Chasing my Pot 'o Gold

Against better judgment I'm writing this week. The question was many pessimistic, negative posts I can write before it sucks for me (by which time it has long sucked for you)  I somehow convinced myself that this was an update not just bitching. Here goes:

Last week was as tough a week as I've had. My entire right side hurt because of the new liver drain they put in. I was constantly exhausted to the point of not moving for hours, and then when I needed to only for short trips. Walking the steps felting like running a marathon (and yes I've run a few marathons.)  On top of all this, I had my 24-hour IV pump. I got the carry the large new pump in a fanny pack. Home Health Care stopped by a couple of times, but I was primarily responsible for maintaining the pump.

The Big Effing Pot of Gold at the end of the hospital stay and awful week was Sunday night, when the IV would be disconnected, my port deaccessed, and my life would be like it was before this whole ordeal started.

Late Saturday afternoon after a very nice nap, I took my temperature: 103.2. Oh. shit- on the weekend that means an automatic emergency room visit. Another measurement: Shit. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. We all packed clothes, packed in the car, and went to the ER, they dropped me of to handle my stuff, and she took the boys to my in-laws. I Got into the ER, but with my run of you luck, you know I wasn't going home. On Saturday night I was admitted to the hospital again.

I was moved to the IMCU spent Saturday night talking to a lot of new people, none of which knew anything about my last stay here a week ago- so there was a lot of 'splaining to do, not sure it helpful. The most peculiar thing was that even though no one could tell me a thing about what was going on with me, they could all tell me with certainty that I wasn't going home for at least several days...which is bullshit.

I spent Sunday doing nothing, literally nothing. For the people in these places, the value of time is lost. None of the doctors, or nurses or anyone cares- what's a day? waste a day, why not, I've got plenty. For someone on the clock like me, a day is precious, precious gift. A full day of life spent in the IMCU was a tragic loss. I did, however, over the course of the day, get to a see one familiar face and he outlined a game plan. Get a biopsy, then make a plan.

I woke up Monday, and they wheeled me out for the biopsy. By the time I returned to my room I had another liver drain and another little sack of bile that I get to carry around with me every day. Apparently, the aspiration returned some pus, so that Dr. thought is was best drain me again. I'm not sure if this process ends when the drain tube company goes out business or they run out liver to drain.

So here we are, in the hospital indefinitely, at the whim of men (and women) who don't understand the value of time. We do not seem to have a plan to treat whatever is going on with me. We do not seem to know what is going with me.

This one has taken a lot out of me.

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