I am an idiot.
OK, my last post was full of self-loathing and exhaustion. Enough of that.
Alli wound up taking me to Langley Hospital on Tuesday night, because the leg wound would simply not stop hurting, and it was getting worse. A nice dose of ibuprofen helped for the last half of my shift, but six hours later I was twitching and whimpering again, and glad to be around medical professionals
I have learned that the condition of my leg was much MUCH worse than I thought it was, and the doctors told Alli (because at this point I was on Demerol) that they were amazed it hadn't gone necrotic. So, yes, VERY bad.
Have I ever mentioned that I don't like needles? Seriously don't like them, me. I needed Ativan to calm down after the doctor mentioned IV antibiotic therapy and having a port left in my arm/hand/wrist. And when they were looking for sites to try, I kept re-freaking out every time they palpated the side of my wrist. I'm not sure why, but my horror at having a port at all is magnified when I think of having one on/near a joint.
I know why the port bothers me (it's a foreign thing stuck inside my body, inside a vein, and it puts stuff into me and even though it's doctors giving me helpful things, I still can't trust it, and it's just THERE like some mutant appendage and it's WRONG, it's just VERY WRONG GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT and this is the circular path my brain takes at that point), just not why it's worse re: a bendy part of my body.
Anyway, first bag of therapy fluids went into me at around 3:30 Wednesday morning, along with some Demerol and Gravol and I think Trazedone? I may be recalling that last one incorrectly, and Alli's off helping another friend with her own hospital-related business today, so I don't want to bug her to confirm.
I like Demerol. A warm, comforting fog descends over my brain and I feel sleepy and agreeable and not-scared. Also confused, but it doesn't matter.
They sent me home around 4, I think, because Alli tells me we were home around 5 or so, and I was apparently very funny while stoned off my ass. I remember the trip out to the car in the wheelchair, and getting into the front seat, and blips of the ride home, and seeing palmer_kun coming out to help me into the house, and trying to untie my shoes while sitting on the end of the bed and feeling like I might fall over but then not falling over, and then I woke up and palmer_kun gave me shit for not taking better care of myself and for not insisting on being given follow-up treatment after I couldn't go to the New West Home Care offices any more. Basically, they wished me well, and kindasorta mentioned I should get someone else to keep up with monitoring and treatment of the wound, but didn't give me any info, and I'm resistant to medical attention at the best of times, so... yeah. I dropped the ball. I should have looked into home care or something in Surrey.
I hate asking for help. I even hate asking for help when I clearly need it. I feel like my problem/illness/injury isn't that serious, and I shouldn't take up time a doctor could be using to help someone who actually needs help. I feel guilty telling my friends about being ill or hurt because I don't want to burden them with worry about me.
I do realise it's stupid to keep doing this and then wind up in Emergency at fuck o'clock in the morning, but hiding injuries is a hard habit to break. It's something you learn early, and it sticks with you. If you just wait long enough it'll heal and you'll be OK and nobody has to know. They can't act like you're wasting their time if you don't bother them. Bah.
Anyway, I'm now set up to do ongoing outpatient IV antibiotic therapy, and I have Ciprofloxacin to take twice daily at home, and I went in this morning for my first session. It takes about half an hour once they get the flow started, and though the very idea of it horrifies me more than you'd believe, if this is going to be long-term, I think I want something like a central line or a pic line, something that isn't obvious and right there on my hand where I have to think about it all the time.
Also, this is going to suck enormously if I need to do it really long term, because Langley Hospital has morning and evening sessions for IV therapy, but the morning one means I have to be in Langley by 9am, and then what do I do until 3pm, when work starts in Langley?
Maybe now is the time to agitate for a permanent shift change, maybe noon to 8pm? Except not, because we don't have any other senior operators who can be in the office until 11pm, and we sure as hell don't have any juniors ready to take on the responsibility. Maybe V? She'd get home late at night, but she's usually got very reliable child care, and it's a thirty minute trip home for her, versus a 90-minute one for me at the same time of night. I'm not going to feel much sympathy for her if she whines, that's for sure.
