Almost 24 hours in an ER
overwhelms on a good day. Somehow we’re never having a good day when we go to
the Emergency Room, yes, 24 hrs. in
emergency. Finally he had a good poop and went home. Happy Mothers’ Day
everybody! And thank you, apparently he couldn’t have done it without you.
Today, stormy Monday sees grey
enveloping all. Rains’ steady roar ringing in my head drowns the jazz radio
station playing in the living room. Nothing but grey invades the day, but it’s
not dark. My introvert loves days we can be alone together. Chi-Ping and Smoki
are puddles on the floor around my bed. Blondie is at my feet. My Honey is in
his room. Today, it’s good to be me.
Tomorrow will start on the
road to San Juan. Did I tell you about the fool’s errand I was sent on last
week? Run down to the VA San Juan with a prescription for medication to knock
the socks off his pain. When he hurts it’s a son-of-a-gun. Rush hour traffic
demands endurance I no longer possess, but there I was in early morning parking
lot, I mean expressway traffic. Bitch, piss and moan, but I made it. It was
early in the morning, so the wait to hand in the prescription wasn’t “killer.” Next
wait, to pick up prescription could happen any time before close of business.
Basically this is a whole day venture for me.
The line to pick
prescription meds was short, when the guy at the window where the meds are
given told me to go back to Window 2. That’s where the Rx is handed in; this
isn’t good. I just know it. They’re not going to hand me his meds in the
privacy of a small room and wish me a safe trip. I could feel my eyes bulge out
of my head. The pharmacist is going on in Spanish about his meds. My answer is
simple; don’t know what the doctor wanted to prescribe, call him; let’s get whatever
it is so I can get back home. Through a haze of Spanish it becomes clear. I am
brining NOTHING home.
Double the dose of what
you have and bring a new prescription with you when you come to the next
appointment. Son-of-a-gun, if that didn’t make sense. Why did I have to drive
about two hundred miles round trip to find out? I was supposed to tell the
doctor what? No, we don’t get trip pay.
So tomorrow, San Juan; we
see the Docs. We are not ready to hear more above knee talk. Last year Kirt’s
toectomy took ten months to heal. Kind of tells about the quality of
circulation in his right. Tomorrow we’re talking left leg all the way. The
suture/staple line is mixed with a couple of areas closed between big gaping
separations with big scabs. In the middle a clear exudate continues to drain.
Diana, the home care nurse does a bang up job of cleaning the wound. I’m glad
to have her on the case.
Just when I think pick up
the medication and go home something always happens and on Mothers’ Day when
not too many were around I got stuck in an elevator. After a while that’s
unnerving. The policeman who got me out steadied me. It can always get worse
somehow always taunts at moments like this.
See you on the road to San
Juan. Bendiciones.
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