Shame on You, Finale

To recap...I fell. After a week of falling and uncontrollable peeing, I went to Kaiser's minor injury clinic. I enjoyed lusting after a hot doctor. I, reluctantly, agreed that I was wrong to wait for medical attention. Maybe. Madame J escorted me to emergency, where the hot doctor had called ahead to ensure I would arrive in a timely manner. See Part One and Part Two for more information.

I started this blog entry in the usual way-- a cuppa chai, a soft piece of bread (yum, breakfast!), a carefully crafted position of the iPAD's microphone, and a boost of Dragon. This is the last entry for "Shame on You," and it should be the easiest. I finally got my bee-hind into the emergency room, right? I've obviously lived to tell the tale, right? No worries. As soon as I read my post, however, I looked at Sugar and said:

"Holy shit. I am one angry bitch."

(I suspect Sugar thought, "Um, yeah? Tell me something I don't know...?")
You see, I hate my local Kaiser emergency room. Actually, hate is a mild word for my feelings of disgust, repugnance, loathing , revulsion and abhorrence. I'm sure they save many lives and are equipped to handle strokes, heart attacks, lacerations and broken bones. But when a C4 Quadriplegic with incomplete cord damage and complex conditions enters their doors? They are inept to the point that they almost kill me. Seriously. I have been sent home with non-medicated kidney infections and out-of-control autonomic dysreflexia simply because the staff was unable to follow treatment protocol. Earlier in the year, I had introduced myself to the Emergency Department Medical Director and spent some time reviewing the procedures. The end result? He was very nice, but honest:

"We just don't have the time and resources to train our staff to provide the level of care you need."

On this particular day, how badly could they screw-up a bladder infection and lower back injury? I originally wrote a long, involved story about the horror (the horror!) But who wants to read (yet another) angst ridden tale of medical incompetence? Personally, I prefer to dream about the hot doctor and his fine, fine ass. Yum. Uh, where was I? Oh yeah...so, instead of the original crap I put into words, here is my ER experience captured in 3 acts: Beginning, Middle and End.

The Beginning

I knew I was in trouble as soon as we entered the room and I needed help transferring to the hospital bed.

Nurse: Can you stand? Walk to the bed?
Me: Uh, no.
Nurse: No? Why not?
Me: (looking from the nurse to my wheelchair) I'm quadriplegic. Limited movement from the neck down. Here because I can no longer stand and walk. I fell and hurt my lower back. Can you call a lift team?
Nurse: No, too much trouble. Let's see if we can move you to the bed, ourselves.
Me: The bed is too high, I'm too fat, and I can't stand.
Nurse: You can hop up, can't you?
Me: Hop? Like a bunny?

Okay, at this point, sarcasm was probably not appropriate. Madame J was trying not to laugh. The nurse just looked confused. So, I tried again:

Me: Why don't we just call a lift team?
Nurse: No. Too much trouble.
Me: Oooookay. Huh. Do you have a transfer board?
Nurse: What's that?
Me: You know, a board that I can put between the bed and my wheelchair, so I can slide over?
Nurse: No, we are a hospital, we don't have those things here. Let me find someone to help.

The nurse leaves the room and I look at Madame J.

Me: I want to go home.
Madame J: No. Just stick it out. You need that MRI.
Me: But they don't even KNOW what a transfer board is!
Madame J: I know.
Me: They haven't even taken my vitals, yet!
Madame J: I know.
Me: So, let's leave.
Madame J: No. You stay. I'll drop off your urine and pick-up your medication refills, while we wait. We will talk about it when I return.

The Middle

Four hours later, Madame J enters the room, prepared to say "goodbye" for the evening. Her shift has ended and I convince her to leave. No one was doing anything, and I was still waiting for my MRI. The ER doctor (not hot, but still producing testosterone and worthy of a smile...yes, I have no shame...) enters the room.

Doc: Your blood pressure is too high. Did the nurse cath you, yet?
Me: No, they didn't have the right size catheter, so I did it myself. I brought my own supplies.
Doc: I guess it's good you came prepared, huh?
Me: (laughing) Yeah, guess so. (Serious face) I'm 3 hours late on my meds. It's probably pain-related.
Doc: Let's give you some pain meds and get the pressure down.

The doctor grabs my arm and points to the open line they put in my vein.

Doc: Just a little bit of morphine and you'll be fine.
Me: No morphine.
Doc: It's just morphine.
Me: I promised myself I would only take morphine if absolutely necessary, or if I'm dying.
Doc: Huh?

