Memorable Quote to LIVE by:

"If you're going to be crazy, you have to get paid for it, or else you're going to be locked up." Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

Wednesday, May 26, 2021

Hospital Stuff

Greetings Me Droogs N Droogettes!
Seems I hit a couple of nerves on Healthcare.  Man, you have no idea the shit I've been through, so I'm right there with you.  Got some horror stories, as well as funny ones.  For the newbies 'round here, having survived Iraq, turns out I almost didn't survive so to speak.  I mean I did, but not for a lack of the country tryna kill me after the fact.
Back in 2011, I went "a bit around the bend" in Iraq mentally.  Now yeah... fully within my rights so to speak.  I'd been there at that particular point since July of 2007.  It was September of 2011 that -something- ticked off my mental health and made me crazier than normal.  Got really really paranoid.  To the point Ranger Jay called the head office and his quote: "The loggie has lost it... you need to get him home now before he starts stacking heads."

So, they got me home.
Funny how one's head and body are operating on two different levels.  There's the conscious, and the subconscious.  Now... what I didn't know was there was something wrong with me.  Now my brain seemed to know -something- was amiss... and was screaming to me "get home NOW!!!"  Like I had no clue... I just knew shit was wrong and I might have to start killin' motherfuckers soon... 'fight or flight' instincts all over the place... so, Ranger Jay got me the fuck out ASAP that day.

AFTER I got home (in disgrace as far as the company was concerned, bastards... pissed them off that they needed a last-minute emergency replacement... no thought given to my condition, after 4 years of faithful and loyal combat-service for them... pigfuckers.)  Well two days after getting home, I suffered -something- chest related... thought it was a heart attack.  Couldn't breath.  Like OMFGWTF this sucks pain.  Called an wahmbulance, and they said "Nope, not the heart, we're not sure, let's get you to the ER..."

So, I got there, and some Pakistani Doc got me... thankfully one of the good docs... dude found out I had just been in Iraq and was like "Throw him in for a chest CAT scan... I got a hunch."  Turns out: Necrotizing Pneumonia... fucking dunno how or where BUT...  

IF I had 'gutted out' 'whatever' was making me nuts in Iraq, I sure as fuck would have been a deader.  56% mortality rate... stateside.  That's in a Class One facility.  After the fact, the docs told me I had been 40 minutes from non-recoverability.  Bullet dodged Aye?

I was loaded into the Iso-ward... they had no idea what made me this way or how I got it... just that it was deadly, and I got treated by people in space suits for the first week.  No visitors no nothing.

Welcome Home Big Country.

Long of the short, I recovered.  Slowly.  a PIC line installed.  Daily-daily self administered IV powerful antibiotics 2x a day... weakness, weight gain (goodbye all that hardcore work I did) and the cherry on top?  While they were constantly X-raying me (Fukashima levels of Radiation) to follow the retreat/healing of my tattered lung tissue... well one of the big black 'spots' didn't resolve... and appeared to be growing...
Sort of like that...  Mine was lower bottom left airbag.
Turns out, the Big C.
An at the time extremely rare form of an encapsulated tumor.  Aggressive.  Started out golf ball sized, and by the time I was fully recovered from the lung rot, it was going to apple, on the way to baseball.  Me and the Doc (not the same one, but a Frog from Canuckistan) had a discussion where he was pushing the same ole-same ole... the treatments that KIA'd DrDad to DeadDad.

No fucking thanks asshole.  Getcher scalpel and prep to carve this here turkey dude.
See, I've done a shit-pot of research on cancer.  Lots of close people to me have cashed besides dad.  Add on that at the time, it was up close and personal.  My own theories ain't worth a shit, but, proof is in the pudding so to speak.  First thing I told Frog-Doc was "cut this shit out now."  He demurred, and we went back and forth aboot it.  Wanted me to do 'standard protocol'... i.e. tons of chemo$$ and radiation$$ to 'shrink the tooma'...  I was like, no, cut out the fucker, even if you have to take the whole fucking airbag and we'll talk poison$ later.  Back n forth... til I asked if he'd check my psyche record.  He said no, and I told him that if he didn't acquiesce, that two days from then, I'd have a 'gun cleaning accident' where I 'accidentally' shot myself with my pistol while cleaning it.  

He looked at me and was like "You're joking but of course."
Me:  "Check the record doc... you got 48 hours."
I got up and left.
Next day at 0830 I got a call with the surgery scheduled.  They did a lobectomy.  Whole lower half of my left airbag.  Guess he read the psyche file Aye?

Fuck it.  It's why God gives you two.
And now? that was 2011... 10 years later and I'm still good.
Thing is, what Docs and shit forget, my body my choice.
Amazing how when it's abortion that comes into play, but vaxxes and anything else, Follow the Science!!! unless it goes against the Church of Covidiocy.  Fucking Aye.  It also, I notice really irritates the Docs, especially the younger ones when I tell them point fucking blank:  "You know what, despite alllll your vaaaaaaast experience, I personally have been inhabiting this particular meatsack for the past oh, say about 51-52 years... I'm pretty sure I know how it runs, and what it takes to keep running..."

