What's Really Been Going On

This is a truth post.

What's really been going on is this:

My husband on Friday had an ankle fusion at Carilion Roanoke Memorial.

Left foot is his normal big foot; right foot is his Frankenfoot. He has a steel plate and screws in it.

He is off his pain meds and doing pretty well. He has a knee scooter and is moving about the house relatively easily now.

He is not in a cast yet. He will be non-weight bearing on his foot for 8 weeks. Yes, I said 8 weeks. That is a damn long time.

Last night we figured out how to get him in the shower. He smells better. And feels better. Showers can be wonderful things.

He is watching a lot of TV because he is not a reader. This would (and will) drive me crazy. I rarely have the TV on but now it is blaring away almost constantly.

And since this is my blog, and this my blog post, I am going to talk about how it feels to be me, a person with chronic pain issues and limited mobility, trying to deal with someone who is a foot taller than I am and who weighs more than I do and who is a stubborn-headed mule most of the time.

First off, none of this was easy on me. It has been hard watching my husband practically dragging his foot after him for a good 8 months because he was too damn stubborn to go to the doctor and have it taken care of. He would get up in the morning and his hands would flutter like the wings of a dying baby bird when he first put weight on his foot. He didn't think I saw but I did, of course.

Since March, I have nagged, bitched, pleaded, and cried to try to get him to go the doctor. He did not go until the end of September.

He scheduled this for the time when it suited him and he did not once think about when it suited me. I assure you, had he asked, I would have told him "now," back in the spring or summer, and not at the holidays. Not when I have to worry about snow and ice, and driving after dark (which I can't do well since I have a little cataract forming), and when it's cold you have to worry about coats and how the cows are going to be fed (we've found people to help, the cows will be fine). I would have suggested June or August or sometime like that, but he wanted to work because that is what he does. He works. That is who is he and all he knows and what he does.

So he has greatly inconvenienced me because it will be cold out, and I can't set him outside in the sunshine for a spell, nor decorate a Christmas tree because we have a hospital bed for him in the living room, or even cook a turkey because with my health issues I can't do that without some help. But none of that matters because at least he finally has had his surgery and hopefully in 12 weeks or so (may the goddess help me), he will be back on his feet and doing his man stuff.

It's just one holiday season. Of course, you never know, it could be my last holiday season. I could choke on a cashew in just a few minutes. Stranger things have happened. And I admit it, I am selfish and would have liked to have been consulted and had my needs taken into consideration.

But I wasn't and yes, I do resent that a little bit.

As for the last week, my pain levels has skyrocketed to highs I haven't seen in a couple of years, in part because Carilion sucks as a hospital. It's parking sucks and its set-up sucks and the way it does things sucks. As a healthcare facility, it sucks.

I had to walk and walk and I can't manage more than 7,500 steps without the pain in my abdomen acting up. For five days straight, I walked over 12,000 steps. By Monday, I was a total wreck. I could barely stand up straight. My back hurt, my stomach hurt, and my stress level was higher than a freed leaf blowing in a hurricane force wind.

We had asked for home health care because we knew I would have issues and need help, if only for an hour to get him sponged off and cleaned up. Carilion Home health care did not call though we were told they would. He came home Saturday and we still hadn't heard from them. On Sunday, an RN called and showed up to "sign us up," take his blood pressure, and leave. On Monday, a physical therapist came, looked him over, and then said, "There's nothing I can do for you. Your foot is in a splint and you're healing for an ankle fusion." Well duh. What was the point of that visit? To put more money on Carilion's pocket, that's all.

On Tuesday I called the Home Health people because they said to call if there was a certain issue, in particular no bowel movement, within three days. He hadn't had one since Friday, so I called. They were as helpful as a fart in a hail storm. I finally got that worked out and taken care of myself with some appropriate over-the-counter medication and a heating pad on his stomach.

Carilion Home Health Care never followed up.

He also on Tuesday called his doctor about his pain levels and his bowel issues, and to see how much Tylenol he could take because his pain medication was gone, and we've not heard a word from the doctor's office. Today is Wednesday and it's late afternoon as I write this.

By this time, I had of course sponge-bathed him several times and Tuesday night we'd gotten him in the shower and cleaned off. We did this without help or guidance or assistance, and I was shaking with pain when we were done, and up most of the night with it (though my husband doesn't know that).

This morning an occupational therapist came, and she was helpful. She offered pointers to help him bathe and take care of himself, taking some of the pressure off of me. Then she left, never to be seen again.

I despise Carilion with everything I have. I would rather take my last breath in my bedroom and die young than let a Carilion doctor cut on me. Or any doctor in Roanoke, for that matter. Let's face it. If you're an "A" doctor, you don't come to Roanoke to practice. You come to Roanoke because some great place like John Hopkins won't have you.

The only exception to that might be if you were born and raised here, like my own personal doctor (thankfully not affiliated with either of our two hospitals), or maybe you have family here or something. Otherwise, just on principal, a doctor practicing in Roanoke isn't an "A" list doctor, I don't care how many millions the Carilion CEO donates for cancer centers.

I will probably write more about this. Things happened during his surgery while I was in the waiting room that I would like to record.

But this is enough for now. Now you know. It ain't peaches and cream.