You may wonder how I came across this topic. Most of you are aware I'm currently "disabled" and not working. This leaves me to wander aimlessly about the internet without leaving the comfort of my bed. Eternal Saturdays I like to call it.
So I was looking at high yield savings and checking accounts online being as just about everyone I know is looking for new ways to make a buck, including me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not hurting for money. I'm in the fortunate position of being homeless which greatly reduces my debt to society. What a concept. Do you know how expensive it is to have a roof over your head? I'm sure you do. But being a freeloader on the other hand is relatively inexpensive. I endorse it.
So I came across a website that compares high yield checking and savings accounts as well as recommending other ways to save money. (http://www.moolanomy.com/1333/how-to-find-best-high-yield-savings-interest-rate/) I found an interesting online savings account called SmartyPig. It's an online piggy bank where you come up with a specific goal, contribute to that goal each month and can even get friends and family to put money in it. I'm all for this. Unfortunately it also came with some fees ($5 for friends to donate money to you) and in order to withdraw your money you get a visa/debit card or gift cards. Not cash or a check. So you have to actually spend the money. This wasn't exactly what I was looking for. I just want to get more money, not necessarily spend it. But I really liked the idea of having a button friends and family could push and money would just show up in my account. I mean that's just a no-brainer.
So being the ever persistent person that I am, I rolled with that sort of idea and googled "Online Panhandling". You would be impressed. It exists. And it works. I was envisioning a little button on my blog here that you could click on and put money in my savings account. I would post it here, myspace and facebook. And maybe on a few friend's websites and stuff. Unfortunately it doesn't really work that way. There's a few cyber-begging websites that you can set up your own account, write a little something about your situation and start receiving donations. I thought about setting one up, but felt really guilty about it when I read why other people were there begging. Mine wouldn't really compare, reading something like "Young woman on disability seeks donations just out of curiosity for how much she can actually get".
So then I thought maybe I could just set up a paypal button on my blog with a little ditty about putting money in my piggy bank or something. Paypal wasn't all that easy to use either. It said something about how I could send emails to people about how much they owe me and you all could click on the link and give me the money. That would actually be a very interesting concept. Wouldn't that be something? You would receive an email from me saying you owe me $100, click here to pay me. It may be brilliant, but then I started thinking about all the tax laws that would come into play and I really don't feel like dealing with the IRS again after last year's little snafu.
So really, I suppose you could just send me a check for being the witty, intelligent, cute, disabled person that I am and we'll call it good. I really wish I could say I needed money for something, but I really don't. I hardly have any bills and I'm not a big spender. I don't need a new kidney or money to buy diapers. I guess I'm just bored enough to check my financial situation several times a day and am unimpressed with it's growth. How cool would it be to earn several thousand dollars a day while sitting around on my butt?
And if any of you really are in need, I recommend looking some of this up. Apparently they really do work. One article mentioned a woman who earned over $20,000 in 20 weeks to pay off her credit card debt. Some one else has a post on there to get money for breast implants. Others are cancer patients or disabled people who aren't getting checks.
Well it's after 10am, I really should get out of bed and get some breakfast in me...
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Notes From the Road
It was with great trepidation that I began my journey from Redding to San Diego just past 10am when the temperature on the marquee along the freeway already read 90 degrees. I had no air conditioning and I had to put the top back on my jeep to keep all of my belongings from being scattered along the length of this great state. I knew I would hit the merciless central California valley at the hottest time of the day, but I was undeterred. I was a woman on a mission.
I breathed a sigh of relief as the temperature dropped about 15 degrees as I got into Sacramento and wondered to myself Who on earth would choose to live in Redding? I fueled up in Lodi where a group of what appeared to be bikers (Harleys, not Lance Armstrongs) loitered about. You know those people who you can look at and only imagine what kind of drugs they're on? This was them... the funny thing was, I didn't see any Harleys for miles around. I got my water, smoothie and Starbucks Double Shot and got out of there.
It was then that I entered the bleak vast valley of central California. You know you're in central California when you being to wonder how the bugs survive. It could be equated to Death Valley, except that Death Valley has a certain beauty to it and it smells better. It was Africa-hot so I stopped at a gas station in Los Banos where 3 out of 5 of the bathrooms were out of order and I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. I used my sharpest key to slice open the bag of beef jerky that I had been wrestling with for the last 200 miles and was on my way again.
