The Shit Show Begins

This next part I'm mainly taking from a note I wrote in Facebook. It starts from my hospital admission and ends when I arrived at the first of two "care/rehab" facilities. I did take little notes every day as I suspected I'd need them when a lawyer got involved, but dare I say, it's nearly impossible to sue Alberta Health Services, and my attempts at reaching out to lawyers with my story was answered with a pretty abrupt "No". One lawyer said it was a very specialzed area and gave me the name of the "only" firm he knew that might touch it. They said no. An MLA I know, who's also a lawyer, was the first to tell me I'd have a hard time, but he gave me the names of two good lawyers he knows that practice in this area, but they both said no. And on and on. No one wants to touch this baby. One of the cons of government run healthcare - it's very hard to sue. Plus, I'm low income, didn't lose working wages, and my life always did revolve around caregivers anyway, so what's changed? A whole LOT in my book, but very little to them. 

Anyway, as I said before, I was x-rayed at the hospital and they confirmed a fracture at my ankle. If they had x-rayed me PROPERLY, they would have seen the second break by my knee, but no. 

I get put in the air cast, admitted to the hospital, and told to stay off it for 6 weeks. Which I know to me means at least 6 weeks in a care facility, because I can't manage at home due to all the MS stuff and only having use of one hand. That was Friday, and by Monday the Big-Wig orthopedic surgeon had viewed the x-rays and determined it a "stable fracture" and said I could bear weight as long as the air cast was on. But in bed, I didn't have to wear it.  This made me very happy, as my foot spasms a lot and it's extremely painful when it's tightly in the cast. 

So, the weight-bearing begins by mid-week. I would just transfer from bed to wheelchair, standing for a short time. I screamed in pain every time, but the nurses figured that's normal for a break. Remember, they didn't know yet about the second break (not to mention the torn knee ligament that went undetected for SEVEN weeks. But I digress). I should never have been bearing weight on any of it. 

By the following week, (I'm totally skipping over the side effects I had to pain meds, the bed sore that was developing, the problems with your bowels that come with being bedridden, etc.) they finally started sending physio up to see me and do some bed exercises for my weakening-by-the-day legs. I told them about the pain in my knee, and how much it hurt. When they tried to bend my leg, I'd scream in pain. They said "oh, it's probably soft tissue or ligaments (but not TORN ligaments), you need to ice it". So I did, when I could find someone to fetch me ice, which was probably once/day if I was lucky. But that didn't stop physio from making me exercise it. The fucking BROKEN LEG.

Thursday evening I insisted to my doctor that when I went for my two week follow-up x-rays the following morning, that they include my knee. He was all "oh, soft tissue damage doesn't show up on an x-ray" but for GOD'S SAKE, I KNOW MY BODY AND THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG. 

The following morning, two weeks in hospital now with crappy sponge baths and two, maybe three, (no rinse) bed hair washes, there was a new crew working so I BEGGED for a shower. They decided to give me one right away, before my follow up x-rays and appointment with Big-Wig orthopedic surgeon (whom I still hadn't met). They asked me how I liked the commode in the bathroom, and being a big girl, I said it would be nice if they had any bigger commodes (at home I have a "heavy duty" commode that I figured they'd also have around there). They came back with this HUGE, WIDE thing. Good enough. 

Now. I'm supposed to wear my air cast when bearing weight and transferring into my wheelchair. But NO. I was going for a shower, I could just transfer as is. The "lift team" (two burly guys) came in for the transfer, and also decided I'd be okay to transfer as is. All these professional support staff, they know best. Anyway, we get me onto the big commode, me screaming in pain, but whatever. The nurses wheel me down to the wheelchair shower room. And guess what? The commode is too wide to go through the door. But, my wheelchair fits. So, after the nurses consulted with several stray people in the vicinity, it is decided I will transfer into my wheelchair, go through the door, transfer onto the commode (which fits sideways with no one in it), have my shower, transfer back into my wheelchair, then transfer onto a stretcher taking me to x-ray. All standing transfers, ALL WITHOUT MY AIR CAST. 

