretrievably lost.

Well, it went on and on. Cardiac catheters were prescribed to investigate why severe pulmonary hypertension had been discovered. Aaauuuggghhh!!! Turned out I need a triple bypass! But the Triple Bypass Doc on the cardiac team refused to do the surgery because I wouldn't survive it; I'd get an infection and die. Stents? Yeah, they might keep me going another year or two. He seemed to find them an uninteresting endeavor, though. He was, after all, a Bypass Man.

A nice Miscellaneous Stents in General man came by the next day. He felt HIS Stents could last a good 10 years. Besides, who could ever really predict lifespans anyway? We all looked at each other - me, Walter, Mom - and said, -Yes. A 90%, 70%, and another something-blocked vessel resulted in 2 stents in one vessel, one in another - and Stents Man was all done, and happy with his work.

More? Septicemia. Yup, good old-fashioned blood poisoning. A huge outbreak of what looked like MRSA infection, maybe coupled with other germs, through the entire right arm; another from the left abdomen through the entire left leg all the way to the left foot, with fevers that cooked bedclothes and required Cooling Blankets that were forgotten; urinary tract infection (yeah. Ouch.) and a neglect of testing and misapplication of coumadin, or something, resulting in waking up in huge pools of watery blood - I mean like 2 x 3 feet pools - that had leaked from tiny cuts, as small as little papercuts, in my arms throughout the night.

It's been quite a trip. Please excuse this rat-a-tat writing style, okay? Communicating verbally isn't going well for me lately either, although rumor has it that's temporary and common and goes away pretty quick.

So I don't know how much of what's happened I could actually get across to you. But I do hope this much did:

I survived it. All of it. And with all due respect to the Powers that Be...I intend to keep on doing so.
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I am still alive. ***Warning! Medical Alert!*** Some of this post may gross you out if you're sensitive. Careful!

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I am still alive.

And I intend to stay that way.

I'm also vitally ill. Very weak. Except for two days, I've been in the hospital since Walter''s post. Turned out I didn't need a pitt stop. Or even a tune-up. Nope. Did need a complete overhaul from head to toe, though.

I was admitted exactly a month ago with pneumonia and fluid in the right lung, coughing small bits of blood again; a minor fungal infection and thrush in the throat; and a heart rate around 150. The pneumonia later turned out to be from my colonized CA MRSA, which - yes - is a very serious thing indeed.

It moved to the other lung: double MRSA pneumonia. The docs drew 500 CC's of fluid out of my right lung cavity.

Oh my! Have you ever heard of The Worst Procedures You Never Want to Have Done To You? like a bone marrow biopsy, or a chest tube, like you see on Trauma Center?

Draining the fluid in my lungs, a simple procedure that usually takes less than five minutes, took 20. The doc and 2 nurses were great. It wasn't their fault. It's just that despite the cutest little ultrasound machine you ever saw, they couldn't find the path into the pocket of fluid that would let it drain. So the long huge needle poked into my back was gently but purposefully moved about, searching, searching, while this here so-called Experienced Pain Patient lost all dignity, squeezing a nurse's two fingers with all my strength and still sometimes having to scream out loud...

They finally pierced the pocket of fluid. The excellent doc had said it might be jello and hard to tap; or liquid, easy. The bottle waiting under my back to receive the fluid was 1500 CC's. I filled it just over half way; they called it 500 CC's. Mom and Walter say that's about a pint, one and a third cans of Coke.

I didn't have my camera. Frustration! But I held this bottle, a heavy utilitarian laboratory thing, in my hand. The fluid was warm and a little foamy. Odd to think it had just come from my body...The doc had a place on a report form where he was supposed to name the color of the fluid. One of the nurses rolled her eyes at me and grinned, whispered --This is his way of having fun at work.-- He thought and thought and then his face cleared and he said: --Apple cider! That's exactly the color of apple cider-- and looked quite satisfied with his report.

That was a little partial vignette from my month of life in this hospital. I'll have to see how much more I can tell, because I'm very weak. Probably a long overview will have to do for now: bear with me.

I've been admitted to Broward General three times, sent home once and nearly died, sent to an SNF (nursing home) without IV antibiotics and again almost died. There have been other close calls. But I am determined to stay alive, and if all powers that be agree, so I will.

The timing of various infections and other incidents is a bit cluttered in my mind. Sorry. Sometimes I swim in and out of consciousness. Walter says I spent about ten days either intermittently babbling, or perfectly coherent until I digressed onto something else coherent but senseless, like what my dead pet cats are fond of eating these days.

Double MRSA pneumonia. Fluid in the right plural cavity. Tachycardia. The first admitting doc was some idiot I didn't know. My ID doc and my primary were both on vacation. Under protest from me and Walter, I was released and sent home. We both felt I wasn't well enough, but the fever and tachycardia were under control, my lungs were getting better; they basically had no reason to keep me that the insurance company would pay for.

Have any of us not realized that insurance companies have seized almost total control of the most important decisions of our lives?

We were ordered home, so home we went. Encamped in the hospital bed where I'd lived for the past few months, I slept. When morning came, Walter woke up from the noise my lungs made as they rattled when I tried to breathe. Sick, sick bad.

Okay. Back to the hospital. But this time, strategize.

Water called my primary - the young and exceedingly competent Dr. D. - and my pulmonary (lung) doctor, the great Dr. S. We 'd have much more trust, much better understanding and communication, if my own docs who knew me were on the case. My primary was just back from vacation and booked to the hilt for appointments - could we see if Dr. S could squeeze me in?

Yes. But not till 3:00.

Both docs were near or on the premises of Broward General, where I'd been and needed to return.