Madame J starts to very slowly walk towards the door. I glare at her, and she stops trying to escape the room.

Madame J: She believes that morphine means she is dying.
Me: It DOES mean I'm dying. Let's just stick with Norco and Gabapentin, okay?
Doc: Uh, okay. You do know I could-- POW!-- one simple injection and you're feeling fine.
Me: Yeah, I know, but a couple of little pills and-- POW!-- I'm fine. Okay, maybe 45 minutes later, but still...

NOT.GOING.TO.DIE.

Madame J: (to the doctor) Don't worry. She has a very nice psychologist.
Me: (to Madame J) Hey! Don't mock the cripple!

We laugh and the doctor leaves the room. Madame J thinks he had to leave to order the meds. I'm convinced he left because I was a crazy bitch, and he was afraid the insanity was contagious. Regardless, they arrive with my pain meds and (45 minutes later) and I am stable enough for the MRI. I convince Madame J to leave since the County won't pay for any more of her time. (It's one of those "rules" the government uses to enforce in home care. Long story.)

The End

After 11 hours in the ER, the nurse insisted my bladder infection was "nothing to worry about." (This was before my PCP called to say they had to send the results to the Centers for Disease Control-- something about "incredibly resistant bacteria and extremely high levels of protein.") The ER doctor mentioned that the MRI showed a "stable enough spine." I was sent home with strict instructions to "take more pain pills and stay in bed."

Nurse: Here are your discharge papers. Is someone coming to pick you up?
Me: No.
Nurse: Why not?
Me: It's after 4 in the morning. Wheelchair. Special car needed. Not worth the drama.
Nurse: How will you get home?
Me: I'll drive myself.
Nurse: Oh, that's nice.
Me: (I slap the wheelchair) This puppy goes 5 mph. I should be home in 15-20 minutes. I only wish it had headlights for the dark roads.
Nurse: Oh, that's nice.

The next day? The neurologist called to say they found more tumors and leaking spinal cord fluid.
In a strange-and-twisted way, the ER visit did save my life because they completed the MRI. It turns out that the damage to my lower back is identical to the damage to my neck, and the disease has progressed to other areas of the spine. I would have been completely ignorant of this fact if I had continued to refuse medical treatment and ignored my repeated falls. Granted, it kinda sucks. I can no longer walk, and I have had to adjust my morning exercises around my wobbly, weakened legs. It could be worse, though...

I could still be in emergency, trying to hop onto a gurney like a crippled bunny while they attempt to shoot morphine into my open vein.

Heh.

Shame on You, Part 2

Part 1 recap...I fell. Loss the use of both legs. I kept falling. Couldn't transfer to my wheelchair, toilet, bath, bed without undergoing immense pain from abdominal muscle spasms (the only area of my body that has working muscles). Peed everywhere BUT the toilet. Refused to go to ER. Decided to take a wait-and-see approach. And yes, Madame J is a saint.
By the end of the week-- 6 days after my original fall-- I had decided that, perhaps, it would be good to see a doctor. As I explained to Madame J, "It's just to make sure I didn't do anything stupid to myself, when I fell." I made a same day appointment with the minor injury clinic. I also sent an email to my PCP because I was peeing "white stuff" (this usually means high levels of protein, not good) and blood (no comment). At the very least, I knew I had a urinary track infection. I really suspected my kidneys, but I was not saying "kidney infection" to anyone-- that would be a guarantee trip by ambulance to the emergency room. The PCP ordered a urine culture and Madame J helped me cath the "good stuff" into a sterile container for lab tests. We were good-to-go for the injury clinic appointment.

I knew I was in serious hormonal trouble when the doctor walked into the room. He was a big man, easily over 6'5". Tall, dark and gorgeous. He could have given me a hug and completely surrounded my body with his chest, arms, thighs...um, yeah. He was the kind of man that makes a short, fat girl feel like a delicate flower. When he left the room to order x-rays and I giggled for the hundredth time, Madame J and I had (yet another, sad-to-say) common exchange:

Madame J: Control yourself.
Me: What do you mean?
Madame J: If you could, you would have sex with that man right here, in front of everyone.
Me: So? What's the problem?
Madame J: You need sex.
Me: I know.
Madame J: NOT from the doctor.
Me: But he's hot.
Madame J: So?
Me: Look at you, missing your husband, needing some boom-boom-bang-bang yourself.
Madame J: We are not discussing my husband. You are the, what do you call it...?
Me: Slut?
Madame J: Yes. Just, stop the flirting.
Me: Why? He seems to like it.
Madame J: Because he thinks you are weird and funny. He does not take it seriously.
Me: So? Let me have some fun. You're just jealous.

