Been nuts. I've tried to at least comment on people's various blogs and LJs so no one will think I'm in the hospital again.
Wednesday I met with the nephrologist. He is pleased as punch with my rising CO2 (I am now up to 22 -- go, me!!), and he demoted my blood draws to once next week and once two weeks after that. And the fingers rejoiced!! I happened to finally find out what my CO2 was when I was admitted to ICU, and it's no wonder everyone was freaking out and I was getting my blood drawn every couple of hours the first day. Remember how I said the lower limit of normal is 18? Well, I was 6. ::shiver::
I still have to take six bicarb tablets a day, but I'm used to that now. Dr. C also told me he will not release me for surgery until my CO2 is 26, and so we will see what happens when I see him a week after my second lab. ::sigh:: That means another MONTH until I have the POSSIBILITY of doing something about these thrice-bedamned stones.
Thursday we went to pick up P for his pulmonology check-up, and I also had a follow-up with my GP from my ER admit. Afterwards, we stopped by the house on the way back to Wichita so I could pee and P could see the progress on the addition and meet the new puppy. When we walked into the house, Dad was asleep in his chair and moaning in his sleep. I know what that means when I do that (seriously, majorly ill or in pain or both), so I was immediately concerned. He's not been feeling too whoopie for about a week -- nausea and diarrhea, not to mention the drywall dust making his allergies go nuts. I talked to Mom, and the three of us convinced Dad to ride to Wichita with us and go to the VA. Didn't take a lot of convincing or arm twisting -- and that in itself was an additional sign of how badly he was feeling. While Mom hung with him at the ER, I stayed at P's. He let me use his dorm cash to get something for supper, and I got to watch a new ep of CSI. ::swoon:: I also got to hang with Naomi for a couple of hours and meet her new girl Zoe, a standard/miniature poodle mix. The doctors admitted Dad after HOURS of deliberation, the end result of which was they THOUGHT it might be his appendix. My reaction: "Well, they'd better figure it out, preferrably before it goes POP!" Mom got to P's at about 2330, she helped me pee (yes, my life revolves around peeing -- deal), and we headed home after purchasing bottled caffeine for Mom. I was tired as hell, but I kept talking to Mom to help her stay awake. We got home about 0045, were in bed by 0130, and we were back up again by about 0730-0800 to do chores and head back to Wichita.
Last night, I took advantage of Dad being gone and watched Numb3rs. ::swoon:: I want to marry Charlie and at least TRY to make babies with him! I got to bed late because Mom worked, but it wasn't as late as the night before. We were up early again, and we stopped at an ATM for me and Borders for Mom and Dad (you how much I HATE going to the bookstore since they always FORCE me to buy at least one book and a chai), then it was to the hospital again. As of today, the docs are sure it's an intestinal infection (they're nice and inflammed in all the pics), but they can't determine if it's viral or bacterial. Dad is still in the hospital today.
Gods, I need somebody to take me out.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Yet another medical update
My nephrologist's nurse called this afternoon, and he wants to see me tomorrow at 10:30 and get another BMP at least an hour and a half before seeing him. He is extremely concerned and confused about the fact that my CO2 is dropping despite taking six sodium bicarbonate tablets a day.
He also will not authorize any procedure to deal with my kidney stones until the acidosis is under control.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
He also will not authorize any procedure to deal with my kidney stones until the acidosis is under control.
I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Bad, bad Monday
I had my follow-up with my urologist, Dr. M, yesterday. While waiting for him, I started breathing like I did when I wound up in the hospital the last time. My CO2 according to yesterday morning's labs was 18, which is the lowest limit of normal but down from the 21 it was last Thursday. Thinking I might have gotten dehydrated at the RenFaire on Sunday even though I drank almost two bottles of water there and a full 32 ounces within an hour of getting home, I decided to try to get my fluids up. I had some water there at the doc's office, then I had some Gatorade after I got home. I started feeling better and my breathing went close to normal, so I think that was the problem.
As to the meeting with Dr. M -- I still have two stones, one of which is three times bigger than the other. He gave me three options: (1) do the lithotripsy again, (2) do a telescope and laser blasting through my urethra, or (3) do a telescope and laser blasting through my body wall. Option (1) seems pretty senseless. Option (2) is less invasive and has a reduced recovery time, but it is less reliable at getting the stones broken up and may be complicated by my crooked ureter (though the stint MAY help with that). Option (3) is much more reliable at getting the stone broken up but means I'd be laid up longer -- something that is not good when you have a muscle disease.