I began to marvel at the ingenious invention of the automobile. Specifically, my automobile. For a couple years now I've noticed that my right foot gets rather hot after awhile of driving. After melting the beef jerky and overheating my phone, I realized it was the entire center console that overheats while driving. The temperature gauge of the engine remained steady at 210 degrees, which is normal. There sat in the pit of my stomach a little knot saying that not all temperature gauges on vehicles operate as they should and that it was indeed possible that my vehicle could suddenly overheat in the 110+ degrees of this god-forsaken place. I would be stranded along the side of the road with my only hope for shade being underneath my car. I shuddered at the thought and moved my now 200 degree water bottle out of the cup holder on the center console to the seat beside me to cool off.
It also amazed me that tires don't blow more often than they do. Consider the heat that they endure while driving 650 miles in the hottest part of the day on asphalt that is probably 100 degrees hotter than the air at 80 miles per hour. I made a mental note to put a piece of 2x4 lumber in my jeep being as I've known for over a year now that the factory jack that I have doesn't lift the vehicle high enough to remove the tire. I figured in an emergency I could stick a couple maps and shoes under it to give it a few more inches.
A sign on the side of the freeway read "Mercy Hot Springs: Hot Soak, Cool Swim". I'm not sure mercy out here would ever have anything to do with a hot soak and I wondered how there could possibly be a "cool swim" anywhere in the vicinity. I looked around and saw no water for hundreds of miles and figured it was one of those tourist death traps like on the movie "Wrong Turn" where they end up getting eaten by mutants. I traded my curiosity for safety and drove on.
You'll notice that along stretches of road such as this that are no highway patrol officers. They aren't stupid. If a CHP got stranded anywhere along the central valley no one would stop to help and they'd probably throw rocks at him. It's a very unforgiving place in case you've never been there. Bring plenty of water and a couple guns. Don't be fooled though that you can just break the law all willy nilly- there's signs along the freeway warning potential law breakers that speed is indeed enforced by aircraft. Everyone out here is going as fast as their vehicle can safely go in Hell without overheating either to get out of the heat as soon as possible or to simply escape the boredom. I envision single-engine crop dusters swooping down and making dives at the speeding vehicle. How they issue a ticket, I'm eternally curious but no matter how fast I've driven I've yet to be the victim of modern day kamikazees.
Oddly enough, I whizzed by multiple signs stating that Congress had created this Dust Bowl.
I breathed a sigh of relief as the temperature dropped about 15 degrees as I got into Sacramento and wondered to myself Who on earth would choose to live in Redding? I fueled up in Lodi where a group of what appeared to be bikers (Harleys, not Lance Armstrongs) loitered about. You know those people who you can look at and only imagine what kind of drugs they're on? This was them... the funny thing was, I didn't see any Harleys for miles around. I got my water, smoothie and Starbucks Double Shot and got out of there.
It was then that I entered the bleak vast valley of central California. You know you're in central California when you being to wonder how the bugs survive. It could be equated to Death Valley, except that Death Valley has a certain beauty to it and it smells better. It was Africa-hot so I stopped at a gas station in Los Banos where 3 out of 5 of the bathrooms were out of order and I couldn't help but laugh at the irony. I used my sharpest key to slice open the bag of beef jerky that I had been wrestling with for the last 200 miles and was on my way again.
I began to marvel at the ingenious invention of the automobile. Specifically, my automobile. For a couple years now I've noticed that my right foot gets rather hot after awhile of driving. After melting the beef jerky and overheating my phone, I realized it was the entire center console that overheats while driving. The temperature gauge of the engine remained steady at 210 degrees, which is normal. There sat in the pit of my stomach a little knot saying that not all temperature gauges on vehicles operate as they should and that it was indeed possible that my vehicle could suddenly overheat in the 110+ degrees of this god-forsaken place. I would be stranded along the side of the road with my only hope for shade being underneath my car. I shuddered at the thought and moved my now 200 degree water bottle out of the cup holder on the center console to the seat beside me to cool off.
It also amazed me that tires don't blow more often than they do. Consider the heat that they endure while driving 650 miles in the hottest part of the day on asphalt that is probably 100 degrees hotter than the air at 80 miles per hour. I made a mental note to put a piece of 2x4 lumber in my jeep being as I've known for over a year now that the factory jack that I have doesn't lift the vehicle high enough to remove the tire. I figured in an emergency I could stick a couple maps and shoes under it to give it a few more inches.
