(no subject)
So along about 4:30 in the afternoon, Gloria woke up from a nap saying she was so sick which is not a construction she usually uses. She was gesturing at her face and lower abdomen in ways that have meaning but they have too many meanings to be sure of right off the bat. Her skin was bright red and she was hot to the touch. I decided she had to go to urgent care. As we pulled into the parking lot there she threw up, violently and nastily.
At urgent care they couldn't rule out serious problems like heart attack which apparently frequently presents as nausea, so they sent her in an ambulance to Watsonville Community Hospital's emergency room. She was confused and panicked and combative and screamed bloody murder when they put in the IV, inserted the catheter, took the Xrays, and even when they wiped her butt. I really worked my ass off calming her and getting scraps of cooperation and, I'm sorry to say, holding her down.
They got her settled and I left for home at 11:30. I've been home for an hour and a half and I think I am finally ready to go to bed. I had dinner at midnight.
The diagnosis they came up with was urinary tract infection. I don't think so. Not that she doesn't have the urinary tract infection -- she always has one -- but this is different.
I'm going to sleep in some in the morning, go to her house, do the laundry, and go in to the hospital with clean clothes, in case they send her home tomorrow.
That hospital does not inspire confidence.
On another front, we've had somewhat more than half the normal rainfall this year and the water department is finally beginning to say the d-word -- drought -- even if just to say no, not quite. They're talking restrictions but not rationing. Restrictions is not much in Santa Cruz, where we already tend to save water more than most USians: no irrigation between 10 and 5, no washing the car with a hose (have to use a bucket and sponge). That kind of thing. We already do that. I say, if we're looking at a dry year, just start the damned rationing already.
At urgent care they couldn't rule out serious problems like heart attack which apparently frequently presents as nausea, so they sent her in an ambulance to Watsonville Community Hospital's emergency room. She was confused and panicked and combative and screamed bloody murder when they put in the IV, inserted the catheter, took the Xrays, and even when they wiped her butt. I really worked my ass off calming her and getting scraps of cooperation and, I'm sorry to say, holding her down.
They got her settled and I left for home at 11:30. I've been home for an hour and a half and I think I am finally ready to go to bed. I had dinner at midnight.
The diagnosis they came up with was urinary tract infection. I don't think so. Not that she doesn't have the urinary tract infection -- she always has one -- but this is different.
I'm going to sleep in some in the morning, go to her house, do the laundry, and go in to the hospital with clean clothes, in case they send her home tomorrow.
That hospital does not inspire confidence.
On another front, we've had somewhat more than half the normal rainfall this year and the water department is finally beginning to say the d-word -- drought -- even if just to say no, not quite. They're talking restrictions but not rationing. Restrictions is not much in Santa Cruz, where we already tend to save water more than most USians: no irrigation between 10 and 5, no washing the car with a hose (have to use a bucket and sponge). That kind of thing. We already do that. I say, if we're looking at a dry year, just start the damned rationing already.