I've been pondering and thinking and considering and wondering. I don't know what to do. I want to be done with this shit, but I don't want to lose any more strength. I already feel weaker from the two hospital stays. Mom suggested that if I choose Option (3) that we make the doc order PT to come in and do strength exercises with me.
Then yesterday afternoon I called T-Mobile to find out why I can't send or receive any calls on my cell. The automated voice told me my account is suspended because I am over my spending limit of $150 a month. I owe them $163+change. Excuse me??? I spoke to a CSA who told me I'm 250 minutes over my plan minutes of 600 per month. WHAT??? I have never ever never EVER come anywhere NEAR using my 600 minutes, let alone going over by THAT much. I told the CSA that something that I can't conceive of has happened, that my phone never EVER leaves my presence because it is always attached to my wheelchair and NO ONE ELSE has access to it, that she needs to take the minutes off. She put me on hold and then came back on to say they can only give me a ONE TIME credit of 50% off the overage, which amounts to me still having to pay them $110.
I told her NO WAY am I paying for something I didn't do. She asked me to look at my statement online and tell her which calls I didn't make, but still the only thing they can do is take 50% off the overage. I told her they could and WOULD take off ALL the overage, and they could cancel my service and I would get a carrier with better customer service. I hung up while waiting for a supervisor.
I tried looking up my statement, but because my account is suspended, I can't access anything online. You know damn good and well my not-so-helpful CSA had to have known that. I called back and demanded a supervisor only to be told "they are all currently busy." My new and not-very-helpful-at-all CSA filled out a form to have a supervisor call me back within two to twenty-four hours. That was around 5:30-6:00 yesterday, and I STILL haven't gotten my callback.
As to the meeting with Dr. M -- I still have two stones, one of which is three times bigger than the other. He gave me three options: (1) do the lithotripsy again, (2) do a telescope and laser blasting through my urethra, or (3) do a telescope and laser blasting through my body wall. Option (1) seems pretty senseless. Option (2) is less invasive and has a reduced recovery time, but it is less reliable at getting the stones broken up and may be complicated by my crooked ureter (though the stint MAY help with that). Option (3) is much more reliable at getting the stone broken up but means I'd be laid up longer -- something that is not good when you have a muscle disease.
I've been pondering and thinking and considering and wondering. I don't know what to do. I want to be done with this shit, but I don't want to lose any more strength. I already feel weaker from the two hospital stays. Mom suggested that if I choose Option (3) that we make the doc order PT to come in and do strength exercises with me.
Then yesterday afternoon I called T-Mobile to find out why I can't send or receive any calls on my cell. The automated voice told me my account is suspended because I am over my spending limit of $150 a month. I owe them $163+change. Excuse me??? I spoke to a CSA who told me I'm 250 minutes over my plan minutes of 600 per month. WHAT??? I have never ever never EVER come anywhere NEAR using my 600 minutes, let alone going over by THAT much. I told the CSA that something that I can't conceive of has happened, that my phone never EVER leaves my presence because it is always attached to my wheelchair and NO ONE ELSE has access to it, that she needs to take the minutes off. She put me on hold and then came back on to say they can only give me a ONE TIME credit of 50% off the overage, which amounts to me still having to pay them $110.
I told her NO WAY am I paying for something I didn't do. She asked me to look at my statement online and tell her which calls I didn't make, but still the only thing they can do is take 50% off the overage. I told her they could and WOULD take off ALL the overage, and they could cancel my service and I would get a carrier with better customer service. I hung up while waiting for a supervisor.
I tried looking up my statement, but because my account is suspended, I can't access anything online. You know damn good and well my not-so-helpful CSA had to have known that. I called back and demanded a supervisor only to be told "they are all currently busy." My new and not-very-helpful-at-all CSA filled out a form to have a supervisor call me back within two to twenty-four hours. That was around 5:30-6:00 yesterday, and I STILL haven't gotten my callback.
Friday, April 14, 2006
Nephrology
I got up yesterday and went to Mac to get my Thursday blood draw. The phlebotomist had drawn me a couple of times while I was in the hospital, so she wasn't surprised at how difficult I am to bleed. After a couple of attempts to get my veins, she settled for a finger stick. For a basic metabolic profile (BMP), a finger stick is not ideal because it misrepresents the sodium and potassium levels -- you get more of both because of the "tissue damage" of squeezing the finger repeatedly to get 1-2 cc of blood. I came out with a bright yellow circus bandaid, though. That was groovy.
