Friday, February 13, 2009

I'm allergic to clothes.

Or my house. Or maybe just my room. It could even just be FCB's fault. When I am at the hospital or in my car or anywhere but home? Not itchy.

When I get home or overnight while I sleep? ITCHY!!!

I don't know what it is. I have been Googling for days. There are some scary-serious itchy causing things out there.

I am convinced I have all of them and I am dying.

Meanwhile. While not at home and not itching, I am spending lots of time at the hospital.

I am not the patient this time.

FCB's (that is Fat Cranky Bastard to any newbies) mother is in the hospital. She has been down for weeks. His sister didn't think to bother to call and tell us until the hospital lost her mother.

Let me say that one more time for those in the cheap seats in the back or anyone that just did a WTF double take. THE HOSPITAL LOST HER. FOR FIVE HOURS!

A bedridden woman, nay heart patient, that had had at least one stroke. They transferred her from the hospital on the southside of town to the hospital downtown. Because they want to do surgery on her. Her artificial heart valves are infected with a bacteria you get from your mouth (Think toothache, bleeding gums...I have to be very cautious of this stuff myself.) and they need to go in and replace these valves on a 75 year old stroke victim. I am sure there is a gaggle of cocky cardiologists and surgeons that think they can pull this off but they are out of their ever loving ego maniacal minds.

So we got this call that FCB's mom was missing in action and was last seen and heard from at 4pm. We got the call at 8pm. I called downtown to try to locate her. First call? No-help-Nancy decided I was crazy because I was trying to argue with her that FCBMom had not been discharged. Second call. More arguing with a slightly more polite Martha that "Mom" had not been discharged but had in fact be transferred that afternoon by ambulance. They can't find her in the system, therefore, she isn't there.

Third call. Pat. I love Pat. She was so pleasant and helpful I want to bear her children. She said she would do anything to help find my "mother" even if she had to wander the halls calling out her name. And she found her. At 9pm. She was in a "holding cell" in an area that is used mostly in the day. Lovely.

We made it up to the hospital and found her in the "holding cell" where they had stuck her. She couldn't finish most of her words or any of her sentences. She couldn't form a complete thought. Her left arm was shaking violently and her face was drooping severely on the left side. We yanked a nurse over. She said that "mom" was a new patient and they hadn't received any info on her yet. We told the nurse that it looked like she was having a stroke and would it be just hunky dory with them if we wheeled her down to the ER so they could get a look see? The woman (will all the love, sunshine, and puffy rainbows in her heart, I'm sure) said she would send over a doctor. 15 minutes, and a challenging round of charades later, a doctor showed up. He said that they were processing her as we spoke and that her 9?! doctors would get together to decide what to do with her the next day. He proudly (oh for cryin' out loud, already!) said he would be the guy to coordinate everything. We inquired as to whether he was aware she was either having a stroke or had had one quite recently and he said that he was aware of an old stroke but not any new ones (Just look at her, you SMUG FUCKTARD!) and that he would have to look into it. (Um...yeah. You just do that Doogie House-er.)

We were then told that since she was in a "holding area" we weren't going to be able to visit long, but that they should have her in a room by the next day sometime. WTF??? We left. We were pissed. We drove across town to confront FCBSis and find out what she knew. It ended up being a middle of the night discussion on the front porch about the division of assets. (Y'all mind your shoes since the kids seem to be throwing dirt on "mom's" grave already.)

Went back to the hospital the next day. All three of us "kids" and the Punk to boot. The woman in the bed was just plain old Grandma. She was talking fine and her face was OK and she wasn't deathly gray anymore. Yay! She was coherent and lucid and seemed to be feeling better. But as time slipped by she slipped away again. Three hours after getting there she was back into a post stroke comatose state. (Weird.) One doctor came in and discussed what they were planning. FCB and FCBSis were sitting there like lumps with confuzzled expressions. I talked to the doctor about what was going on and what we could expect. I also informed him that while she was awake and lucid she demanded that she didn't want any surgery and to just let her go. He said she did have another stroke (no kidding) and he blathered about surgery this and surgeon that. I stopped him short. Nuh-uh. Not going to happen. He seemed at a loss for anything else to talk about so he left. Meanwhile the lumps were discussing the best way to legally cover their asses. Get the will. Get the other paperwork. Make sure you have the will. Are we ready to leave yet? Make sure you get the will. Lets get out of here now that the doc is gone and our mother is practically in a coma. Don't forget about that will. (Um...I think you got a little dirt on your shoes there. Want a shovel so you can join in at this point?)

I went back today. She was only lucid about 50% of the time. She thought I was her son, daughter, FCBex-wife, church friend, nurse, and someone else that only she knows. There was one moment there in the end before I had to leave to come home that she grabbed my hand, called me by my first name, and asked me to make sure I took care of myself. (Dammit that made me cry.) I had to leave to come home and feed my child and get some rest.

I will be there tomorrow. FCBSis said she is too old and tired to keep schlepping back and forth to the hospital. FCB is coping the only way he knows how by signing up for more overtime at work. I will hold this woman's hand as she slowly dies. She is not related to me other than being my child's grandmother. But I just couldn't bear to see her die alone. So I may not be around so much until this is over.

At least when I am there I don't itch like when I am here at home. HIVES the size of really naughty hickeys I tell ya!! Imma go lotion up and head to bed for some rest now. Cuz I am double-dog-dead-assed-tired at this point.



You're a good, kind person...and you're doing the right thing. Be proud of yourself. :)

ChiTown Girl said...

Bless you for taking care of Punk's grandma like this. FCB and his sister should be ashamed of themselves! I hope while grandma's having a lucid moment, she changes her will to leave EVERYTHING to Punk! That'll show 'em ;-)

Feisty Irish Wench said...

Now ChiTown Girl, that's the smartest thing anyone has said yet!
If you're gonna croak, may as well be Persnickety at your side.

Busy Bee Suz said...

Wow. Hospitals are not safe. Unless you are itchy I suppose. I hope she is better....have you changed your laundry detergent? Has FCB put itching powder in your bed? hmmmm....

Maggie said...

wow, you always have so much going on ALL THE TIME! This is a tough situation, you are wonderful to be there for her. Sending happy, non itchy thoughts your way.