Only a primary could be an admitting doc. Dr. S is a specialist. But they know each other and know my history.

I waited through that day of terrible sickness, trying to balance competing needs, trying to hide from Walter how my life-force was draining away. Oh, sick, sick. Scared and sad about maybe seeing the end? Despairing? Sure. All that. I didn't feel ready, didn't feel it was time. Not time. That's sad, to die before your time is due.

Time finally came to go to the doctor. During the last ten minutes or so of the drive, my face changed and Walter fully realized that I knew too, no hiding it any more...Later he told me my face went dead white, and my chipmunk cheeks looked gray and sunken somehow; and he hid from me what he saw and understood.

How silly we can be sometimes. Here we were, both knowing the real danger of death was close by. We weren't hiding that. We were hiding from each other that we knew it.

The doctor visit was funny and poignant and scary. I'll try to tell you why later. Dr S had a resident with him who I'd met before, and liked and respected. He walked us - Walter pushing me in a companion chair - through the ER, past Triage, past Admitting; past sick people waiting for help stacked in gurneys and wheelchairs along the hallway on what may have been the busiest day in that hospital's ER in its history.

Was it wrong? No. Triage had already been performed. Inability to breathe takes precedence over a broken arm. It's why I instantly, gladly, yield my place when the shoe's on the other foot.

Now? Such a lot of work; it's just exhausting. All my days are filled with xrays and ultrasounds; breathing treatments; blood glucose tests and three types of insulin shots; blood draws, from this most difficult *stick.*

Such new developments, such new discoveries of pre-existing *Issues!* Fluid was rebuilding in both lungs, no, eeewwwww!!! A huge and serious MRSA infection ate my entire right arm. Then another one encased my left leg and side from the foot to the middle of the abdomen. A lung doc found I had pulmonary hypertension. ME? High blood pressure in my lungs when my body's blood pressure was so nicely low?!! grump! A *double* cardiac catheterization, to check out the pressures between the heart and lungs, was scheduled.

Then...a positive blood culture came back from the lab. CA MRSA, and another antibiotic-resistant bacteria, had both infected my bloodstream. Usually that signals the beginning of septicemia. Blood poisoning. Death.

Whereupon they finally gave me one of those super-secret super-powerful antibiotics they hold in reserve for people like me - and all the infections began to turn around.

Yesterday I finally had the cardiac catheter. Hmmm...just realized I've no idea what they discovered about the pulmonary hypertension. Because one of the cardiac docs came to my room, once I was conscious, to say that he'd have done a triple bypass on me right then and there, except I would not have survived it. I wouldn't if he did it later either. He would not crack my chest like Walter's, not now, not ever, although I really needed it, because I would not survive the surgery. Did I understand?

Uh, okay. So where does that leave us? Stents and such? Yes, he thought they might keep me going for a while longer anyway.

My mother's here now, and Walter, and we've all learned that to talk to any of the huge multitude of docs now enveloping me, we must sit patiently in this hospital room and they will come to us. Sometimes we have no idea who they are. Even after they leave.

Today, Thursday, a much less upset cardiologist came by. We all immediately respected, liked, and trusted him. He firmly believes he can go right back in through the femoral artery, just like yesterday's cardiac cath, and find and use the right type of stent or angioplasty to get me better, not just as a stop-gap, but to hold open the three badly blocked vessels for years to come.

Yes. From all of us.

They scheduled the surgery immediately - for today - but just as my preliminary preps were done, they found my potassium was low. So tomorrow's the big day. And this time we'll try hard to post the results right away.

Ach. For such a long post, such a small sample of this odd month's life. So much else has been happening. Please understand how sorry I am for not posting better updates. I know you already forgive me, but I also feel your concern and worry. Perhaps I'll never stop being surprised at how strongly I feel it, and how much it means to me. How strong it keeps me, to know that you care.

Know this: I made it through some terrible situations this month. Your hopes and best wishes and prayers, and my family's, and my other friends', all gave me more strength to endure than I would have, could have, summoned up on my own.

I am still alive.

And I intend to stay that way.
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THE PITT STOP

K was admitted in a hospital on a 24th of June with various infections, and with fluid in her lungs. She is feeling a little better now but how long Her hospital stay will be is for now uncertain. Unfortunately her laptop is broken so her favorite pastime of blogging from a hospital bed is impossible. On the other hand She has Her camera so I'm sure She'll entertain us with Her pictures.

For now I'll try to keep You posted on Her progress. I hope You all forgive for my imperfect English.

Walter

Wha-- huh?!? Wait a sec. Happy FATHER'S Day! ha! memorial day, my dyin' a**!! some doofus sittin' around here not knowing whut the heck day it is, lor

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WELL. A revelation? Nah. The holidays are a great way of remembering where one's sitting on the calendar at any given point of time. That ain't news.

So Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there! Enjoy your time of BBQ'g - or having someone else feed you; of visiting with family - or simply sleeping the day away in quiet; of going out fishing - or setting some of those offspring to work sweeping out the garage. Hey. Payback time, right? You gave them life and an upbringing. They can give you a little broom time in return.

Families can be the most wonderful, and the most terrible, influences in our lives. They can kill us, or they can save us. And for many of us, over our lifetimes we experience both states of being.

So I'm going to add in the extra-firm wish that you fathers celebrating today are the happy beneficiaries of good relationships with reasonably deserving kids. That sentimental Norman Rockwell approach to life is not for me. Sorry, guys. I just never trusted it. I like reality, and that other approach is too easily used as a vehicle for denial.

No! What we want here, IMO, is a REAL and sweet relationship with said kids. So that's what I'm wishing for you dads today. The real-for-real good stuff. YUM!

heh!

Enjoy.
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