After that we made a quick stop at the pharmacy to pick up the nausea medicine Dr. P had called in for me the day before, then we were off to Hutch to meet with the nephrologist. He called me in thirty minutes after my appointment time, but he was very apologetic and explained that he had squeezed me in at the tail-end of his appointment day in Hutch (his practice is in Wichita) after receiving the call from Dr. P on Tuesday. I was lucky to be able to see him so soon. The only two problems were that (1) we were on a tight schedule because Mom worked yesterday, and (2) I was starving. After calling Mac hospital to fax all my labs and stuff (which they did EXTREMELY promptly, much to his surprise), Dr. C looked over everything and admitted to being perplexed. He thinks a couple of things might be happening. First, he thinks my excessively large bladder means that my urine is sitting too long and so the acidity is following Fick's Law and moving from the area of its higher concentration (in my bladder) to an area of lower concentration (into my bloodstream). He also thinks the remaining kidney stone is not allowing that kidney to properly pull acidity from my blood and put it in the urine. So, I am to try to pee more frequently and take two sodium bicarbonate tablets a day.
Dr. C also thinks that I have a low-grade, persistent UTI due to the stone as well. Thus he put me on ten days of Levaquin followed by thirty days of Bactram. Yoplait is going to LOVE me for the next month, considering I already had the start of a yeast infection from the IV antibiotics they gave me in the hospital. I was so wanting yogurt that last night I had a dream I went to buy some and it was all out of date. SERIOUSLY out of date. Like the date on one container read Feb. 27, 1920. When I pointed this out to the sales associate, he looked at the container and then me and asked, "Are you SURE it's not still good???"
After that we made a quick stop at the pharmacy to pick up the nausea medicine Dr. P had called in for me the day before, then we were off to Hutch to meet with the nephrologist. He called me in thirty minutes after my appointment time, but he was very apologetic and explained that he had squeezed me in at the tail-end of his appointment day in Hutch (his practice is in Wichita) after receiving the call from Dr. P on Tuesday. I was lucky to be able to see him so soon. The only two problems were that (1) we were on a tight schedule because Mom worked yesterday, and (2) I was starving. After calling Mac hospital to fax all my labs and stuff (which they did EXTREMELY promptly, much to his surprise), Dr. C looked over everything and admitted to being perplexed. He thinks a couple of things might be happening. First, he thinks my excessively large bladder means that my urine is sitting too long and so the acidity is following Fick's Law and moving from the area of its higher concentration (in my bladder) to an area of lower concentration (into my bloodstream). He also thinks the remaining kidney stone is not allowing that kidney to properly pull acidity from my blood and put it in the urine. So, I am to try to pee more frequently and take two sodium bicarbonate tablets a day.
Dr. C also thinks that I have a low-grade, persistent UTI due to the stone as well. Thus he put me on ten days of Levaquin followed by thirty days of Bactram. Yoplait is going to LOVE me for the next month, considering I already had the start of a yeast infection from the IV antibiotics they gave me in the hospital. I was so wanting yogurt that last night I had a dream I went to buy some and it was all out of date. SERIOUSLY out of date. Like the date on one container read Feb. 27, 1920. When I pointed this out to the sales associate, he looked at the container and then me and asked, "Are you SURE it's not still good???"
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Back in the hospital
Yea! What fun!
Last Thursday, when the wind was blowing a bazillion MPH and kicking up all kinds of dirt, I started having breathing problems. Fast, shallow breaths. No fun. I took a hit off my inhaler before Mom went to work, and it helped for a little while, but then the fast, shallow breathing returned. I called Mom to see if we had any of P's medicine for the nebulizer, and she said no. She advised me to try the inhaler again or call my doctor. I was a bit nervous about trying the inhaler again so soon (it had only been about three hours since the last hit), so I called my doctor, but he was off that day. I talked extensively with the nurse, explaining I couldn't go see the on-call doctor because Mom was at work and Dad was getting his quad serviced -- no one home to drive me. She told me to try the inhaler again and call her before 5:00 to tell her if it worked. She was very worried, and I wasn't exactly in a cheerful mood about it myself. I tried to call my aunt to get her to help me, but there was no answer at her house. I called Grandma's to see if she was there. She wasn't, and Grandma asked if there was something she could do. I told her what was up and that I needed help with my inhaler. She said she was on her way.