I'm in TONS of pain. The x-rays were super painful, as anyone with a broken bone can attest to, extra special pain because I had just done a bunch of transfers I shouldn't have. And while I was in the shower, Big-Wig ortho got called into surgery and could only see me if "she comes NOW", which obviously I couldn't. So my appointment with him gets delayed another week. 

I come back from x-ray and am told "they have a bed for you at Carewest Glenmore Park". I'm soooo happy, because I was there for 6 weeks 10 years prior when I broke my left ankle (and silly me thought I'd be in the same unit and forgot how much MY mobility has changed since then). But this means I will get to move around and not be in a bed all day. I'll be in my power chair and see more than one room and talk to people and go outside and and and... OH IT'S A FRIDAY OF A LONG WEEKEND AND THEY'RE NOT MOVING ME UNTIL 4:00. I didn't think about the mess that would ensue from THAT. 

I get transferred back into bed (by transfer board, so no bearing weight thank god) and around 2:00 my doctor comes in. "Well, it's a good thing we x-rayed your knee, because you've got a break there, too". FUCK. "I asked the ortho team if they wanted to see you, and they said no... The x-rays showed your ankle is the same (my guess is it was healing until the WEIGHT BEARING THAT MORNING) and they want you to wear the air cast 24/7". FUCK. Did I mention that I had a painful pressure sore on that heel from being bedridden? Well. There's THAT. 

So, the (very nice and responsible) paramedics transfer me to a stretcher to transport me to Glenmore Park. The guy in the back with me has a mom with MS who lives at Fanning centre, so we talk a LOT about that. Once at GP, all hell breaks loose. They were NOT prepared for me, at all. The woman who phoned it in from the hospital and the supervisor that took the call at GP, did NOT get the required information. They didn't know I wasn't 90 pounds. They didn't know I had no ability to stand alone or walk. They didn't know I have MS and am virtually paralyzed down my right side. They didn't know how much pain I was in. And EVERYONE who can make a decision or do something about me is GONE FOR THE LONG WEEKEND. Holy fucking shit, I was screwed. 

So with the help of laughing gas supplied by the paramedics, and every staff available (I think), they use a lift to transfer me to a tiny, uncomfortable, ancient hospital bed in their "overflow" room. I had no TV ("no one is here to hook it up until Tuesday") no Internet connection even with the Rocketstick my dad provided (NO connection, and loads of work to do. I need Internet to access my office PC at home and do accounting work). I am told not to bother bringing in my power chair, because no one will get me up until physio is here to assess me on TUESDAY. There is another room they would like to transfer me to, private, with a ceiling lift and bigger bed, but no one is here to enforce this move until TUESDAY. Everything to do with my care will have to wait until TUESDAY. Why the FUCK did the hospital have me transferred to GP on a Friday before a long weekend?!? Oh, of course, to free up that bed and not have to worry about me. 

So, I suffered in pain and bed hatred all night. (I was turned once at 3;00 am because unlike the regular hospital, at least they knew staying in one position is not good for me or my skin). I was told I could see the on-call doctor the next day, as the doctor assigned to me was gone until TUESDAY. The following morning the NA from HELL (she was bad. Just... So bad) brought me soggy cold white toast and decaf coffee (the usual... I HAVE been to these facilities before) and gave me a crappy wash. I learned later that she was "one of our best!" HAHAHA. At noon I asked when I could see the doctor, and was told "oh, he's been and gone". Fuckity fuck fuck. 

But, to my surprise and amazement, they were actually able to move me to the other room that day! The bed was much bigger, but HOLEY HELL IT WAS HARD. And still ancient. Seriously, Carewest is where old hospital beds go to die. And I had Internet! I was beside the front desk so I could get a connection there with a Rocketstick so I was able to work and occupy some time. 

So, I sat there all weekend, still uncomfortable, still in pain, broken and bruised, surrounded by the same four walls, with no one that can do anything about it until TUESDAY. 

Next up, I'll talk about what happened TUESDAY and the weeks that followed. This saga is far from over...

"Don't bother bringing over the power chair, because it's mine anyway".