Strange voice: Um, ladies?

Madame J and I look up. Oops. We forgot-- the nurse was still in the room.

Madame J: I apologize for her.
Me: You don't need to apologize. The damn doctors need to apologize for their "no sex or you'll die" rule. I mean, really, who forbids a young, healthy woman to not even have an orgasm? It's not right. I've gone over 18 months without an orgasm. I'm gonna EXPLODE.

Madame J rolls her eyes. She has heard this tirade many, many times. The nurse just laughs and shakes her head.

Nurse: Don't worry. We all flirt with him.
Me: (to Madame J) See? No harm, no foul. I take pride in my capacity to flirt like Scarlett O'Hara at the barbecue.

At this point, the doctor enters the room and we stop talking. He hands the paperwork to Madame J and gives us directions to radiology. Madame J asks him a question and I notice silence. Everyone is looking at me, but I have no idea why. I was too busy picturing the doctor naked.

Me: Um, what? Did I miss something?
Doctor: I understand you need to drop off urine for a culture?
Me: Yes. Why? Is there a problem?
Doctor: How long have you been fully incontinent?

I look at Madame J and she smiles. Damn it. She said something to the doctor. I should have been listening to the conversation instead of picturing him naked.

Me: About 6 days.
Doctor: Since the accident?
Me: Yeah, but I think it's from the abdominal muscle spasms, and it will get better. I always get UTIs when my bladder acts up.
Doctor: Well, this is a problem. You need to be seen in ER. You need an MRI.
Me: You can't give me an MRI?
Doctor: No, ER needs to schedule the MRI and do more tests. You know what urinary incontinence means and bladder infections and kidney--
Me: (interrupts) Yes, yes, I know, I know. Okay. We'll go to emergency.

The doctor looks at me. I'm distracted by his eyes. One eye has a speck of gold in the center, next to his pupil. Caramel mixed with chocolate. Yum.

Doctor: Will you go? Really? Or, do I need to find an escort for you, to make sure you arrive?
Madame J: She'll be there. I'll take her.
Doctor: (looks at Madame J) Good. I'll call them, so they know to expect you.

The doctor shakes his head and opens the door. He stops. He looks at me and raises his finger. For a moment, I think he's going to punish me for staring at his perfect ass.

Doctor: By the way? SHAME ON YOU.
Me: (trying not to look at his long, thick finger) Excuse me?
Doctor: You KNEW 6 days ago that you should have gone to the emergency room. You KNEW this was serious. You decided to IGNORE IT.
Madame J: (to the doctor) You are absolutely right. I've been telling her all week to go to ER.
Doctor: (still pointing the delicious finger) SHAME ON YOU.
Me: (finally ignoring the finger, his ass and his eyes, and deciding to focus on the conversation) I'm not a child. I understood the risks. I mean, seriously, do you know what ER would have done 6 days ago? Sent me home with pain meds and tell me to rest. They don't do anything for back pain. Nada. I even sent an email to my doctor and he said I should wait it out.
Doctor: You are not a normal back pain person. You are, well, you.
Me: I'm a cripple.
Doctor: Yes, you are in a wheelchair for a reason. They can't ignore you, especially when you have a fall and injure your back. I doubt anyone can ignore you, when you speak.
Me: They sure as hell can ignore me. How do you think I got into this wheelchair? They ignored me for 8 years.

Silence. Then, he walks over to me, takes my hand, and looks into my eyes.

Doctor: We made mistakes, and I can't change the past. Just promise me you will take better care of yourself. No more risks, no more chances with your health. You are a beautiful, intelligent woman.
Me: (really not listening because he is HOLDING MY HAND). Um, okay. You're right. Whatever.

The doctor looks at Madame J.

Madame J: I know. She's stubborn. But she has learned her lesson. She won't do this again.

The doctor squeezes my hand, shakes his head, and leaves the room. I look at Madame J and ask, "Did he just call me beautiful?"

Madame J: (pointing her finger) SHAME ON YOU.

Next...emergency, or "Don't give me morphine. Morphine means I'm dying."