They don't like hearing that... Doctor/God Complexes I've noticed.  And the current crop of young croakers?  Nope, not having it.  I'm sticking with my current frumpy 50 something South Korean Doctor at the VA who's of like-mind with me.  She's great... Engrish not so much, but still, she is awesome and I dig dealing with her.  Hard enough to find a sawbones that's competent, nevermind one you can joke with.

So yeah.  Now, humorous story during that particular shitshow.  Day 5? 6?  Can't remember the -exact- date but I was feeling better, leastways as good as a dude flooded with some of the strongest antivirals and antibiotics there are out there.  Vankomycin being one name I remember.  I literally had two IV bags for a while.  In each arm.  They had switched me to just one arm-one bag that particular day, and I was now ambulatory to be able to use the shitter.  I also was fortunate to not be wearing the normal hospital gown, but my gym shorts and a Harley T.  Much more comfortable.  Anyways...

Got to be around 2am, oh dark motherfucking early.  I had, that night done a 'deal-deal' with the nurses.  Being in the iso-ward, and being under intense almost-dead care, I kept getting woke up like every two hours for bloodwork and like all the checks and stuff... I managed to con the nurse into scheduling the checks at the beginning of the first two hours, and then at the end of the other two hours, giving me about 4 hours uninterrupted sack time.  I was really looking forward to it.

Cut to that 2am timeframe.  I get woke up by someone literally yelling and screaming to beat the band.  Like mad crazy expletives, hollering, general stuff of someone completely losing their collective shit.

Queue now-outraged Big Country.  I get up, highly and potentially lethally annoyed.  I grab my two lil stands, one that has all the monitoring equipment, BP, pulse, big 1 foot by 1 foot cube with a small screen on it.  Looked a lot like this:
So, I roll it, and my IV on another lil stand, just like it out to the door.  

Now, I'm in the isolation overpressure ward.  Each room is theoretically sealed, and overpressured.  Leastways it was when I first went in, (I think... good drugs and being at death's door sorta leaves me a bit fuzzy on the whole thing)... anyways, two doors, an 'airlock' arrangement.  I go through the first, and listened at the next.  I can hear the nurse frantically calling for help, and calling for -anyone-  I also hear one of the neighbors apparently.  Ranting/Raving... "I've got a knife!!!!"  That sort of stuff.  He's lost his shit or something... the PA starts calling a Code Gray, which I guess is code for 'dangerous nutjob?'  Not sure... either way I roll out because that's the stuff I deal with, and I was pissed at whomever fucked up my planned 4 hours of quality rack time.

I get out to find a Barney Fife/Paul Blart dude struggling with some hazmat gear, and old(er) dude with what appeared to be a butter knife in his hand, wearing the hospital assless gown, and raging and waving the blade... the two nurses look at me, and they looked terrified.  

Me?

I started grinning
The inner voice went: "Oh joy!  MAAAAAAAY-HEMMMMMMM!"
I looked over at dude, looked at Barny Fife and the nurses.  Everything sorta kinda -stopped-  I lifted up the monitor stand, and kicked the base off of it.  Made for a good war club.  I snarled "Get back in the fucking room!"  

Dude deee-parted with haste.
I must have had glowing eyes or something.  I was ready to use that monitor like a fucking club man...I was so pissed off at the time... like probably up to that point the angriest I'd ever been that I could remember.  That being said, the best thing is that after that lil interaction?  Man, the nurses were so happy/grateful... Extra dessert?  No prob.  Fluff the pillows?  Absolutely.  Got all the perks that I could out of it, and they made sure after that I got the 4 hours nightly by arranging the meds/bed checks/other stuff so's I could sleep.

Give a little, get a little.  Too bad I was still married at the time.  I wouldn't say there were offers, but the body language and whatnot pretty much showed I could have gotten a bit mor comfortable if I'd been leaning in that direction if'n you dig what I'm saying.

So, sorry for the late poasting.  South Tampa had a huge internet outage for quite a spell.  Two and a half hours of nada but the fon.  At least I still got paid, and got to get some minor biddness out of the way.  Speaking of which, I finished dude's rifle.  
Testing it this weekend, hopefully shipping it shortly after.
Came out really nice
So, more to follow, 
More Later I Remain The Intrepid Reporter
Big Country

11 comments:

  1. I can see where a BIG, ANGRY dude, like you, would be an immediate attitude adjustment. Problem solved, everybody left intact.

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  2. "Oh joy....MAAAAAAAY-HEMMMMMM" on a T-shirt. I would buy.

    Cool story, but you're not the first. You didn't say you were. I have some similar stories that I am actually proud of. Glad you recovered to a level above room temp. Me ma has one lung and 70% of the other. (not cancer) She's going camping at 6,500 with my brother to do some gold mining. Oh, she's 84 yrs. Knowing her, she'll do fine. But I advised supplemental O2 anyway.