A sign on the side of the freeway read "Mercy Hot Springs: Hot Soak, Cool Swim". I'm not sure mercy out here would ever have anything to do with a hot soak and I wondered how there could possibly be a "cool swim" anywhere in the vicinity. I looked around and saw no water for hundreds of miles and figured it was one of those tourist death traps like on the movie "Wrong Turn" where they end up getting eaten by mutants. I traded my curiosity for safety and drove on.
You'll notice that along stretches of road such as this that are no highway patrol officers. They aren't stupid. If a CHP got stranded anywhere along the central valley no one would stop to help and they'd probably throw rocks at him. It's a very unforgiving place in case you've never been there. Bring plenty of water and a couple guns. Don't be fooled though that you can just break the law all willy nilly- there's signs along the freeway warning potential law breakers that speed is indeed enforced by aircraft. Everyone out here is going as fast as their vehicle can safely go in Hell without overheating either to get out of the heat as soon as possible or to simply escape the boredom. I envision single-engine crop dusters swooping down and making dives at the speeding vehicle. How they issue a ticket, I'm eternally curious but no matter how fast I've driven I've yet to be the victim of modern day kamikazees.
Oddly enough, I whizzed by multiple signs stating that Congress had created this Dust Bowl.
I considered what Congress could have done to cause this much devastation and I have to admit, I have my doubts. I'm not personally a fan of the American Government but the fact of the matter is that the government is chosen by the people and the people choose the government based on their values. I have no idea what this valley looked like a hundred years ago but I'm betting it didn't have a single tree in it. Truthfully though, Congress is not the only one using water and if the American people weren't so wasteful and greedy, this dust bowl might have a little grass in it. I'm not sure how the cows make it out here.
I continued on with very little change in scenery and Louis Armstrong declared it was a wonderful world as the smell of 200 degree cow manure hit my nose like an ammonia inhalant. I've heard all sorts of anecdotes on navigating out on the ocean such as following birds to find land. An important navigational lesson occurred to me after many miles of observation: you'll know you're nearing a city when the jerks on the road suddenly being to multiply like rabbits and you begin rooting for the highway patrol.
The sun began to set and I was afforded the mercy of a cool breeze blowing through the window. Los Angeles looked serene as it faded into the bright pink sunset in my rear view mirror. I gave up on the noise of the stereo and just listened to the wind. Peaceful as it may sound, I just don't want to get into the horrid details of the profanity that came out of my mouth shouting at the punks on the southern California freeways. I thought back to the trucker on the road who had painted his rig to say "Jesus Christ is Lord, not a swear word". I can only think that he's never driven in southern California.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Traveling
I'm in the San Francisco airport on a layover from San Diego to Redding. I'm very convinced that small airports and tiny airplanes are the way to go. Large airports are crammed pack with people who obviously don't know what they're doing, and long lines are everywhere you go. I was very appalled at the amount of people who didn't quite understand the boarding process. Generally airlines board first clas first, along with business class and people with children or disabilities. Then they board by section. Located on everyone's ticket is a number that tells them the order they board in. 1 is first, 2 is second, 3 is third, 4 is fourth. Apparently this is a difficult concept. I sat fairly close to the boarding area and watched everyone board as I had a number 4 on my ticket. When they boarded number 1, two ladies went to the front of the line, and then stood there while everyone had to go around them. It seemed they were number 2. So exactly why they went to the head of the line when number 1 was called, I guess I'll never know.
So then they called seating area number 2. About 50 people stood up and got in line. As the line progressed, 6 people ended up having to be pulled out of line because they had a number 3 on their ticket. C'mon people!!! Really?! So when I got on board, there was a lady in my seat and her two whiny kids right next to her. Her husband sat in a seat behind them. He asked if I would change my seat with him, so I agreed. Apparently they had bought their tickets so that both children under the age of 5 would be sitting alone with one parent behind them and one parent 6 rows ahead of them. I realize that sometimes this is unavoidable, but they could've talked to a flight attendant prior to boarding to ensure the kids had supervision.
