I'm so over this!

I'm still in the hospital. Allow me to bitch. 

I've been in here for 8 days, and it feels like months. No movement. Lying in one spot on a bed too small for me, no excercise or proper stretching (my caregivers have done their best when visiting but it's difficult in this bed), no relief from my itches, no decent sleep since that last Tuesday night, pain pain pain and suffering. Restless legs. Charlie horses and cramps in my feet and legs.  I'm so tired. Everything hurts. I have terrible veins. I've given blood at least 10 times. Always ends in tears. I'm tired of being poked and prodded. Blood thinner needles that are so bloody painful I cried for almost an hour from the pain the other night. The nurses see me suffering and I know it's hard on them, too. HOT. ITCHY. Constipated for a week followed by explosive diarrhea all day. Try having THAT flat on your back in bed. A doctor said to me "just looking at you here, you got the short end of the stick in the health department. I'm so sorry". Except all my tests come back perfect, even the ultrasound they gave my belly, so physically medically there is nothing that can be done. Thalia had a long conversation with the psychiatrist Thursday (after I'd talked to her a long time) and told her, point blank, "she won't try again because she physically CAN'T do anything. But I don't blame her one bit for trying, she has NO independence - she suffers all day - and please call CBI (the home care agency) and stress that it is imperative to her mental health that she gets some consistency with caregivers, and that they know how to speak English and know what they're doing. And stop complaining about her size and do their job." Etc. etc. 

How they think it's helping me to be here is so beyond me. I understand they have their psychiatric protocols and shit but come ON. I just want something and someone that may help me cope and sleep! I WANT TO GET HOME to my cats and have a shower. A shower! It's been 11 days!

Wifi here is non-existent and I've totally overused my dad's monthly MB on his hub. Without my visitors to charge my lifelines (iPad, iPod touch) I don't know what I'd do!

The love and support coming at me from all angles has been incredible. Y'all rock. I've had lots of caring visitors which is so nice and helpful. A decent cup of coffee and a bagel helps (food here is a lot better than the care facility, but still, it's hospital food). 

Okay enough bitching for now...

It Didn't FUCKING Work.

I didn't say "goodbye cruel world" because I don't believe the world to be cruel. There are amazing people and things to do and things to see and dreams to make come true. If you're able to enjoy it, please do that. There are so many simple things you take for granted. 

I, however, am not one of those people anymore. I led a great life while I was still able to. As my abilities lessened, I still made the best of it. But that was impossible to do after September 21, 2012. So I knew, as things just kept going downhill, and the pain and itches and sleeplessness got worse, that I'd be ending it soon. With no regrets. Except credit card debt. But I don't regret what I did/bought to get it. 

So. Seriously. If I can take at LEAST 60 sleeping pills and at LEAST 15-20 Trazodone and not die, WTF does that mean?!?! I wifi printed out my letter to family and friends, typed where to find it on my iPod touch which I lay face up next to me, then took everything. I didn't hold the bottles and have second thoughts. I just said "God, if you exist, it's YOUR turn to take care of me now!" And swallowed them. With a handful of ibuprofen muscle relaxants. 

And I fell asleep. I woke up very groggy the next morning, thinking "oh my god, no way" not "oh thank god, I'm still alive". I was shocked and actually mad, but clearly heard the lady from the Agency walking in, calling me. I couldn't/wouldn't respond and when she saw me, she freaked out and slapped me while calling 911. 

I was in and out of it most of the time, but I remember transferring to the stretcher, arriving at the hospital, afraid I'd get my stomach pumped but just getting a quick hose in only my mouth (if they did more, I'm glad that's blocked out), my mom squeezing my hand, being transferred into this bed. I remember all of my immediate family and two caregivers being here. I remember being told I was being treated for a bladder infection and pneumonia (which apparently I'd had for days, but I take so many supplements and never get sick, that the obvious signs weren't there).

That night I slept like a ROCK.. My mom and stepdad were here for a lot of it, chatting and laughing with the guy in the next bed. And I slept through it all. The nurse took my vitals and everything. I may never sleep again, now that they've removed those pills from my list, but at least I had that. 

