I’ve had quite a month. I had all dates
written down but can’t find the scrap I wrote on. On Mon. 12th,
there was an auction of both deceased neighbors next door, and deaths just a
few years apart, by their daughters, and I tripped over one of the hitches of
the bed wagons with cheap junk on all of them. I ended up with the one thing I
wanted, but Dick had to take my number to bid and get it for me. It was an old
Radio Flyer red wagon with rust at no extra cost. I told him not to go over $25
and got it for $18 --- the only redeeming factor all month to keep me hanging
onto life. I never saw it till after Dick’s hernia surgery on Tuesday, as I had
to fight the battle of my life during that time. I had hit the driveway
with all my weight on my right knee (left is my replacement knee). I
immediately knew the patella was broken. I limped into the house and got an ice
bag, lay back in my recliner, and waited. It was horribly hot & humid, and
the wagon was one of the later things to auction. We then went to the ER, and I
came home with a temporary cheapass knee stabilizer and a 3rd set of
crutches for my collection. Handing a 69-year-old woman a pair of crutches is
insane. No woman over 25, unless a professional athlete, has any business on
crutches. It’s a disaster waiting.
I got some hydrocodone for pain and got
around the house for a couple of days. On Wed., 14th, I got up
in the night to pee. I had been holding the Florinef as per primary doc because
I’m so sensitive to any cortisone, I start swelling. I hadn’t seen him and was
not taking that for over 2 weeks when the bottom dropped out. On my way out of
bathroom, I don’t remember getting up off toilet, but I’m getting good at
continuing what I’m doing when blood supply is nearly gone in brain. Dick once
pulled me out of the shower while I was still washing my hoohah. Not sure how he
got me presentable before the paramedics arrived. That night of the 14th,
I got from toilet to hallway, where at that end of hall is a 6’ tall, approx.
200 lb cabinet. Maybe I got a crutch wedged between wall and armoire, but I was
lying unconscious when the cabinet came crashing down on my head, leaving my
body out of harm’s way, but lying on my head. I awoke hearing Dick screaming,
beside himself. He’d already called the ambulance but was sure I was dead. He
found adrenaline and lifted the thing off my head while I was still out. He was
yelling so much when I came to, I said, “WHAT? What’s wrong with you???” Kept
on yelling my name over & over while I was looking all around, trying to
figure out what was wrong. He said the cabinet crashing woke him, and what he
found was sure death for me. Paramedics started asking me questions, and I was
completely aware of everything, not even a bit fuzzy. It’s always been that
way! I had no pain, no nothing---just a desire to get up and get back into bed.
It wasn’t till the doc at hospital came in and put her hand on my cheek,
sticking out in a goose egg (that is still there), that the pain-relieving
shock wore off suddenly, and I was in horrible pain. They did all their CT
scanning and exams, and miraculously, there were no breaks. Could be my
unconsciousness helped me avoid any breaks. Just a thought. I was transferred
on a board and one of those horrid head things that keeps you from movement.
That was the worst part, then finding out I was in afib. I knew that the 2nd
drug, Tikosyn, was no longer working. Flecainide was cast aside also before
Tikosyn. I was doing some research on drugs on my own, finding there was no
rhyme or reason for pricing. The brand name, Tikosyn, started out at $40 a
month, then in came the generic, priced at around 4x that and continued to
rise. I called Pfizer and asked if they had mercy prices for the destitute, and
she told me to send in the proper documents by faxing my cardiologist, then
that office, in turn, faxed it to Pfizer. She told me when I first called I
qualified for free medication. I got a package from the cardiologist soon
after with 3 mo supply, and it would continue till re-evaluated after a year.
Elation to devastation. I was totally exhausted with the opiate given for pain,
and I’ve discovered that racing hearts in the 160s makes for giving in to the
exhaustion. I slept hard for 14 hours, knowing that I was dying, so I was
saying my goodbyes in my mind to everything and everyone. One CNA came in, and
I asked her if I was dying. “We never know when a person is expiring.”