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  3. Keep on trucking brother. My friend in the cost guard said his mother-in-law had a pain on her back. Went to the doctor and a big cancer spot coming out of her lung. Lost the lung and 4 ribs. Big time smoker. Fucking cancer sucks

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  4. Mesotheloma took my left lung 4 years ago. Hang in there.

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  5. Yeah, my boyfriend is of a similar type. He’s big and craves carnage. But just the other day he sent me a video of him positively cooing at a pet Fallow Deer doe at the Texas ranch where he was teaching a shooting class. Love the steely-eyed deathbringer outside and marshmallow inside.

    I appreciate your helping me find humor as shitshow approachith. Stay strong

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  6. I worked at the VA as an on call nurse and dealt with some serious 'Nam dudes that were not to be fucked with at all. And I was in Bosnia creating my own maaaay-hemmm, but not to the level of these righteous mo fos.

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  7. OK, drawing blood in the ER. Little curtained cubicles. As I'm finishing up I hear an argument getting hot. I scoot out and notice all the MD's at their booth like nothing's going on. Next booth over, all the RN's are hiding behind. As I come all the way around I see our sleepy friendly security guard in a headlock - about to get smacked. I managed to grab the guys wrist as he wound up for his swing. We frog march the guy out and he is still belligerent enough that I am not leaving sleepy alone.

    Now the two best parts! So the cops pull up. Big city, tired and bored. One cop gets out to talk, obviously looking for a way not to arrest the guy. But the jerk just can't shut up. He's yelling and swearing...finally the older cop in the car sticks his head out the window and says "Hey, what's your name." Jerk stops ranting long enough to answer, then back to tyelling. Cop in the car does some typing, then gets out of the car, walks over and cuffs the guy. Mentions outstanding warrants to his partner.
    NOW, unnoticed by us in all this, a skanky chick jumps up off the bench and starts haranguing the first cop for arresting her boyfriend. Goes on for a couple of minutes. All of a sudden, older cop sticks his head out the window and yells "Hey, what's your name?"
    Yes indeed, she paused her screeching to give her name and went right back to it. Some typing and older cop gets out, walks over to his partner and lifts his handcuffs off his belt and arrests the chick. Yep - outstanding warrants.

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  8. Had an EMT buddy who'd worked at Napa State for a dozen years. Whenever ER had a combative nutjob, they'd call for him, and his bedside manner was awesome to watch. He was full blood Cherokee and built like a refrigerator. He'd step up to the gurney, lean right over top of nutjob and say "It's gonna be all right. Yer a little bit nuts right now but you're gonna be OK". Nutjob just looks up and nearly stops breathing. Calm and quiet as a mouse.
    I was once called to draw labs on an old junky (looked ninety but was probably 35) pissing and moaning about "I ain't got no veins left, nobody can get blood out of me". Doc leans over him and says "Well, there's always the dorsal vein of the penis". Guy holds out his arm to me and says "Go ahead".
    I do loves medical war stories.

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  9. Had to get Vanko on PIC lines three times in an 18 month period for some serious infections. Fun stuff.

    Was fortunate enough to have an attending physician with a good dark sense of humor on one of the times. IV alarm starts going off because of air in the line. He comes in, checks it, and says "Oh, it's just about 1 inch. Needs to be about 6 inches before it kills you." A little levity goes a long way.

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  10. We operate a small organic teaching farm near the outskirts of Eugene Oregon.
    The acreage is surrounded by goofballs in collapsing tilting remnants of tents and hovels of warehouse-pallets draped in blue tarps.

    On top of that, we are in bear/cougar country.

    I get to fondle-n-grope my inner Berzerker a few times a week.
    Highly recommended... and it is good practice for after the 'START!' bell coming up.

    A couple-three times a week, I am in 'shoot/shovel' mode.
    Most goofballs catch-on real quick.
    The word gets around... I live for this.
    .
    .
    Nine years ago, a building collapsed on me.
    Left lung is there, but scarring means I am out of juice at half-time.

    I got the moon-suits.
    I got the intravenous anti-everythings.
    I got intravenous 'good meds'.
    I got the let us interrupt any potential of sleep.
    Hospital food... although my chums say they offered to bring home-cooking, but I have zero-zero-zero memory of that.
    Good meds.

    My nurses treated me like royalty.
    My lung doctors, a Hindoo and a Japanese, were the kind of folks I would welcome as in-laws.

    Almost two weeks without goofballs.
    Almost worth it.

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  11. I don't miss the burn pits, and yes, we had them in the desert over there before they were a thing in the OE/OI theater. I'm on their pit 'registry', just like the worthless 'persian gulf' one. Pretty much it's all worthless, and it doesn't even fund the petrol to get there. "Turn your head a cough...great, your arm is fine". "What about my lungs, doc?...Oh, your ears? They're great... Yeah...thanks".
    I worked there for 11yrs, I'll never go back.

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