It's All About Perspective

Yesterday I went to the DMV to renew my driver's license. As I waited outside for my daughter-in-law to pick me up (seeing as I can't drive for the duration), I was aware I was in the midst of people bumming cigarettes off each other. I overheard the conversation of two gentleman, the one explaining to the other he couldn't drive to the store to get more cigarettes because he was blind. He went into the history of getting diabetes as a kid, and not having a Dr. who knew how to handle it. They became so serious as they talked about the importance of taking care of yourself, really taking care of these things so you could have good outcomes, while they were SMOKING!!!!!! Wow! Now, if I can just figure out what it is I do to bring on my own issues?

Then my brother-in-law called me last night and was telling me about the project he's arranging with handicapped awareness with the sister cities he's involved with---Chicago and Paris. He was showing a video of handicapped dancers to a phenomenal guy who is a quadriplegic, who wistfully remarked, "Oh, those lucky dudes; they're paraplegics!" Everything's perspective, n'est-ce pas?

"In My Daughter's Eyes"

SO you really can't trust your own parents. Take my Mom. Please. 

Last week she got her KLUTZ degree when she fell off a ladder while changing a light bulb. She was instantly in excruciating pain.  She managed to crawl to her phone and call my brother, Adam, who diagnosed a sprain over the phone.  But Fumiko, her daughter-in-law, heard Mom crying and came over to take her to Quick Care where the Xrays supposedly showed no major break.  

They put a fiberglass splint on it and wrapped it for her, then "readjusted" the foot---taking it several times and ramming it back towards her head so it wouldn't hang down and the Achilles tendon wouldn't stay stretched out.  They explained the Ortho department would call in a week or so to schedule an appointment after the swelling subsided.  

So Mom went home and spent the night doing 8 loads of laundry (the casita had flooded about the time she fell---the houses in her development were in the process of having all the plumbing re-piped).  Things were a mess.  She was spinning around on an office chair throughout the night bleaching whites and folding mounds of clothes, almost enjoying it all, courtesy of all 10 of the allotted Loratabs she downed in 10 hours.  (This is a woman who won't take an aspirin?)

Following an intensive involuntary rehab (sporadic vomiting) in the morning, Adam & Fumiko & Kai & Maya babysat her Saturday afternoon, and we thought she was doing well on into Sunday, as she was positive she didn't need any more help. 

However, when Fumiko came over Monday morning, she hustled Mom back to the same Dr. when she saw huge purple/black puffy skin projecting from the gaps in the splint.  Turns out the technician who had put the fiberglass splint on evidently took an inordinate pride in being incompetent, and so never cushioned the bones before applying the splint directly.  He then tightly folded the sides in so that it eventually pinched the skin as the swelling continued, and he made sure to secure it at a bizarre angle.  Classic. 

The nurses there gasped when they unwrapped the leg and saw blood blisters the size of doorknobs on both sides of the foot, smaller ones on the heel itself.  The Dr. came in and all concurred this was anything but normal.  A new splint was fitted; this time the nurse took pains to see that it would support the foot at a 90 degree angle.  All is well, all is well.

Not.  By the time I saw Mom Wednesday night, the swelling had accelerated by leaps and bounds, exacerbating the pain which had become relentless.  She was still in denial, so I had to basically kidnap her Thursday morning and take her to the ER at UMC.  Evidently everyone else in 3 states had decided to hang out there that very day as well.  Little did I know when I left the house that morning at 9, that I wouldn't get back home till midnight.  Have you ever hung out an entire day and night in a County Hospital Emergency Department?  Who does that? 

I'll tell you who.  Let's see, there's the homeless guy who hasn't had a bath in 18 years and who gallantly held the door open to the restroom for us after he was through not washing his hands, I'm sure.  There are whole tribes of skunks who could not deliver on their best day what this guy effortlessly did in one fell swoop!  Finally, there was something that could totally take Mom's mind off the pain for the moment.  And lo and behold, every time he walked by us in the waiting room, the same effect!  Some distraction. 

We ended up BFF with a woman with a stethoscope draped around her neck--- in stilettos and a strapless top.  She was from Trinidad and Japan and New York and Romania and Sicily and and and.  She was a Resident in Surgery from Valley Hospital, where she didn't have insurance, so she was here to get meds because she had just had 3 seizures.  Two weeks ago she performed a heroic triple bypass on an 85 year old woman--- actually a long forgotten technique from the 60s--- which made her a hero.  Look for an article appearing in medical journals (out in 2 weeks) in every Dr.'s office from here to Kingdom Come.  She's very, very proud of that accomplishment.  And about 87,000 other things.  Wow. 

Then there was the lady who came in limping and crying, eventually removing one of her shoes. So pathetic looking.  Mom pretty much wanted to give her chair to this woman and have me take care of her instead.  We worried when she seemed to evaporate from the waiting room.  A little while later, I was stunned to see this same lady a couple of blocks away, briskly striding towards Wendy's, unimpeded, as I drove by (on an errand of mercy--- more on that later).  Anything for drugs.  I''m learning.