The next day I remember well. My caregiver Christina came first, then my brother, then my friend Shawna, then my dad, then mom and Bob, then my caregiver Thalia, then my dad again. Everyone was, of course, very upset. But no one blamed me. No one called me stupid or selfish. They all understood why I tried, but they were "selfishly glad it didn't work". My doctor said I seemed in fine spirits, and is treating me for the infections, but will hand my care over to psychiatry as is his duty. I'll probably see a psych tomorrow. Oh, did I mention I have no voice? I've been using my iPad Notes to communicate with people. It does seem to be improving, but I figure I'm days away from speaking above a whisper. So I wrote the psych a letter, which I showed to my doctor, and he said it was "basically in line with what you told me, just neater and professional and all that. I encourage you to keep writing".

Maybe that's why. But I tell you, I did look for a sign telling me not to do it, in case I actually was making a wrong decision. But there wasn't one. I seriously saw more things and discussions about death and suicide than I expected. Even a tweet from Jim Carrey said "Heaven is always ready and waiting for you, wherever you are". Not that it was directed at me for that reason, but it was one of many signs that it was okay. And even though it didn't work, and I'm obviously a complete and total anomaly, at least I know the important people in my life understand why I might try again. Exactly when or how, I have NO CLUE. Pills were my way out! I'm afraid to do anything that will hurt and since nothing works on me like it supposed to (from surgeries to medicines to skin care, you name it) who knows?!?

And now my family and Thalia have all my passwords and PIN numbers to EVERYTHING!

This Is The End

I know I have really sucked at updating this and telling my stories and all the plans I made for this blog. And now, it really is too late. 

Let me try and explain my "life" to you. I am bedridden. Which wouldn't be the end, if I was comfortable at ALL.  I can't move myself. Caregivers come and go throughout the day. I'm always in pain, I spasm every time I try to move anything, I wear a Foley catheter that always hurts like hell. I watch TV all day because it's all I can do. I only have use of my left hand, and I'm right handed. It's getting harder and harder to breathe.  Yes, I twitter and Facebook and do some bookkeeping on my laptop and am always playing Candy Crush or Farm Heroes. I have two cats that I adore and are the only reason I am still alive to write this. But do you REALLY think that is reason to live? When you suffer and struggle and live in pain 24/7, when the agency meant to send you people to shower you and stretch out your legs do nothing but add stress and frustration to your life and complain about how heavy you are? I fucking hate it. I hate it all. I have not been the same since those paramedics fucked me up on September 21, 2012 and it's just getting worse. And worse and more hellish and worse. I wouldn't want my absolute worst enemy to even have to spend one hour trapped like this. And oh, the itchiness. In all these places I can't reach.

I COULD GO ON AND ON AND ON! Why I'm still alive, I don't know. I take tons of supplements and use my Chi machine. I'm sure that's why, but if I stopped those first I'm afraid the pain and suffering would be so much worse before I went. 

I'm really sick and tired of it all. I'm sorry to those that will miss me, but I have missed myself for way longer. I am so relieved that I don't need to struggle through another day!!!

Bless anyone reading this. Love to all. Whatever you believe, I believe I am walking again. Maybe even dancing. 

A Funny Thing Happened...

I haven't exactly done a good job of keeping up with my resolution to write in my blog often, have I?! I think about this thing every night when I'm in bed. Tonight I actually picked up my iPod and opened the app. My WTF podcast can wait. 

I know I'm supposed to carry on my horror story accident, or be writing my memoirs of days gone by, and I'll get to all that eventually. If shit would stop happening once in awhile, I'd have room in my head to write about other stuff. But shit just keeps on happening...

My mom, bless her heart, bought me a wheelchair van. I had an old taxi van for awhile, but it was an 8 year old TAXI van (ie: run to death) and it didn't last long. My poor mom threw money out the window with that, but at least it was cheap and I got a few good rides out of it. I was devastated when it died and the mechanic said it would cost THOUSANDS to fix (so much new stuff was needed, from battery to engine to springs to oil pan.. ) so my mom and stepdad went on the hunt for another one right away. My mom said she had some money set aside for inheritance, but figured I'd rather want it now in the form of a van, than after she died. Since I have every intention of dying first, I thought that was a good plan!

So they found one via my uncle in Winnipeg. They said it would be cheaper to ship this one out here than get one in Calgary. It was a 2006 Ford E150, I believe. Full sized van with a lift in the back. I expected it would have a raised roof, but they said no, it wasn't needed. This thing is "huge". My uncle measured it. My stepdad measured it again once it arrived. No problem, they said. Me and my (higher than average because of the Tilt feature) wheelchair would fit, no problem. 