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Now playing: Bert & Ernie - Rubber Duckie
http://foxytunes.com/artist/bert+%26+ernie/track/rubber+duckie
Alli wound up taking me to Langley Hospital on Tuesday night, because the leg wound would simply not stop hurting, and it was getting worse. A nice dose of ibuprofen helped for the last half of my shift, but six hours later I was twitching and whimpering again, and glad to be around medical professionals
I have learned that the condition of my leg was much MUCH worse than I thought it was, and the doctors told Alli (because at this point I was on Demerol) that they were amazed it hadn't gone necrotic. So, yes, VERY bad.
Have I ever mentioned that I don't like needles? Seriously don't like them, me. I needed Ativan to calm down after the doctor mentioned IV antibiotic therapy and having a port left in my arm/hand/wrist. And when they were looking for sites to try, I kept re-freaking out every time they palpated the side of my wrist. I'm not sure why, but my horror at having a port at all is magnified when I think of having one on/near a joint.
I know why the port bothers me (it's a foreign thing stuck inside my body, inside a vein, and it puts stuff into me and even though it's doctors giving me helpful things, I still can't trust it, and it's just THERE like some mutant appendage and it's WRONG, it's just VERY WRONG GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT and this is the circular path my brain takes at that point), just not why it's worse re: a bendy part of my body.
Anyway, first bag of therapy fluids went into me at around 3:30 Wednesday morning, along with some Demerol and Gravol and I think Trazedone? I may be recalling that last one incorrectly, and Alli's off helping another friend with her own hospital-related business today, so I don't want to bug her to confirm.
I like Demerol. A warm, comforting fog descends over my brain and I feel sleepy and agreeable and not-scared. Also confused, but it doesn't matter.
They sent me home around 4, I think, because Alli tells me we were home around 5 or so, and I was apparently very funny while stoned off my ass. I remember the trip out to the car in the wheelchair, and getting into the front seat, and blips of the ride home, and seeing palmer_kun coming out to help me into the house, and trying to untie my shoes while sitting on the end of the bed and feeling like I might fall over but then not falling over, and then I woke up and palmer_kun gave me shit for not taking better care of myself and for not insisting on being given follow-up treatment after I couldn't go to the New West Home Care offices any more. Basically, they wished me well, and kindasorta mentioned I should get someone else to keep up with monitoring and treatment of the wound, but didn't give me any info, and I'm resistant to medical attention at the best of times, so... yeah. I dropped the ball. I should have looked into home care or something in Surrey.
I hate asking for help. I even hate asking for help when I clearly need it. I feel like my problem/illness/injury isn't that serious, and I shouldn't take up time a doctor could be using to help someone who actually needs help. I feel guilty telling my friends about being ill or hurt because I don't want to burden them with worry about me.
I do realise it's stupid to keep doing this and then wind up in Emergency at fuck o'clock in the morning, but hiding injuries is a hard habit to break. It's something you learn early, and it sticks with you. If you just wait long enough it'll heal and you'll be OK and nobody has to know. They can't act like you're wasting their time if you don't bother them. Bah.
Anyway, I'm now set up to do ongoing outpatient IV antibiotic therapy, and I have Ciprofloxacin to take twice daily at home, and I went in this morning for my first session. It takes about half an hour once they get the flow started, and though the very idea of it horrifies me more than you'd believe, if this is going to be long-term, I think I want something like a central line or a pic line, something that isn't obvious and right there on my hand where I have to think about it all the time.
Also, this is going to suck enormously if I need to do it really long term, because Langley Hospital has morning and evening sessions for IV therapy, but the morning one means I have to be in Langley by 9am, and then what do I do until 3pm, when work starts in Langley?
Maybe now is the time to agitate for a permanent shift change, maybe noon to 8pm? Except not, because we don't have any other senior operators who can be in the office until 11pm, and we sure as hell don't have any juniors ready to take on the responsibility. Maybe V? She'd get home late at night, but she's usually got very reliable child care, and it's a thirty minute trip home for her, versus a 90-minute one for me at the same time of night. I'm not going to feel much sympathy for her if she whines, that's for sure.
----------------
Now playing: Bert & Ernie - Rubber Duckie
http://foxytunes.com/artist/bert+%26+ernie/track/rubber+duckie