Boob Rigged

So you'd think once a drain tube is removed the pain goes away, but this is not the case. The morning after being released from the hospital, I have an appointment with the Russian's office for IV training. Recall the drain tube site was basically my under boob. Right where underwire or elastic of a sports bra hits. You get where I'm going. I was going bra-less. To some no big deal. To others...

Pain. Walking hunched over with my right arm bent to support my boob. The Russian's staff looks at me like I'm a complete idiot. "Girrrrl! Why you walking like that? What's going on wich your boob?" I explain. "Well girl, we gotta rig that mess up. Can't have you walking around like that!" They grab a roll of gauze and get to work. When finished, I have a figure 8 wrapped from boob to neck. And it worked. 

Then they get to the business of teaching me the IV routine. The process itself isn't a problem, but the whole scheduling life around the IV schedule...not so fun. I get my first infusion in his office, and other than leaving a funky taste in my mouth that made me a little nauseous all goes well. 

We return home, and as scheduled I start the second infusion. Nausea is worse. By the time I complete the third infusion, I'm reaching for a barf bags. (By now Fred keeps them strategically placed around the house, I typically don't get much warning when nausea hits.) We call the 24-hour nurse line. She tells me to stop infusions until further notice. 

The next morning Dr. V's office calls. We need to go back to his office and pick up supplies, he wants me to switch back to the first antibiotic I received in the hospital. Recall he switched meds in the hospital, but I only got one infusion in because he forgot to put in the orders. So if he had done his job, we would have known antibiotic #2 makes me sick. Fantastic! 

This is a Thursday. I can't drive myself, and by this point Fred has taken off far too much work, so we make an appointment to pick up the new antibiotic/supplies Monday. We get to his office around 9AM, and wait. And wait. And wait some more. They finally call my name...

"Oh, I'm sorry antibiotic #1 is on back order you'll have to stick with what you have." 

Guys. We about lost it. First, Dr. V's office is not what I would consider a convenient drive. Second, they had since Thursday to figure out the back order situation AND call us. More importantly why did we have to sit for 45 minutes in the waiting room for nothing! They may have rigged my boob, but I'm otherwise thoroughly unimpressed with Dr. V's office. 

About Nurses

The nursing staff at Gwinnett Medical Duluth deserves some praise. While I was terribly miserable in the gerbil cage, they kept me laughing and entertained. I guess it comes with being young and not a complainer, but fairly often they would come into my room just to chat. So see terrible-awful Emory GenPop nursing staff, it's not me - it's YOU! 

It's here that, try as I may, I have accepted I'm never going to be able to connect with Asian nurses. The older the more difficult. Its cultural. You are their job. Filipino totally different. I recognize the accent. Talk about lumpia and throw out the only Tagalog word I know and I've got 'em! Yep, totally made it a game at this point. 

-10 points:  make the Asian nurse smile

-100 points:  make the Asian nurse laugh

-1 billion points:  Asian nurse gently removes a bandage

[Note:  Filipinos are Pacific Islanders not Asians, but I know...white people have difficulties distinguishing the two. If you're going to call them Asian, call them happy Asians. Watch Manny Pacquiao enter a boxing ring and you'll understand.]

It's here the nurses share hilarious stories about other patients. Like the guy that, not even kidding, asked the nurse for a back rub. I nearly laughed out the drain tube from that one. Or the man (not elderly, not paralyzed, no broken bone, or so much as a scratch on one arm) asked if the nurse was going to feed him his lunch. I was in such shock I couldn't even laugh. Either his wife does everything for him including wipe his butt, or the man is watching way too much porn!

It's here, that although I've heard it over and over, I start to accept that yes I am a positive person. And I can't quite understand why they tell me this. They always ask (because I'm young), I share my story (caregiver turned cancer patient), and they tell me I have a good attitude. Is it a feeling I project? Is it because I smile and make jokes? Or simply that I don't break down in tears? And in fact, on occasion, my story brings them to tears. Basically, show me the opposite so I can understand what a bad attitude looks like. 

It's here I get my first hug from a nurse because, while happy for me, she was sad to have me leave. And it's here I make it a challenge, 50 points per hug.