You know where I'm going with this, right?

So Thalia was going to take me out in it. She had filled it with gas recently ($120, THANK YOU VERY MUCH) and said it drove like a dream, so much better than the other one. Although, she didn't want to break the news to me that there was no way I'd fit. We'd at least give it a go. 

So this happened...

And that just made my day. 

I feel so bad for my mom. I hope she can get her money back in a sale, if it's true that they got such a great deal. I want to rent it out to people who need it to move something heavy, to get my gas money back! Thalia said I need to advertise "Chick with a Van and Lift" and she'll drive it. 

That was a sad, distressing weekend for all involved. 

And then last night, guess what happened to me? This is TMI for the faint of heart, you've been warned.  I was in MAJOR pain in my bladder/urethra area. Screaming, actually. Writhing around, wondering what the hell was going on. Christina (another caregiver, who worked last night) gave me the Pyridium I asked for, but didn't know what to do. Once the Pyridium kicked in, the pain stopped. She put me to bed, and left. Then, at 3:30 am, I rolled on my back to rearrange/drain my catheter/tubing as I always have to do in the middle of the night, as it gets uncomfortable. Then, THEN, my catheter popped out and rolled off my bed. I was stunned. It just came right out of me, easy peasy. I felt "down there", as I was completely stunned. I could tell my bed was wet and I needed to PEE but I can't do very much without a catheter.  Plus, you know, there's that whole not-being-able-to-get-out-of-bed thing. 

I hated to do it, but I had to. I texted Thalia (she's my only caregiver that knows how to change my catheter, which is normally done monthly) and freaked out. She came right over (I thank God for her everyday) and showed me the catheter that had fallen out. THE BALLOON WAS STILL INFLATED. So that pain I'd been in earlier? Was the balloon making its way down my urethra. THE INFLATED BALLOON. COMING OUT OF MY URETHRA. Thalia used to work in a hospital, and said NOTHING scared the nurses and staff more than if that was to happen. Nothing gave them the heebee jeebees more than the thought of that. Sometimes a person strung out on dope in the ER would pull theirs out *shiver*. And I lived through that. Today, I'm in a lot of pain. I figure that's going to take a few days to heal. My urethra has been through hell, I must say. If that little balloon can come out of my URETHRA, I imagine I COULD GIVE BIRTH. That's a bigger hole!

Hey, Serena Ryder is not performing at the Super Bowl on Sunday, but her song "Stompa" is. That reminded me that I first saw her about 10 years ago! Go Serena x

Hurry Up and Wait

I have been thinking about this blog and updating my story since my last entry. But since I don't already have anything that I can just copy/paste and adjust from, it's once again overwhelming to think of it all. I'm still trying to recover from Thursday - 3 days ago - when I had Botox injections for my bladder. It was a very long,difficult day, and I had some horrid flashbacks to Sept. 21, 2012 that makes me wonder if I'll ever get past it. 

I had to go to the day surgery unit at Foothills hospital for these injections. And because I'm going on the OR table and can no longer stand without a LOT of help and the proper equipment, I have to call non-emergency ambulances to take me on a stretcher both ways. From here, they were supposed to pick me up around 11:30 am. Thalia was here to help me out all day as well. I was to be in the unit by 1:00, but the EMTs didn't even arrive until around that time. 

Once at the hospital I was transferred from the EMT stretcher to the day surgery bed, which isn't much better than a stretcher. There I waited while the nurses did whatever they needed to do and Thalia filled out whatever forms needed to be filled out. I was wheeled to the pre-op area around 2:40, where I laid for about 45 minutes until they were ready for me in the OR. By this time I was in a lot of pain from laying in the same position on their uncomfortable beds, and not allowed any meds/ibuprofen until afterwards. 

In the OR I was transferred to their table, where on one side of me I had a doctor trying to find a vein to get an IV started (I can't drink past midnight so I was severely dehydrated, making it that much harder to find a vein, which are hard to get at the best  of times) and on the other side they're stretching out my bad arm to put on a tight blood pressure cuff, and at my feet I've got nurses trying to get my legs in the stirrups for the injections. I'm CRYING in pain from all areas. It took so much painful poking to get even the tiniest IV possible in me, and then the sedative or whatever meds he had hurt like hell! I was more awake than ever for the procedure, I guess because they couldn't get a good vein for the meds. The procedure itself takes all of 15 minutes. Then they replaced my catheter, transferred me back to the wheelie bed, and rolled me to recovery. 