Sitting behind the kids listening to them scream at various times throughout the flight made me wish they imposed fines on families that "disturbed the peace". If they disciplined the darn things early enough in life, they wouldn't be jumping around screaming in an airplane seat 30,ooo feet above the ground. To make it worse, the mother sitting right next to them was apparently incapable of buckling their seat belt because the poor flight attendant had to crawl over the mother and the other child to buckle the seat belt of the one sitting by the window. Are you kidding me? Manage your child!!
So then while I was standing in line at one of the airport shops to buy a bottle of water (for $2.99) so I could take my vicodin, a man in a stroller got behind me and edged way too close. I moved forward as much as I could trying not to invade the space of the person in front of me. I certainly didn't want to get hit by this guy in my current condition. As soon as I moved forward, so did he, bumping right into me. Are we really that retarded? Could he not tell that he was way too close to begin with and that I was moving to avoid getting hit? Do I currently look like a person who yearns to be run over by a stroller? Did I not look pathetic enough?
My Uncle commented on this while we were walking down the street in San Francisco a week or so ago. Most people walking toward me could see exactly how sad and jacked up I looked and would move so that they didn't bump into me. But there were a few people who were absolutely oblivious and charged right at me. Had I not had to good sense to get out of the way, my surgeon would probably be re-doing the wiring in sternum as we speak. I'm not looking for a pity party here, but I don't think it's too much to ask for people not to be running over or bumping into people who are obviously a little broken and dealing with some difficult circumstances. Do we kick the crutches out from underneath the guy with the broken leg? No, we don't. So why is it that some people are drawn to crashing into me while I'm wearing a sling and have a huge exposed scar across my chest?
So after surviving the line in the store, I sat back down and tried to down two vicodin. They're stuck in the bottom of my throat and won't go down completely. I've drank most of this bottle of water and they aren't budging. They're just sitting there... probably not working all that well from there. A flight attendant just asked me if I'd be willing to take a later flight since our flight has a weight restriction issue at the moment. Thanks lady. Even with the few pounds I've gained since getting injured, I don't think me getting off the plane will save us all from going down. I had to decline... and in doing so, declined a free round trip ticket to where ever. Normally I'd jump at it, but I've really got to get out of this airport...
So then they called seating area number 2. About 50 people stood up and got in line. As the line progressed, 6 people ended up having to be pulled out of line because they had a number 3 on their ticket. C'mon people!!! Really?! So when I got on board, there was a lady in my seat and her two whiny kids right next to her. Her husband sat in a seat behind them. He asked if I would change my seat with him, so I agreed. Apparently they had bought their tickets so that both children under the age of 5 would be sitting alone with one parent behind them and one parent 6 rows ahead of them. I realize that sometimes this is unavoidable, but they could've talked to a flight attendant prior to boarding to ensure the kids had supervision.
Sitting behind the kids listening to them scream at various times throughout the flight made me wish they imposed fines on families that "disturbed the peace". If they disciplined the darn things early enough in life, they wouldn't be jumping around screaming in an airplane seat 30,ooo feet above the ground. To make it worse, the mother sitting right next to them was apparently incapable of buckling their seat belt because the poor flight attendant had to crawl over the mother and the other child to buckle the seat belt of the one sitting by the window. Are you kidding me? Manage your child!!
So then while I was standing in line at one of the airport shops to buy a bottle of water (for $2.99) so I could take my vicodin, a man in a stroller got behind me and edged way too close. I moved forward as much as I could trying not to invade the space of the person in front of me. I certainly didn't want to get hit by this guy in my current condition. As soon as I moved forward, so did he, bumping right into me. Are we really that retarded? Could he not tell that he was way too close to begin with and that I was moving to avoid getting hit? Do I currently look like a person who yearns to be run over by a stroller? Did I not look pathetic enough?
My Uncle commented on this while we were walking down the street in San Francisco a week or so ago. Most people walking toward me could see exactly how sad and jacked up I looked and would move so that they didn't bump into me. But there were a few people who were absolutely oblivious and charged right at me. Had I not had to good sense to get out of the way, my surgeon would probably be re-doing the wiring in sternum as we speak. I'm not looking for a pity party here, but I don't think it's too much to ask for people not to be running over or bumping into people who are obviously a little broken and dealing with some difficult circumstances. Do we kick the crutches out from underneath the guy with the broken leg? No, we don't. So why is it that some people are drawn to crashing into me while I'm wearing a sling and have a huge exposed scar across my chest?
