I had an appointment with the surgeon on Thursday. And things went awry the moment I stepped into the office. Dr Owens doesn't have office, but can "borrow" an examination room from a doctor who does. So I got signed in, and the receptionist said I was the only one Dr Owens was seeing that day, so I figured it was bim-bam-boom, and I would be out of there. I was really tired so Joan (G-d love her! What would I do without her?) asked if there was a place where I could like down. And there was.
The way I understand it, Dr O is employed by Mercy San Juan Hospital, and he works strictly in the hospital for surgery and ER.
OK, the receptionist got a call from Dr O saying that there was a fire and the generator died for the third floor of the hospital, and he couldn't leave the hospital. He said he wanted his nurse to schlep me over to the hospital, and he would examine me there. That's when everything started coming apart.
Nurse wrapped me in a blanket, along with my coat with the hood pulled down over my face, and we walked and walked and walked to the hospital, which is just a very short jaunt across the way from the medical building. But there's construction going on. We sat around in the ER, along with all those sick people, and I'm huddled down in a wheelchair. After awhile, I told the nurse I was getting TB. Tired Butt. She thought that was hilarious. So I got up and walked around a bit. Still no Dr O.
After about an hour I was taken into another room where a very nice man took my vitals and a bunch of other info, including the fact that I was waiting to see Dr LEON Owens. He and his brother Mark work together and separately. Dr LEON was the surgeon I wanted to see, and all it was was a post-surgery check-up. Somewhere along the line, someone had said I was having abdominal pain. Yes, a week ago. NO! I'm not having abdominal pain. I'm here for a post-op check with Dr LEON Owens. I don't know how many times I said his name out loud. Never was Dr Mark mentioned. Oh, and there's Dr Mansour people keep asking me about. I haven't a clue, but somehow he's gotten connected to my record.
After all that, and I got a lovely piece of hospital jewelry attached to my wrist, the nurse tried to page Dr Owens. Dr LEON Owens. But she couldn't get through to him for some reason. Awhile later, after I had asked how much longer, it was reported that Dr Owens wasn't in the hospital, hadn't been in the hospital, and there was a note that Dr Owens wanted an ER doctor to examine me. WHAT??!!!
Turns out Dr Mark Owens wasn't in the hospital; it was his day off. There were three other patients ahead of me, and it would be another hour, hour and a half before I could be seen. I said no way, check me out of here. It was 3:45 by that time, and we had been waiting since before 2:00. I'm not waiting. Check me out of here. "We can do that."
So Joan went around for her car and brought it to the parking in front of the ER, and a nice nurse, who had tried everything he could to get me seen, wheeled me out to the car. We had left the parking and the medical center, when Joan's phone rang. It Dr LEON Owens. We must have missed each other by seconds. By this time it was coming on to 4:00, and Joan wasn't about to turn back. We were beginning to run into going home traffic, and I was completely exhausted, and on the verge of tears from fatigue. Anyway, he apologized for the mix-up, and said that Thursdays were his best days for seeing post-op patients, so I'll make an appointment for 8 January.
Joan is going to be gone for a week plus, visiting with her parents first, then her brother. I'd better not be needing anything while she's gone. One friend offered to drive me if I'd make appointments in mid-afternoon. Nope. Can't do that. By mid-afternoon, I'm pretty much "all wored out." Haven't been able to chat for the full time with Marian. But my strength will return.
The strictly observant men of Chabad wear long black coats and black hats. They're identified as Black Hats. Sometimes with amusement, sometimes with disdain. And the men of the Chabad shul I go to are Black Hats. All this preliminary to telling you about a visit I had this afternoon. Rabbi, our former Cantor and five other men. They came in chanting a happy melody, and bringing a lot of energy with them. Golly! it was good! Rabbi said the prayer for a person who has returned from danger, and everyone said Amen. Including me. Twice. I expect I'll go up to the Bima the first Saturday I'm back, and Rabbi will repeat the prayer. I'm not pushing for any time before three weeks.
I have three weeks of in-home services, and I'm going use every day that is offered. Physical therapy twice a week; visiting nurse twice a week; home health aide three times a week. I've been sort of bathing myself, sitting on the shower bench and using the hand-held shower head. Don't think I'll try to shampoo until the HHA can be here to help. And get a good back scrub.
