I think that my brain stopped working under real stress. I didn’t understand what the nurses were telling me about my husband;s condition. The cardiology floor is a busy place and I sat with him for hours gathering snippets of information about heart attacks, stents, after-care, ekgs, sonograms until I felt stuffed as a Thanksgiving turkey.
I woke up after a terrible night and drove to the hospital so early I beat the valet service. I arrived hours before visitors are allowed. I wanted to speak directly with his doctor. Do you understand that our cardiologist is part of a large group practice. The good part is that there is a continuity of care. The bad part is you never know which doctor will be covering on a specific day.
The doctor on duty had a pleasant manner and to my horror I heard myself ask if he had graduated from high school yet?
OMG. A bad start to a serious discussion. Luckily he had a sense of humor. He actually took the time to explain to me why my husband is on the medicine he’s taking. How they monitor the dosage and what to expect over the next few days.
So here I am. Depending on his progress: his warfarin will be adjusted until he reaches the proper dosage to keep another clot from forming; he’ll go to rehab if he needs to recover muscle mass from lying in bed; he’ll improve slowly over the next four to six weeks.
So. Another day to practice my patience with my patient.
Thanks for your prayers and support in this difficult time.
I’ve always believed that prayer works miracles.
Waiting is the hardest part of being the one not in the hospital. I have no patience in real life. I want everything done right now. Be prompt even early.
That’s not what happens in the hospital. I wait for the nurse to finish her (I am surprised by the number of male nurses. I guess i’m old-fashioned.) or his giving of medicine, checking vital signs, checking the lines or asking questions. I wait for the nurses aid to do her share of the care. I wait for the doctor to make his rounds and I wait impatiently for his answers.
I know my husband will be on a low salt, low fat diet. He’ll also need to avoid special foods that interfere with warfarin, a blood thinner. He’s already complaining.
It’s a good sign that he’s grumbling about the bed, the blankets, the air-conditioning and the food. He’s the the patient, but I’m the one who will need patience.
My husband is in the ICU. Intensive Care Unit for those of you lucky enough to never have needed it. If I sound a little blurry, I am. I know I slept last night, but I’m not in any way normal. My mind keeps jumping and yesterday I found myself stuttering when family and friends called for updates.
How do I know what’s happening? I listened to the doctors explain the procedure, why they are treating him with certain drugs—
Why don’t they understand I can’t hear them? I want my husband home and well, not in this busy place with machines beeping and honking and chirping. So many dedicated people concentrating on th e patient care. Blue scrubs seem to be the norm. I have to walk carefully between the complicated machines waiting in the corridor for the unexpected.
Two days and I’m hoping they moved him to the step-down unit today. They will if he’s better. Something I can understand.
No it’s not a joke. My husband had a heart attack yesterday morning. It wasn’t supposed to happen to him. His cholesterol is 130, his blood pressure 120/70 and his pulse 60. He goes to the Cardiologist for for a yearly check-up and is in very good health.
Take this as a warning. HE thought he had an upset stomach. Lots of gas and burping, then it went away. He woke at three thirty am and I asked him if he was
“I feel funny,” he said. That raised the hair on my neck and I called 911 without asking him any more.
Forty-one minutes later they were wheeling him into surgery for a blocked heart vessel.
He had ‘the widow maker’ on the table. If it had happened at home he’d be gone and I’d be writing a different blog.
They saved his life and inserted a stent to open the vessel.
He got out of bed this morning.
I am praying he will be fine.
Actually helping on a political campaign was a leap for me. I didn’t know what to expect. I did ask to be there when the candidate arrived to give a speech.All research is grist for the writing mill.
Talk about weird. Me, not the candidate. What do you wear to a rally? Dress up? Dress down? What if someone takes my picture? I finally decided comfort came first. The temperature was hitting the high eighties, so khaki slacks and a summer top was my final choice.
The election headquarters is in a former storefront. The furnishings had been removed and tables and chairs installed. A large display of political paraphernalia was displayed near the door. Bumper stickers in two sizes, pens or pencils, tee shirts bold printed with the candidates name were being handed out and worn by the volunteers. There went my concern about what to wear. The pretty blue shirt is in my favorite color.
I was greeted by several people upon arrival and shooed to the tables. My help was needed on the phones. Haha. The phones reminded me of the computer named Hal, all lights and buttons. Did they know what they were doing asking me to use a machine? I looked at the elderly lady sitting across from me. She was certainly ninety and diligently pressing buttons.
I closed my eyes, sent up a prayer and started. First record a message to leave if no-one answers. I did get a few actual people. Half didn’t want to answer a few questions about what is important to them. Half were supporters or interested in knowing more.
I watched the others. Here was my biggest surprise. The group was almost a reflection of the population of our country. Young, old, male, female, ethnic groups and experience were all involved. If I tell you what they talked about you’ll instantly know who I support. I was so impressed by the college students who knew the issues and ready to work hard to get them implemented.
After my hand got numb from dialing, the candidate arrived to give a pep talk and shake hands. I watched this savvy person circle the room. Every person received attention. I was impressed. Not a plastic or fake reaction to the people who worked.
I shook hands and made a couple dumb remarks. A winning smile and thanks for my support made me glad I went. I’d do it again.
So maybe my title is a tad misleading. When I decided arguing about politics made me angry and didn’t affect the big picture, I decided to try “Another Adventure.” (I always use the reasoning that any new knowledge is ‘grist for the mill.”)
I leaped blindly into the political area. Well, maybe put in a toe in some very turbulent waters is a better description. I know who I’d like to have elected. So I volunteered to help.
Working as a volunteer for a politician is uncharted waters for me. I’m a registered voter and I consistently vote in every election. I like to argue about political topics. I have a lot of opinions that disagree with a number of family and friends. I once ran for local office and lost, sooo….
Why am I volunteering?
I hate the way the politics have taken over the news. Years ago the Presidential election started after the National Conventions. Voters had four to six weeks of bombardment and argument. It got hot, but it was over and the new guy (or girl?) took over. Now the news builds hate and resentment against every candidate and I don’t like it.
I’m obsessive about following issues I regard as important. Did you notice I’m keeping this in a general context? I don’t want to get into an argument with you. I’m sharing how I feel and hope it chimes a chord with you.
I’m helping at a rally. Helpers do lots of stuff. Wear a hat with the candidate’s name. Cheer during the speech. Actually meet the candidate and find out if all those pretty words mean anything. I’m keeping my fingers crossed. I’m too good a writer to be taken in by empty phrases.
My husband and I are debating a yard sign. He says no because the neighbors are the other party. I say yes because I care about who wins. I winced when I overheard someone say their grandchildren will not have the kind of life we enjoyed.
I believe in the United States of America, The Bill of Rights, The Constitution and the power of the people to control our nation’s future.