So after surviving the line in the store, I sat back down and tried to down two vicodin. They're stuck in the bottom of my throat and won't go down completely. I've drank most of this bottle of water and they aren't budging. They're just sitting there... probably not working all that well from there. A flight attendant just asked me if I'd be willing to take a later flight since our flight has a weight restriction issue at the moment. Thanks lady. Even with the few pounds I've gained since getting injured, I don't think me getting off the plane will save us all from going down. I had to decline... and in doing so, declined a free round trip ticket to where ever. Normally I'd jump at it, but I've really got to get out of this airport...
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
2 Weeks Behind Me
Well I've survived the first two weeks post-op. In one way, the first one was easy albeit extremely painful. I was in so much pain and so drugged up on painkillers that time just came and went while I layed in my hospital bed. Just doing 5 laps around my hospital ward was impressive enough to the nurses that I felt accomplished and deserved a nap, along with one of the many pieces of chocolate I had gotten as gifts.
I've been out of the hospital for a week, and the better I feel, the more I feel I should be up doing something. The problem is, I'm not sure what. Walking is rather boring to me, but I manage to do it every day. This morning I walked 40 minutes on a hilly route. I came home, dyed my hair, had a snack and showered.
I started another book, but it isn't quite drawing me in like the last one I started and finished in two days. I registered for online classes at the local community college, but those don't start until mid to late August. I just did an internet search on "things to do while recovering from surgery". None of them are very productive, they just suggest ways to bide my time. That's not necessarily the problem. There's plenty of books for me to read or tv to watch, but I get no sense of accomplishment from either of them. I know I'm perfectly capable of laying around watching tv and eating everything in sight, but I just don't see how any of that should make me very proud. No, I really don't feel like taking up knitting. My Rosetta Stone cd is in Redding, so maybe once I get that, I'll be back to attempting to learn French. I feel guilty and lazy for sitting on the couch all day and I believe I've been asleep more hours than I've been awake.
I'm trying desperately to avoid internet sites that may encourage me to spend money or aquire anymore "stuff". You have no idea how easy it is to go broke on amazon.com. Since I have no place of my own to live right now, there's no reason for me to buy anything.
Maybe I'll go search for a free internet site that teaches French....
I've been out of the hospital for a week, and the better I feel, the more I feel I should be up doing something. The problem is, I'm not sure what. Walking is rather boring to me, but I manage to do it every day. This morning I walked 40 minutes on a hilly route. I came home, dyed my hair, had a snack and showered.
I started another book, but it isn't quite drawing me in like the last one I started and finished in two days. I registered for online classes at the local community college, but those don't start until mid to late August. I just did an internet search on "things to do while recovering from surgery". None of them are very productive, they just suggest ways to bide my time. That's not necessarily the problem. There's plenty of books for me to read or tv to watch, but I get no sense of accomplishment from either of them. I know I'm perfectly capable of laying around watching tv and eating everything in sight, but I just don't see how any of that should make me very proud. No, I really don't feel like taking up knitting. My Rosetta Stone cd is in Redding, so maybe once I get that, I'll be back to attempting to learn French. I feel guilty and lazy for sitting on the couch all day and I believe I've been asleep more hours than I've been awake.
I'm trying desperately to avoid internet sites that may encourage me to spend money or aquire anymore "stuff". You have no idea how easy it is to go broke on amazon.com. Since I have no place of my own to live right now, there's no reason for me to buy anything.
Maybe I'll go search for a free internet site that teaches French....
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Im Home!
Well, as home as home can get anyway. I'm staying with Candace and her family in San Diego. They've been waiting on me hand and foot. Most of my time is spent either on Candace's bed or the living room couch. There's a home cooked meal every night, and I even got eggs and bacon for breakfast the other day.
I've made a couple ventures out, being as I'm supposed to be walking about anyway. Yesterday Candace and I ran some errands and hit a few stores. Thankfully she faded around the time I was about to start murdering people. I got home and ran to the safety of the couch and crashed.
Today we went to Boomers for Ian's birthday. I faired better than I expected and even played a little Skeeball. Candace again started crashing just after I did, so we headed back home and I took another nap on the couch. I woke up just in time for dinner and have been struggling to stay awake since. Not a good idea to let myself sleep all Willy Nilly at 6pm.
I'd write more, but the screen keeps blurring in front of me, and I'm only typing with one hand. Takes much longer than usual.