But then perhaps the ER is a place of veritable miracles.  While I was gone, Mom said that a young guy on a gurney came through the doors escorted by 3 or 4 ambulance attendants and that many security guards as well.  "Get up," they told him.  "I can't walk," he would insist.  They demanded that he get in the admitting chair to have his blood pressure, etc. taken.  It was a standoff.  "You were walking 20 minutes ago at the 7-11," they would counter.  Back and forth for 10 minutes.  

Finally, he was put in the chair. Immediately, he slumped down so that his head and shoulders were where his rear end should have been. (Or maybe his rear end had always been where his head was supposed to be).  Either way, the next minute he had slid all the way to the floor.  Suddenly he was air born.  Many hands, many, many hands gripped the back of his T-shirt and he was lifted at a 90 degree angle and taken unceremoniously to a back room. Must have been the place of serious miracles, because when I came back a bit later, my Mom, dazed by the drama, said,  "Look, there's the guy who couldn't walk!  And he's getting a drink at the drinking fountain all by himself!  They obviously perform miracles here.  We're surely in good hands now!" 

As it worked out, we were part of that whole scenario as well.  After patiently waiting nearly 4 hours, I felt dizzy and was afraid I'd faint.  I realized I'd only nibbled a couple of raspberries that morning and knew I couldn't make it much longer without any food, so decided to make a run for some. The neighborhood seemed too seedy to offer any safe options, so I told Mom I was going to run to downtown Vegas to get some food from In-n-Out.  Figuring there were folks who were there at least as long as we were, I felt a surge of compassion and told her I would get several burgers to pass out to buoy up the spirits of everyone else who was suffering. 

I was back in an hour, and what a plan!  It was gratifying to see how eagerly people reached out for burgers and fries.  They were beyond appreciative---it was almost embarrassing.  But this wasn't loaves and fishes, and there simply was not enough to go around.  So I made apologies and left to make another run.  Another dozen hamburgers and the mood of the waiting room was markedly improved--- darn near celestial!  Think Oprah Winfrey Show!  Mom called it the Miracle of Blessed St. Willow (she thought better of that a bit later, however).  Things seemed good.  For awhile.

Every few hours, patients were called back to have their blood pressure retaken.  We assume that was more expeditious for them than coming out from behind their desks to ascertain whether rigor mortis had set in here and there down the aisles.  At one point, the Screener blurted, "Holy S*#@!," when seeing Mom's foot, "I've never seen anything like that!" Unfortunately that didn't seem to move the Triage nurse much. 

People who had waited throughout the day began leaving for greener pastures.  Or just leaving. So the hours wore by with entertainment liberally provided by a changing cast of characters (literally).  Finally after 7 hours we were taken back to be seen by a Doctor.  Which was still more hours waiting.  But then, there SHE was!

As it turned out, Dr. Wakefield had just come on duty at that very time and had an extra moment, so pulled a couple of cases she wasn't really meant to (they were slammed all day, so she was going above and beyond to help).  Magically, her background was Orthopedics, so she immediately assessed the situation and got things in motion. 

Things happen for a reason sometimes, and she was worth the interminable wait.  She got morphine IV drips and cocktails of other painkillers going, had a CAT Scan taken, more Xrays, and verified that it actually wasn't a broken bone--- the whole heel had shattered into little pieces!  Can't beat that for pain, they said.  

She had the guy whose only job is to do casts and splints come on board, hooked us up with the best Orthopedist for follow up in a few days, and called the Dr. at Quick Care to chew her out.  She was really beyond ticked that it had been wrapped so wrong. 

Dr. W repeated many times that this was practically the worst possible of breaks for pain and length of recovery, that it necessitated a much more serious splint, that their staff obviously needed training in applying splints, and that with a break of this severity it was mandatory to immediately send the patient to the actual ER!  So hope it was a lesson for those on the receiving end of her wrath.  It felt so good to be  finally vindicated and supported so professionally.  At last. 

On the other hand, when Dr. W was assessing the patient on the other side of the curtain next to us, it was with some chagrin we heard this: 

Dr.: "I see you have had abdominal pain for several days. We strongly suspect it's your appendix. So I'm sending you right now for a CAT Scan and then we'll prep you for immediate surgery. When did you last have something to eat?" 

Patient: "Well, thanks to those wonderful ladies next door, about a couple of hours ago. They went and got hamburgers for everyone out there waiting.  It was amazing.  We're all so grateful." 

Us: Blush, blush. 

Dr.: "In that case, forget the surgery.  You can't have surgery on a full stomach.  So get the CAT Scan now and come back tomorrow.  BUT make SURE you eat absolutely nothing in the meantime!" 

Pan right, see me melting into the floor.  Mom is desperately looking around, getting ready to show the Dr. her hospital bracelet to prove that we have different last names and she's never seen me before.  We bleat out apologies to the walking dead man next door, who is gracious and as appreciative as ever.  Guess it's true about men and food.  

A little bit later they do his CAT Scan and the Dr. returns and reports to him: 

"Ok, it's official. Your appendix has burst and your abdomen is definitely full of infection.  So Plan B---cross your fingers and keep breathing, if you can.  Stay away from those women, and if you make it through the night, we'll see you tomorrow."

Mom-on-morphine softly moans and rechristens the experience "The Blessed Miracle of St. Willow---Angel of Death."    After 12 hours, we leave for my house.  Yep, the party's just begun.... Woooeeeeee!