I stayed there for about half an hour before they wheeled me back to the day surgery unit. Thalia was there to greet me. The nurse assigned to me was a complete idiot and even put my blood pressure cuff on upside down. She got a terribly high reading and when she left Thalia fixed the cuff. "Artery THAT WAY. Now they'll see a proper reading next time". I was hooked up to oxygen through my nose, blood pressure cuff, that oxygen thingy on your finger, and the IV. Terribly uncomfortable, but nobody removed anything for hours...

I was able to eat and drink now, so I had some mini-muffins Thalia picked up and some water. I was looking forward to a decent meal when I got home, since the EMT had been called and I didn't have to be in day surgery anymore. The idiot nurse kept thinking I'd have to "get up and pee" before I could leave, and then "oh that's right, you don't get up..." And I'm on a catheter and peeing all along, dummy. Anyway... Another nurse kept telling us the EMT was to arrive later and later, as they were having a busy night. You never knew if you were going to get EMT or 9-1-1 paramedics, it depends who is available. I imagined it could be the paramedics who screwed up my life on Sept. 21, 2012. I was shaking and imagining how I'd react to seeing them. Screaming, shaking, "DON'T TOUCH ME! DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME!!" And more screams. My body shivered and spasmed. So I guess I'm not over that. 

I had downloaded "Burning Love" to my iPad for Thalia and I to watch while we waited. I was SO UNCOMFORTABLE. I did get an Ibuprofen and Thalia gave me my baclofen, but nothing seemed to help. I ate a hospital turkey sandwich. So much for a decent meal after so many hours. I just wanted to go hooooome!

We watched the entire first season of "Burning Love" before the paramedics finally arrived. I was finally unhooked from all the tubes (just to have the paramedics hook me up again, but whatever) and was transferred to their stretcher, down to the ambulance for the drive home. Because I had been lying there for so long all day/night and was in so much pain, there was concern how to get me safely onto my lift chair because I didn't feel confident to do a normal stand/pivot from the stretcher. So THESE paramedics did the right thing without even a suggestion, and called the fire dept. for backup. So even though I was right outside my building, more waiting was in store until the firemen came. 

Once everyone was here, they wheeled me inside where I asked that I get on my exercise table to use my Chi Machine instead of the chair, as I needed the circulation provided by the machine and I was going right to bed after, anyway. So they wheeled me over to the exercise table and put the stretcher at an angle and down so low, there would have been no way I could stand from it, anyway. Plus I couldn't quite reach my pole. They promised they would not let me fall, and the group of them worked together to get me safely on the table. SAFELY! It was all done correctly! 

Then they packed up and left me and Thalia alone. Thalia took off my shoes and AFO and helped me lay back so I could use my Chi. Ahhhhhh! 30 minutes on that thing and I was able to stand/pivot again. I went straight to bed, where Thalia rubbed down some of my aches and pains and slathered me with Motion Medicine (a sort of Ben-Gay product that actually works). She spent about 12 hours with me that day, I was thankful I could give her the next day off so she could take a break and Christina worked. 

So I'm almost fully recovered from that ordeal, I think! My right arm hurt like hell all night and the next day but I think it's back to its normal pain level, although still bruised up. I'm having second thoughts about going for Botox again. This was my 4th time, but I think I'll just see what happens when I let it wear off completely. It's supposed to help with the pain having a catheter in my bladder gives me, because of all the bladder spasms. But I don't know how bad it would be now. Maybe I'm delusional, forgetting how much pain I was in before and now that I DON'T have a choice between a catheter or going to the toilet, I should just suffer through this every 6 months.  But I'm weary. 

On Saturday, my mom and stepdad brought over my new (to me) wheelchair van! I'm not able to try it out yet, but hopefully this week. Thalia took it to put gas in it tonight. $120 later! Wow. It better last a long time. I hope this van rides better than my last piece of junk, that I didn't have long, because it turned out to be a piece of junk. I also hope I fit in it okay. It's a full sized van, but there is no raised roof or anything, so fingers crossed the last owner wasn't a tiny person with a low wheelchair! Mine is very high, but my stepdad swears he measured everything. Here's hoping!

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".