I've made a couple ventures out, being as I'm supposed to be walking about anyway. Yesterday Candace and I ran some errands and hit a few stores. Thankfully she faded around the time I was about to start murdering people. I got home and ran to the safety of the couch and crashed.
Today we went to Boomers for Ian's birthday. I faired better than I expected and even played a little Skeeball. Candace again started crashing just after I did, so we headed back home and I took another nap on the couch. I woke up just in time for dinner and have been struggling to stay awake since. Not a good idea to let myself sleep all Willy Nilly at 6pm.
I'd write more, but the screen keeps blurring in front of me, and I'm only typing with one hand. Takes much longer than usual.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Still in the Hospital
Well I'm here on the tenth floor of UCSF Medical Center. I've got my laptop with me, so I figured I'd update everyone. I have my left arm in a sling, and have been on narcotics for days now, so excuse any typing errors.
First let me tell you about how the surgery went. It ended up being much more extensive than planned and as a result I was in surgery for about 9 hours. When I woke up, I was lying flat on my back in an extreme amount of pain. I've never been in so much pain in my entire life. I was telling the doctors I couldn't breathe and they kept telling me to take deep breaths. I would say back to them that I coudn't because it hurt too bad. I told them I needed to sit up so I could breath. They propped me up a little but I told them no, I needed to sit all the way up. I held onto the side of the gurney and tried to breathe for awhile. At some point they were giving me ice chips which felt like heaven to my mouth! Then I started to retch and one of the doctors said it was because of the ice chips. I said it was because of the narcotics they were giving me, not the ice chips. They tried to give me more pain medications but I told them no because it was making me sick. We argued about this for awhile, I guess I lost. Melissa finally came in to see me (I kept telling the docs I wasn't ready to see anyone because I was in so much pain and couldn't breathe). I remember seeing my chest tube and Melissa's face as they lifted it to see how much fluid was in there. I thought it was because of the fluids. Apprently she was angry with them for witholding pain meds. I guess she wasn't there for our heated arguement. The backs of my heels hurt really bad, and I kept trying to pull the sheet under them for any amount of padding.
They removed the rib and were unable to fix the vein that was in there, it was so badly scarred. So they opened up a notch in my sternum and pulled my collar bone up so they could put a new vein in there. They took a piece of vein out of my groin area and grafted it into my shoulder. They also took a small part of my left wrist and attached an artery directly to the vein going up into my arm. That way as the artery pulses, it pushes blood through that vein and back up ino the heart. Ive got stitches and nmbing there. They hooked my arm up to a compression sleeve to make sure good blood flow keeps going through the new vein graft. The compression sleeve is interesing because it was actually a small leg compression sleeve that they rigged up to work on my arm. But a piece of it has to be attached to the sleeve on my arm or it wont work. So there's his weird floppy inflating thing hanging off the back of my arm. It's like this thing's evil twin: if they get separated or I lay on the extra piece, it shuts off and alarms start going off. All the nurses and PCA's (patient care assistants) ask me what it is, and where it's supposed to be attached to. It just hangs off me and inflates every ten seconds or so. There's a third part of this thing that hangs off the base of my bed and inflates too. All by itself, but it has to because it a 3 part contraption. But I'm not sure why it can be further away without setting off alarms.
So the days have been coming and going, and so has my pain. I've been walking laps in the hallways and using a breathing trainer to get me to take deeper breaths. I'll be in a sling for six weeks and off work for 3 months. Percocet (a narcotic) was extremely unpleasant for me, and so I've been switched to vicodin. I'm on oral pain meds now after a few days on IV pain meds and a narcotic pump that I push when I need to. I still have the pump hooked up but I haven't used it nearly as much. I should be getting my chest tube out tomorrow and will likely be released from the hospital on Tuesday.
The nurses have been really great, but I've had a certain PCA during that day that is absolutely oblivvious to the patient and his or her needs. I needed to get up and use the commode by my med. I told her I needed her to be sure my chest tube clears the bed. I guess to her that meant I wasn't hooked up to anything else, and once that was clear I was good to go. She didn't realize I was still busy managing two IV's, and oxygen tube, and a portable heart monitor. She told me to sit, I was fine. I told her to hang on, as I was fumling with my oxygen. She said "Sit! Sit!" as I desperately attempted to clear myself from the tangled mess. I sat and just leaned forward. Afterwards she put me on a chair so she could change my bed and gown. First of all, she took fartoo long and didn't put any pillows on my chair to keep me comfortable. Then when she was making the bed, she didn't check to be sure my oygen was free of the arm before she collapsed it... rather quickly might I add. It wasn't free. It was wrapped around it and the other end was wrapped around my head. I nearly took a nose dive as it ripped me forward and out of my chair.
