WHAT a Week! (Semi-OT)

[Guest guest]

Well, last Sunday evening, I'm sitting here typing away, and the phone

rings. It's my mom, gasping for breath, and telling me that she thinks

this is the end.

For those who don't know, my mom has congestive heart failure, and

requires a daily diuretic. Over the last 21 days, my father discovered,

she has only taken half her pills. Reason? Her knees were hurting and it

was too difficult to get up to go to the bathroom. Also, they were

traveling for the Hurricane Gustav evacuation, and she didn't want to

have to stop and pee the way she's supposed to. (I had asked my

lymphedema specialist about this issue, and she recommended a female

urinal, but mom didn't want to go get one, and didn't ask either me, my

sister (to whom they went), or my dad to do so.)

I told mom to get the <bleep> off the phone so Dad could call 911.

Which he did. I grabbed my belt pouch and car keys and a book, and drove

over to their house. 911 had gotten there first -- and their house is

only 3 blocks from mine. Guess I drove too slow!

Oxygen did not help. She was loaded on a gurney and taken to the ER in an

ambulance, with my Dad riding along. I locked up the house (not without a

minor mishap: one of the firemen who were first responders had left his

bag inside, and I'd locked the door -- then realized I did not have a key

to their front door, and had to call Harry who brought them over) and

headed for the hospital. I called our church's prayer chain and explained

the circumstances, and called the pastor at home, and explained the

circumstances, and by that time, I was at the hospital.

I went in, and Mom had already been given injections of the diuretic

she'd skipped, and was on oxygen, but she was still gasping, coughing,

white as a sheet, and cold. The nurse threw Dad and me out while she

inserted a catheter, and put Mom in a clean robe. That was when Dad

told me he'd discovered how much of her meds she'd skipped. I looked at

him, and said, " Dad, I swear that if she dies from this, I will find

a way to resurrect her so I can kill her myself! " It took him a

couple minutes to parse this -- his mind being on other issues -- then he

grinned wryly and admitted that he could agree with that.

I intended to stay until Mom was in a room, but Dad threw me out around

midnight-thirty, commenting that, " One of us has to be awake enough

to stay with her tomorrow. "

I told the emergency room people I was leaving as I did so, and that Dad

was staying with Mom. They looked concerned, and said that if Mom ended

up in a semi-private room, Dad couldn't stay with her over night. I gave

them my home phone and my cell phone, and said to call me, regardless of

the time, and I would come back if Dad couldn't stay with her because Mom

gets panicky if she's by herself, ie, without a family member with

her.

My blessings on them -- they managed a private room for her.

Mom came home on Wednesday -- I was pretty tired, and Dad was darn near

exhausted. She's much better now. There will be a home health nurse to

check on her twice a week and make sure she is taking her

medications. There will also be a home health assistant in three

times a week to make sure she gets a bath. The assistant can also prepare

light meals.

The Thursday before all this, I had my first post op examination with my

oncologist, and the various labs were done. Then I got to wait for the

results.

On Friday, I saw the pain management doctor who sent me on 9/11 for a

sleep test. Which sleep test was an NOT entertaining experience.

We'll skip over the fact that I was folded in an unnatural position all

night because of the wires and the extra-soft bed they had. We'll also

eliminate the fact that my hips were killing me because I couldn't get

into a decent position. I darn near froze to death because the air

conditioning was on so cold. Oh, and I had a major allergy attack from

whatever detergent it was that they'd washed the sheets in. I came home

from ostensibly sleeping all night, crawled back into my nightgown and

got six hours of REAL rest. If I have to have one of these again, I have

a whole list of things which I will request, including a smoke-free,

allergen-free room. File this under " I needed to do a whole lot more

research before I had the test, " except that there was this

Hurricane, name of Gustav, and his bigger brother, Ike, that got in my

way of doing research.

The results say I have sleep apnea.

Which means, once it's cleared with my insurance, I get to go BACK to the

lab and have a CPAP titration. CPAP is " constant positive air

pressure " and it's the gold standard for sleep apnea treatment. It

will involve sleeping, from here on out, with a rig of straps all over my

head, and a mask on my face, attached to a thing like a hosed hair dryer,

blowing air in my nose.

Needless to say, I'm checking into alternatives. A CPAP is relatively

benign as modern medical treatments go, but for someone who is

claustrophobic and can't tolerate anything on her head or face (it's

taken me six years to tolerate light reading glasses), this not an

entertaining prospect. Still -- if I must, I must, and I'll find a way to

deal with it. After all, 8 years ago, if you'd asked me, I'd've said

there was no way in Hades I was going to give up bread, pasta, rice, and

potatoes! Let alone chocolate!

The pain management doc thinks getting it might solve the pain in my hips

and knees. Huh? I understand that chronic pain can make it hard to get to

sleep, but that's not my issue. My issue is being awakened by the pain,

having to wake up enough to take something for it, and then waiting for

the meds to kick in so I can go back to sleep. As I told the doc,

interrupted sleep may cause chronic pain, but chronic pain can, fer darn

sure, cause interrupted sleep.

Oh, and for the Australians amongst us, check out this article

http://tinyurl.com/4ntluu

about how playing a didgeradoo (sp) may help sleep apnea.

The GOOD NEWS in all this is that when I got home from the appointment

with the pain doc (and in shock, trying to figure out how best to deal

with this latest health challenge), there was a small envelope with a

card in it from my oncologist. First set of lab tests to see that the

cancer has not come back are negative. Wahoo! Only four years and eight

months before I can be declared cancer free....

—

Marilyn

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA

Undiagnosed IBS since 1976, SCD since 2001

Darn Good SCD Cook

No Human Children

Shadow & Sunny Longhair Dachshund