Busy, Busy Day

As she writes this blog, Fiorella is sitting here with a "Help-I've-Fallen-And-I-Can't-Get-Up" amulet around her neck because she is alone in the house. Husband took a bad fall yesterday evening and has blood on the brain, which means he will be in the hospital until it dissipates or he is operated on.

Fio spent most of her morning in the Gtown ER and her afternoon in the Round Rock ER and hospital, then came home this evening to take the weekly trash up to the street, contact the kids, comfort a frantic mastiff, and try to catch up on everything she had planned to do for the day.

Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Miscarriage

The heroine of Fiorella's telenovela had a miscarriage, which opened wide the memory gates that time had built around Fio's own miscarriage.

She remembers how, with her dripping blood all along the way, she and Husband had to wind their way alone through the entrails of the dimly-lit night-time hospital because her obstetrician didn't show up at the back door like he said he would. How she didn't know she was having a miscarriage and went into surgery thinking the doctor would make her bleeding stop and all would be well. How afterwards she was assigned to the maternity wing because the other wards were full, and some senile old nun doddered in and asked what she had, then turned huffy when Fio said she had a dog and a guinea pig. How when it was time for her to leave, the staff member helping her down the hall said the hospital wouldn't let her have a wheelchair because then she'd  feel sorry for herself. How one of her neighborhood friends told her that the miscarriage was God's way of saving her from having a deformed baby.

There are some of the better memories Fio has. The worst are even worse.

Medical Frustration

Early in the week, Fio's cardiologist prepared her for eye surgery by having her hold her coumadin pills and inject herself with lovenox instead. Fio called him on Friday, the day after surgery, and asked if she could discontinue the lovenox because the shots were unexpectedly painful, so Dr. H worked out a new regimen that would take her off lovenox by Monday, although she would have to go to the ER of her local hospital on Sunday to be sure her INR was 2.0 or above.

Fio followed directions, giving herself what she hoped would be a final shot of lovenox Sunday morning, then driving off to St. D's Hospital for the INR check. However, no one knew what to do with her because Dr. H hadn't given them any "orders." The nurses finally got another doctor to write the "orders" and, about an hour later, Fio was ushered into a room where a phlebotomist took a vial of her blood. Fio protested, saying that the procedure should be a simple finger-prick, but the phlebotomist said she'd never heard of INR and that that Fio could get the results from Dr. H on Monday. Fio explained that she was supposed to get the results immediately so she would know whether or not to use lovenox in the evening, so the phlebotomist said the lab would report to Dr. H within an hour and he himself would call Fio.

Five hours later, Fiorella got hold of Dr. H on her own. Bad news--her INR is too low to discontinue the lovenox so she'll have to shoot herself up for three more days.

Fiorella is not happy on several accounts.

Sleeping Quarters

First, Husband went to the hospital for a knee-replacement, then to rehab, and now he'll be coming home on Saturday, and next week he'll start in-home therapy. Earlier, Husband had told Fio he would be able to walk upstairs when he came home, which meant he'd be able to sleep in the master bedroom, but now it looks like he'll have to stay downstairs for a while, which means he'll sleep on the couch, and Fio, who usually sleeps on the couch because Husband flails in his sleep and accidentally hits her, will have to sleep upstairs. Of course, there is a downstairs guest bedroom, but Minnesota son, who has braces on his ankles, can't navigate the stairs any better than his father. Fio may end up wrapped in a blanket on the floor.

Progress

Husband is home from the hospital to stay, and we picked up his car from the body shop this afternoon, which are two giant steps forward. Now if we can just find his wallet and two pairs of my glasses, which have been missing for about a week. Wish us well.

Current Issues

Instead of devoting her day to writing yesterday, Fio devoted it to another hospital visit and her baby car, whose battery died at the hospital (irony), leaving Fio and Husband stranded. But all's well that ends well, and by the end of the day, everyone and everything was shipshape again.

It looks like the electronic underpinning of the country is shipshape again too--until the next time.

Such a frail system to live by. Fio has long warned that God may decide to turn off the electricity, but it never dawned on her that technology could be manipulated to turn upon itself. A deeper concern is why do people do things like this, deliberately destroy.

What Is This Thing Called "Normal?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...the light at the end of the tunnel. Husband has been home from the hospital for a week now and seems to be genuinely on the mend this time.  Meanwhile Minnesota son has gotten the family electronics straightened out and helped with after-care and transportation, and Fiorella's monstrous list has been reduced to half a page.  Still a few things to go--like finding Husband's wallet--but all in all, sanity is returning to Casa Fiorella. She's planning to wash her hair today and has made arrangements to attend a romance writers' meeting tonight. And, wonder of wonders, she's soon going to have time to write again.

Helpers

Fiorella loves people who help her, like the man at HEB who got the leche down from the top shelf in the dairy case for her yesterday and the checker who taught her the Spanish word for "bag"--bolsa. Like Patrick at Click Computer Repair, who unfroze her computadora and put an icon on its desktop so Fio could do the job herself in the future. Like our Chase Bank person who listened to Fio babble on about Husband's hospital stays and comforted her.

God is good. People are good. All will be well.

Acting Out

Face it, Fiorella--you lost your cool. You went ape-shit crazy when the home health care people didn't appear--again--and  you hit eighty as you sped down Hwy 29 toward the hospital because you wanted to pick up a police escort. You couldn't take it anymore and wanted the whole world to know what was going on.

You are definitely not cut out to be a nurse.

Continuing Saga

Husband is still in the hospital, but Daughter took off yesterday to help Fio.  In fact, she took over, which was great, accompanying Fiorella to the hospital, preparing a list of questions, and grilling the nurses, then taking Fio out to eat at Chili's. Afterwards she helped Fio gather what seemed like a fifty-pound weight of items Husband needed at his bedside, which Fio dutifully delivered after Daughter left.

This morning, Husband called Fio with all sorts of complaints about the nursing staff, so he must be getting better.

Family Solidarity

Is it Wednesday already?  Fiorella spent most of Tuesday in the hospital with Husband, who was kept overnight for observation.  The whole family is rallying around, and Daughter will be taking over today, while Fiorella attends two important meetings in Austin. Meanwhile, Sonia Dog guards the hearth.

Medical Day

It happened today.  Fiorella's scorpion-stung toe turned red and swelled up like a baby sausage.  And it HURT.  But before she could get to a doctor, she had to drive over to the local emergency room to be with Son, who was having painful stomach spasms.  Four hours and loads of tests later, and they still didn't know what the problem was, but he was given a prescription for pain medication and told to make an appointment with a gastroenterologist because it might be his gall bladder.  

Fio then took off for her coumadin nurse, who graciously saw her early because Fio had made a toe appointment with her PCP on the south side of Austin for 3:45.

 It's now five and Fio is home at last.  Amen.