for a sketch for one of brni’s stories, “The Collector.” I wouldn’t have posted this, as it’s so preliminary, but brni insisted.
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so, h’ok…this belongs to ossobucco and she made me post it here because I like walking on my own legs.
*evilgrin*here’s the meme…
Post a comment, and I will:
A) tell you why I friended you,
B) associate you with something – fandom, a song, a color, a photo, etc.,
C) tell you something I like about you,
D) tell you a memory I have of you,
E) ask something I’ve always wanted to know about you,
F) tell you my favorite user pic of yours.
G) In return, you must post this in your LJ.
(If you don’t, gremlins will find you and eat your legs) -
glimpses of dad that occurred in the ER and later in the hospital. more like a series of visual shocks that assaulted me. i’m still trying to sort it all out, but these are the first ones i was able to purge from my brain wednesday night.
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an hour or so before they transferred him to the nursing home. he was dozing.
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The hospital discharged Dad today. They told me transport would pick him up at 2:30 to take him to the nursing home. Early this morning I went and bought him some underwear, socks, sweatpants, shirts, shorts and toiletries. I arrived at the hospital at 2 to ease the transition. And I waited. And waited and waited. Transport finally arrived a bit past 5pm. It was the last straw for me. I was so totally and thoroughly done in I simply couldn’t follow them out to the home during Friday rush hour traffic.
So I went home. Brni got pizza and I made a salad and then Brni drove us out there to give Dad his clothes and check in on him. He was ok. Tired and quiet. We left after 15-20 minutes since he was struggling not to nod off.
And now I’m home….collapsed in my chair with plans to take the day off tomorrow.
no dad
no dad’s apartment
no nothing -
Dad has MRSA. And the hospital staff didn’t tell me. What they did was put up a sign on his door that said something like, “Visitors, please read…” with a whole lot of bulleted points, none of which said “caution” or “infection” or “MRSA.” The sign looked like all the other signs they have hanging all over that everyone ignores because well, if you read all their little laminated signs, you’d never get to see your sick relative. *sigh*
So there I am, fussing with him, touching him, straightening his bedding, helping him with food, helping him in and out of bed, AND NOBODY TELLS ME ANYTHING. That is until his tech walks by and sees me sitting on the edge of his bed, and she freaks, “You’re supposed to be gowned and gloved! He’s on restricted contact because he has MRSA.” I say, “What?” and do a little freak of my own. I asked her why his nurse didn’t tell me when I went up to her and asked how he was doing? She didn’t know, but just points to the pretty laminated sign that apparently the staff thinks everybody reads. I point out that it looks just like the other signs next to it about patients rights and check out procedures. She looks baffled and shows me where the gowns are and the antibacterial hand wash is, etc.
I am so pissed. As soon as I got home, I went to the basement, stripped and threw my clothes in the wash on HOT water, showered, and then took a big dose of echinacea and poke tinctures. I’ll be taking prophylactic doses plus vit C until this ordeal is over. I’ll also be carrying alcohol based hand sanitizer and latex gloves whenever I go see him.
And ya know, I’d been having this visceral reaction of revulsion every time I got near him. I had to force myself to get close, to let him touch my hand, to kiss his forehead every time he asked me to….and the whole time I berated myself for being a bad daughter for feeling repulsed by him.
When will I learn to trust my gut?
in other news…
We have a place for him. It’s not very close by, it’s small and smells of urine but it’s the only facility that would accept him because he smokes. He was rejected by all the nursing/rehab places within an hour drive in two counties. I guess I should consider this a small blessing.
Croneswood Art 