Whoo! I'm worn out. Gonna go back to bed.
Bless
The way I understand it, Dr O is employed by Mercy San Juan Hospital, and he works strictly in the hospital for surgery and ER.
OK, the receptionist got a call from Dr O saying that there was a fire and the generator died for the third floor of the hospital, and he couldn't leave the hospital. He said he wanted his nurse to schlep me over to the hospital, and he would examine me there. That's when everything started coming apart.
Nurse wrapped me in a blanket, along with my coat with the hood pulled down over my face, and we walked and walked and walked to the hospital, which is just a very short jaunt across the way from the medical building. But there's construction going on. We sat around in the ER, along with all those sick people, and I'm huddled down in a wheelchair. After awhile, I told the nurse I was getting TB. Tired Butt. She thought that was hilarious. So I got up and walked around a bit. Still no Dr O.
After about an hour I was taken into another room where a very nice man took my vitals and a bunch of other info, including the fact that I was waiting to see Dr LEON Owens. He and his brother Mark work together and separately. Dr LEON was the surgeon I wanted to see, and all it was was a post-surgery check-up. Somewhere along the line, someone had said I was having abdominal pain. Yes, a week ago. NO! I'm not having abdominal pain. I'm here for a post-op check with Dr LEON Owens. I don't know how many times I said his name out loud. Never was Dr Mark mentioned. Oh, and there's Dr Mansour people keep asking me about. I haven't a clue, but somehow he's gotten connected to my record.
After all that, and I got a lovely piece of hospital jewelry attached to my wrist, the nurse tried to page Dr Owens. Dr LEON Owens. But she couldn't get through to him for some reason. Awhile later, after I had asked how much longer, it was reported that Dr Owens wasn't in the hospital, hadn't been in the hospital, and there was a note that Dr Owens wanted an ER doctor to examine me. WHAT??!!!
Turns out Dr Mark Owens wasn't in the hospital; it was his day off. There were three other patients ahead of me, and it would be another hour, hour and a half before I could be seen. I said no way, check me out of here. It was 3:45 by that time, and we had been waiting since before 2:00. I'm not waiting. Check me out of here. "We can do that."
So Joan went around for her car and brought it to the parking in front of the ER, and a nice nurse, who had tried everything he could to get me seen, wheeled me out to the car. We had left the parking and the medical center, when Joan's phone rang. It Dr LEON Owens. We must have missed each other by seconds. By this time it was coming on to 4:00, and Joan wasn't about to turn back. We were beginning to run into going home traffic, and I was completely exhausted, and on the verge of tears from fatigue. Anyway, he apologized for the mix-up, and said that Thursdays were his best days for seeing post-op patients, so I'll make an appointment for 8 January.
Joan is going to be gone for a week plus, visiting with her parents first, then her brother. I'd better not be needing anything while she's gone. One friend offered to drive me if I'd make appointments in mid-afternoon. Nope. Can't do that. By mid-afternoon, I'm pretty much "all wored out." Haven't been able to chat for the full time with Marian. But my strength will return.
The strictly observant men of Chabad wear long black coats and black hats. They're identified as Black Hats. Sometimes with amusement, sometimes with disdain. And the men of the Chabad shul I go to are Black Hats. All this preliminary to telling you about a visit I had this afternoon. Rabbi, our former Cantor and five other men. They came in chanting a happy melody, and bringing a lot of energy with them. Golly! it was good! Rabbi said the prayer for a person who has returned from danger, and everyone said Amen. Including me. Twice. I expect I'll go up to the Bima the first Saturday I'm back, and Rabbi will repeat the prayer. I'm not pushing for any time before three weeks.
I have three weeks of in-home services, and I'm going use every day that is offered. Physical therapy twice a week; visiting nurse twice a week; home health aide three times a week. I've been sort of bathing myself, sitting on the shower bench and using the hand-held shower head. Don't think I'll try to shampoo until the HHA can be here to help. And get a good back scrub.
Whoo! I'm worn out. Gonna go back to bed.
Bless