Such a comfort. OK, so I was dying. I went back into blissful sleep. Later, I
had to pee, so this other CNA comes in to help me to the bedside commode---the
most frightening person I’ve ever encountered, and it occurred to me that I’d
died and was in hell. She was every bit of 6’1” and 300 pounds may be shorting
what she weighed. She had on a full ortho-boot. I asked her if she was hurting,
and she said she had a broken heel. When I sat to pee, she stood glowering over
me, looking quite threatening. She kicked my walker closer to me with her
booted foot. I felt like a petite, skinny, helpless old lady, and I was
relieved when the bull dyke left that room. I reported her the next morning
when I came back to the living and fought my way back to wanting to live and do
my best if I had to deal with the ugly bull dyke again. I at least could
give it a valiant try. I even ordered breakfast after missing several meals,
and mind over matter, I converted myself into normal sinus rhythm. They
arranged for me not to have the horrid woman again, but I also went back into
afib, so they inserted a heart monitor under my skin and changed my medication
to something else and sent me home on the 3rd day.
OK, so on Friday, 16th, I went
home and continued to limp around in the cheap knee stabilizer, all the while
wondering when I would go down again. I had an ortho apt. scheduled for
the following Tues. 20th, which was also Dick’s hernia surgery
scheduled day that I had planned to take him to and stay. Didn’t happen.
Vanessa took off work to take him and my brother-in-law also went.
This was a first for me that I have no
recollection of it, but Dick said at 4 AM on Father’s Day, he heard me go to
bathroom with my walker (another in my collection of many years of falling) and heard me babbling. He
came to me and said I thought I was actually talking to him, but it was gibberish.
Said I was completely white but clinging to the walker handles. He grabbed his
phone and called 911, then came to see me squatted on the floor, still clinging
to the walker legs. He said he finally heard one word, "weak,” then the
guys arrived and put me into the rescue truck for the same old ride. I still
recall NOTHING. At the ER, they were at a loss and asked Dick if they should
transfer me to St. John’s Prairie Heart Institute. He decided that’s where I
needed to be. I remember nothing of the ride, but came alive when this
wonderful young man came in and said, “I’ve read your chart, and I can help
you. This monitor that was put in your chest is useless. You don’t have afib.
You have a very dangerous firing between your left atrial and ventricle . It
needs to be ablated, and I want to take out the monitor and put in a pacemaker.
I started crying, and he patted me and started telling me stories about his
kids, who were leaving for camp that day (again, Father’s Day), so he got up
and fixed them their fave breakfast of bacon and pancakes with choc chips and
strawberries with whipped cream and warm syrup. He said the kids gave him the
most interesting cards for the day. His son’s was the usual sentimental “great
dad” type of cards, and his two girls’ cards said crazy things like Dad’s a
dufus, dork…. That kind of thing. I was so impressed with this wonderful man
and his love of family, etc., I said, right away, “Let’s do this.” It was about
10 AM. He asked me if I’d had anything to eat yet. No, I hadn’t, and he said,
“I want to do this about noon.” And he did. They came after me about 11:45, and
he gave me a shitload of twilight that lasted a very long time that day, but he
got quite a lot of work done in one fell swoop.
Rather than going up my groin, he was
able to remove the monitor, do the ablation, and install the pacemaker, all
through the wound from removal of the heart monitor. I never even have a chance
to thank him and give him a hug later. They sent me home the next day, and Dick
had his surgery as planned the next day. We never could have done it without
Mom, Vanessa, and Fred.
I missed my ortho appt but a couple of
days later, they worked me in, and miraculously the fracture had not separated,
so I got this bionic stabilizer that allows me to walk, with hinges, dials on
each side of the knee and straps of Velcro. It’s huge, but it’s wonderful. I
did my own grocery shopping yesterday, and I’ve managed to keep the kitchen
clean enough to turn out some simple things to eat, keep the 5 litter pans
clean, feed and water the cats (with treats too), make the bed, and keep the
toilets clean. I haven’t felt like passing out, and I discontinued 4
medications per discharge instructions.
My own idea, but within the year after
Tiffany’s death, I was not only treated for PTSD, but diagnosed with lupus. The
first big problem I had was terrible chest pain that echocardiogram showed
pericarditis as the problem. I’ve had many other lupus manifestations through
the years, but my heart has been a target for a very long time. That is, as I
said, my own theory, and the only one that makes sense to me. Finally, I’m
finished, and I’m extremely grateful and thankful to a wonderful person named
John A. Scherschel. He absolutely sold himself to me, and I gladly put my life
into his capable hands. He was my last hope. What he did may be temporary, but
he got me out of the downward spiral I was in.