After getting me back in bed, she confirmed with me that I was NPO (nothing by mouth). The hell I was. I hadn't been NPO for 3 days, what the hell? Who was this woman and why was she taking care of me? She had no clue what my needs were! So she continued to ask about what I had eaten... had I eaten 75% of my lunch, or more like 50%? How much of my coffee had I drank, how much water? How the hell should I know, look at my tray! She did it again that night after dinner and it completely baffled me and she held up my milk carton and asked how much of it I had drank? 75%? 50%? I racked my brain to try to remember if I had drank it all or not, so I asked her if it was empty or not. She said it wasn't and it still had a little in it. Unable to reach the carton to measure for myself, I just said 80%. I don't know lady, you're the one holding it in your hands. I'm lacking my usualy psychic ability being in the hospital.
Not long after, I was taken down to x-ray. After I was done, maybe 2 minutes later I was set back into the hallway to await my transporter. I waited, and waited, and waited. I could hear people laughing and joke in the room behind me. I considered escape. I knew my room was on the 10th floor and I was currently on the third. It would only be a matter of finding the elevators and then my room once I got up to my floor. I thought about my ability to get up and carry my chest tube to the elevators. I sat up to look around and the x-ray technician came out and made me lay down again. She said my transporter knew I was done and would bring me back to my room shortly. After about 10 more minutes, my transporter came out and brought me back to my room.
By this time of the day I was not in a good mood and didn't fair too well when the doctors chided me for not walking more or using my spirometer more that day. Coupled with way too much percocet, I was not in a brillant mood.
Things have gotten better and I'm feeling better and walking more. I currently have unassisted access to my comode (bed side toilet). I'm on vicodin which is working with me much better than the percocet. However, that PCA says she's looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. This after dumping my only stool sample that I'm able to produce, and blaming me and my nurse for it. That thing took a very painful half hour to produce and resembled a rock solid alien child. It weighed in at about 10 lbs, was roughly 6 inches long and 3 inches in diameter. She aggressively flushed about 6 times to get it to go down. It was amusing to say the least. But I may not have another bowel movement for another 2 weeks, so they probably won't be getting a sample. Oh well.
I gotta pee and get ready for bed. I'm starting to fade a bit. See you guys!
First let me tell you about how the surgery went. It ended up being much more extensive than planned and as a result I was in surgery for about 9 hours. When I woke up, I was lying flat on my back in an extreme amount of pain. I've never been in so much pain in my entire life. I was telling the doctors I couldn't breathe and they kept telling me to take deep breaths. I would say back to them that I coudn't because it hurt too bad. I told them I needed to sit up so I could breath. They propped me up a little but I told them no, I needed to sit all the way up. I held onto the side of the gurney and tried to breathe for awhile. At some point they were giving me ice chips which felt like heaven to my mouth! Then I started to retch and one of the doctors said it was because of the ice chips. I said it was because of the narcotics they were giving me, not the ice chips. They tried to give me more pain medications but I told them no because it was making me sick. We argued about this for awhile, I guess I lost. Melissa finally came in to see me (I kept telling the docs I wasn't ready to see anyone because I was in so much pain and couldn't breathe). I remember seeing my chest tube and Melissa's face as they lifted it to see how much fluid was in there. I thought it was because of the fluids. Apprently she was angry with them for witholding pain meds. I guess she wasn't there for our heated arguement. The backs of my heels hurt really bad, and I kept trying to pull the sheet under them for any amount of padding.
