I have a theory about so-called painkillers. They really have just enough narcotic in them so that you don’t give a damn about the pain. They don’t really relieve the pain. I don’t enjoy the feeling the narcotic causes so I use Darvocet most of the time. It takes just enough of the edge off the pain so that I can function. Tonight however is one of those rare times I will take Vicodin. I was vacuuming the upstairs for hours in preparation for flea treatment by the pest control people. I have a lot of joint and back pain, but the worst is my ankles! I’m just hoping the Vicodin will allow me to go to sleep. I got into bed about an hour ago and could not lie still so I got up. I put on socks to warm up my ankles, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much. I may put my magnets on too. I’d like to get to sleep soon since we have to get up early to be ready for Kombat.
I came up with my painkiller theory after my hysterectomy. I had a PCA pump filled with morphine. It seemed like every time I hit the button, I fell asleep for about 3 hours. When I complained that my bladder was bothering me, the nurses would come in and hit the button on my PCA. I think my bladder catheter was kinked because when I would pull on the hose, the pain let up. I guess it was easier for the nurses to put me to sleep than to look for a problem. When I figured out that I was goofier than I was in pain, I quit using the pump. I started feeling better and left the hospital a few hours earlier than had been planned. Now I try not to use the PCA if I have one.
My sister did not like hospitals and would do everything she could to go home. She would encourage me to get out as soon as I could too. When I had the shunt implanted in my brain she wanted me to go home the same day. Luckily my doctor absolutely refused. I wanted to stay. They had just drilled a hole in my skull and inserted a drain in my brain, so I wanted to stay until they were sure it was working. I stayed over night, but did leave earlier in the day than the doctor had planned for me. By then I felt comfortable and was ready to be in my own bed. I looked ridiculous; half of my head was shaved bald!
‘Z’ would always push to go home when she was in the hospital. After her second gastric bypass it was so physically draining on me when she was at home, I would hope for her to get worse so I would get a break. I would get so tired that I spent most of the day in bed, fully dressed and ready to attend to her. I had a baby monitor from my dad. He had used it when my mother receiving chemotherapy. That monitor saved my sanity. ‘Z’ would not call me for help, but I could go check on her when I heard something on the monitor that concerned me. The monitor is still being used. I gave it to my neighbor so she could sleep and not sit up all night just in case her husband tried to get up during the night. We had home health workers come to help with ‘Z’. It was a relief to have an aide come who was trained in giving bed baths. I got ‘Z’ into the shower only once after her surgery and there was an occupational therapist here at the time. The nurse would come 3 times a week to clean and dress the incision which had re-opened in several places and was also infected. The aide came twice a week to bathe her and change the bed. Of course there were days when I changed the bed 3 or 4 times. When ‘Z’ was strong enough occupational therapy and physical therapy came 2 or 3 times a week. They had her up walking with the assistance of a walker in January. By the time she went back to the hospital, she was so weak she was unable to walk and never did walk again.
Thinking back on all that happened, I think someone could have told me sooner that she was not going to make it. In the hospital they would give her Lactulose by naso-gastric tube which would cause diarrhea and bring the ammonia level in her blood down. When she was lucid again, they would send her home. When she was at home, she was supposed to be taking the Lactulose, but I discovered she would dump it. I guess it was extremely sweet and she did not like it. The first sign of the ammonia increase was a rash. Then she would get weak. Then the mental confusion set in. While she was at Kindred Hospital she had not yet been diagnosed with liver disease. They were convinced she had suffered a psychotic episode and would have to go back to Atlanta Medical Center for a psychiatric evaluation. I wish I would have known about the problem with protein being converted to ammonia. Her spools would have been a dead give-away. She would have a liquid bowel movement which ended up in her bed. It would burn her. She would ring for help repeatedly which didn’t do any good since it seemed that they had only one aide would was willing to clean up those messes. I cleaned her myself several times. One weekend I found that her call button had been taped over. She told me her nurse had done it because they were tired of her using it. I should have raised hell immediately because when I complained on Monday, suddenly no one knew anything about it. They claimed that they checked the security cameras and could not see anyone taping the button. No one who worked that weekend would admit that the button had been taped, so it was just my word against theirs.
I think I am ready to try going to bed again. The Vicodin has kicked in. My ankles still hurt, but I have that slight narcotic haze. I think that is why I went rambling off about my sister’s illness. One more trip to the bathroom and back to bed.
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