Pre and Post-Surgical Update

I am attempting to catch up on the activities over the last few days. Sadly, my efforts are falling very short of my actual goal.

A brief synopsis:

I arrived safely at DIA on Monday morning, and am pleased to report no lost luggage. Mum chanced the lengthy drive up from Colorado Springs (she experiences severe panic attacks in traffic) and we had a delightful trip back “home”. The area has become far more overcrowded than when I left.

Mum’s pre-op appointment was on Tuesday. Her surgeon, Dr. Fischer, is a charming man with an admirable patient rapport. He took the time to reassure Mum as well as rechecked her medication needs.

Yesterday was Mum’s surgery, which was delayed due to heavy operatory use. She did rather well and had no reactions to the anesthetic. They placed her on the 9th floor, post-recovery.

Poor Mum. Not only was she not permitted to leave her bed to walk after surgery yesterday (which helps get the lungs back in working order), but she was also given grief over liquid intake (she had written orders that liquids were permitted.) Her respiratory therapist did not turn up yesterday to explain the use of the device left at her bedside (thank God I recalled my own post-op experience with it). Her voice is hoarse and they would not provide her with any means to relieve it. She was not administered any pain medications, sans a single crushed-up Vicodin around 1700 last night. Her post-surgical abdominal cavity gas (which is to be expected after the procedure) was intense, and they did not provide her with any methods of relief.

By this morning, she was in a right agonizing state due to the night nursing team. Her O2 saturation levels were very; they recommended sending her home with a pony bottle. This is due, of course, to her not being able to exercise her lungs at all. She called several times, begging to be allowed to return home. It was time that I put my foot down.

I (as her MPOA) raised hell and the Second Coming this morning. I have dealt with hospitals for over fourteen years (Better Half has his own medical needs) as well as have working medical experience. I do not take lackluster patient care lightly. In other words, don’t fuck around and then expect me to give a hopeless shrug and a clueless look. I was polite up until the staff attempted to give me the “brush off”; I promptly began taking names and ripping assholes. One can accomplish much when one speaks in a polite, professional manner. One needn’t scream or talk down to people. You simply must let your displeasure be known by using a very stern tone of voice. Needless to say, shortly after my call, the nursing supervisor was in Mum’s room making full apology for the mistreatment Mum had to endure last night. They unhooked her and allowed her to walk the halls. The respiratory therapist was at her side 30 minutes later, testing her levels. She was given a chance to shower. These are little things, priceless and cherished, that allow one to feel like a human being again. No one messes with my mommy.

Dad left to retrieve her from the hospital, and I have a pot of holistic chicken soup on the stove. He has been a good man through all of this, taking each situation in stride while maintaining his sense of humour.

I leave you with a few photographs of the Courtyard and its Christmas lighting. (Better Half, I miss you!)