They removed the rib and were unable to fix the vein that was in there, it was so badly scarred. So they opened up a notch in my sternum and pulled my collar bone up so they could put a new vein in there. They took a piece of vein out of my groin area and grafted it into my shoulder. They also took a small part of my left wrist and attached an artery directly to the vein going up into my arm. That way as the artery pulses, it pushes blood through that vein and back up ino the heart. Ive got stitches and nmbing there. They hooked my arm up to a compression sleeve to make sure good blood flow keeps going through the new vein graft. The compression sleeve is interesing because it was actually a small leg compression sleeve that they rigged up to work on my arm. But a piece of it has to be attached to the sleeve on my arm or it wont work. So there's his weird floppy inflating thing hanging off the back of my arm. It's like this thing's evil twin: if they get separated or I lay on the extra piece, it shuts off and alarms start going off. All the nurses and PCA's (patient care assistants) ask me what it is, and where it's supposed to be attached to. It just hangs off me and inflates every ten seconds or so. There's a third part of this thing that hangs off the base of my bed and inflates too. All by itself, but it has to because it a 3 part contraption. But I'm not sure why it can be further away without setting off alarms.
So the days have been coming and going, and so has my pain. I've been walking laps in the hallways and using a breathing trainer to get me to take deeper breaths. I'll be in a sling for six weeks and off work for 3 months. Percocet (a narcotic) was extremely unpleasant for me, and so I've been switched to vicodin. I'm on oral pain meds now after a few days on IV pain meds and a narcotic pump that I push when I need to. I still have the pump hooked up but I haven't used it nearly as much. I should be getting my chest tube out tomorrow and will likely be released from the hospital on Tuesday.
The nurses have been really great, but I've had a certain PCA during that day that is absolutely oblivvious to the patient and his or her needs. I needed to get up and use the commode by my med. I told her I needed her to be sure my chest tube clears the bed. I guess to her that meant I wasn't hooked up to anything else, and once that was clear I was good to go. She didn't realize I was still busy managing two IV's, and oxygen tube, and a portable heart monitor. She told me to sit, I was fine. I told her to hang on, as I was fumling with my oxygen. She said "Sit! Sit!" as I desperately attempted to clear myself from the tangled mess. I sat and just leaned forward. Afterwards she put me on a chair so she could change my bed and gown. First of all, she took fartoo long and didn't put any pillows on my chair to keep me comfortable. Then when she was making the bed, she didn't check to be sure my oygen was free of the arm before she collapsed it... rather quickly might I add. It wasn't free. It was wrapped around it and the other end was wrapped around my head. I nearly took a nose dive as it ripped me forward and out of my chair.
After getting me back in bed, she confirmed with me that I was NPO (nothing by mouth). The hell I was. I hadn't been NPO for 3 days, what the hell? Who was this woman and why was she taking care of me? She had no clue what my needs were! So she continued to ask about what I had eaten... had I eaten 75% of my lunch, or more like 50%? How much of my coffee had I drank, how much water? How the hell should I know, look at my tray! She did it again that night after dinner and it completely baffled me and she held up my milk carton and asked how much of it I had drank? 75%? 50%? I racked my brain to try to remember if I had drank it all or not, so I asked her if it was empty or not. She said it wasn't and it still had a little in it. Unable to reach the carton to measure for myself, I just said 80%. I don't know lady, you're the one holding it in your hands. I'm lacking my usualy psychic ability being in the hospital.
Not long after, I was taken down to x-ray. After I was done, maybe 2 minutes later I was set back into the hallway to await my transporter. I waited, and waited, and waited. I could hear people laughing and joke in the room behind me. I considered escape. I knew my room was on the 10th floor and I was currently on the third. It would only be a matter of finding the elevators and then my room once I got up to my floor. I thought about my ability to get up and carry my chest tube to the elevators. I sat up to look around and the x-ray technician came out and made me lay down again. She said my transporter knew I was done and would bring me back to my room shortly. After about 10 more minutes, my transporter came out and brought me back to my room.
By this time of the day I was not in a good mood and didn't fair too well when the doctors chided me for not walking more or using my spirometer more that day. Coupled with way too much percocet, I was not in a brillant mood.
Things have gotten better and I'm feeling better and walking more. I currently have unassisted access to my comode (bed side toilet). I'm on vicodin which is working with me much better than the percocet. However, that PCA says she's looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. This after dumping my only stool sample that I'm able to produce, and blaming me and my nurse for it. That thing took a very painful half hour to produce and resembled a rock solid alien child. It weighed in at about 10 lbs, was roughly 6 inches long and 3 inches in diameter. She aggressively flushed about 6 times to get it to go down. It was amusing to say the least. But I may not have another bowel movement for another 2 weeks, so they probably won't be getting a sample. Oh well.
I gotta pee and get ready for bed. I'm starting to fade a bit. See you guys!
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