At this point, I was seriously considering going to the Mac ER. The problem was that Dad was feeling worse than I was (he had been off his heart medication for a week but was back on it, and it was kicking his ass all over the place), so I knew he wouldn't be up to sitting in the ER with me. Grandma arrived in short order and helped me with the inhaler, and she decided to stick close until Dad got home. Then she made the mistake of telling me she had driven 70 MPH in a 45 MPH crosswind to get to the house. Short of breath or no, I let her have it.
Me: Grandma, what the hellwere you thinking?
Grandma: You needed help. I wasn't sure how bad you were.
Me: Well, you wouldn't have been very much help to me if you'd wrecked on the way here!
Grandma: Weeeeeeell, I suppoooooose . . . .
That hit of albuterol didn't help for long, either, so I called Mom again at work to tell her I really probably ought to go to the ER. She called my aunt, who was now home, and she took me in. We arrived at the ER at about 6:45 or so. My BP was 185 over 134 and my heart rate was somewhere in the neighborhood of 150. On the way in and while at the hospital, I had a couple of waves of nausea but was able to talk myself out of throwing up. The ER doc gave me three separate breathing treatments, each with different medications, none of which significantly improved my breathing. At that point, she said, "I think you have an inflamed trachea, so I'm going to send you home with some steroids." I wasn't comfortable with that diagnosis and asked her to somehow get in touch with my doc.
While she did some calling and the stupid respiratory therapist kept asking me every ten minutes if I felt better YET, my nausea returned, and this time I couldn't talk myself out of yakking. Through the entire ER process of that night, I threw up three times, increasing in volume with each episode. After either talking to MY doc or the one on call, the ER doc ordered blood chem tests, blood gases, and a CT scan of my heart and lungs to see if I had a clot somewhere. The CT required the injection of contrast solution, so first we had to have fun with starting an IV. By this point, Mom had spelled my aunt (it was now about 10:15 or 10:30) and I had gotten her to lay me down on the gurney because my kidney was really starting to rock and roll. By about 1:30, we had determined I did not have a blood clot, but I DID have acidosis -- so badly that I was admitted into ICU. Well, at least we explained the shortness and rapidness of my breathing -- when you're blood is acidic that means your CO2 levels are very high, and you breathe rapidly to try to get rid of it and put your blood gases back into balance.
I slept fitfully that night, sleeping no more than an hour and a half before having to reposition or pee (I was on IV fluids by this time). Then started fun Friday.
Dr. P was afraid I'd blow the IV that was placed in a tiny vein in the back of my left hand, so he ordered another IV started. My RN tried and failed. Another RN tried and failed. They called anesthesia to get them to do it. He tried twice and failed. Interspersed throughout this were scads more CBCs and ABGs and BMPs and XYZs and such (blood work). Dr. P ordered a central line.
For those of you who don't know, a central line is a small catheter that is threaded through your jugular vein down to about your collar bone. They put a needle in your jugular to where they want the end of the catheter to be, then they thread a guide wire for the catheter, and finally they thread the catheter and then remove the guide wire and the needle. On most people, I'm sure it's easy.
I was assured I would be sedated for the procedure, and that was Jim Dandy fine with me since I was TIRED of being stuck. The guy went to get the materials, and I peed yet again. When he came back, he patiently answered my questions and then broke the bad news.
My doctor would not let me be sedated.
Turns out sedation can mess with your CO2 levels, and mine were already out of whack. I wasn't happy, but what could I do? I said OK, and we started.
Let me just say that a central line placement is in my Top 5 Worst Things I Have Ever Been Subjected To. Those of you who have ever had a PICC line placed will have some idea of what I felt.
And they never got the damn thing in! Forty-five to sixty minutes of work (of which I only started to cry in the last fifteen -- go me!), and they never got the damn thing in. I cried hysterically for at LEAST fifteen minutes after the guy gave up. He and the sweet student who was observing got me settled down, then they turned off all the lights, advised me to turn on the TV, and then left me blessedly alone. I cried a little more, calmed down, called Kender, and cried some more. ::hitching breath:: Man, that SUCKED!!!
Saturday was better. I slept a solid five hours, and the blood work was taken with a finger stick. Then they tried to get an ABG (arterial blood gas). I had already been stuck for it three times in my right wrist and wouldn't let them touch my left because I was babying that hand to keep my precious IV. My right wrist had had enough. The nerves were tender, and the artery was SO DONE with giving blood. They tried FOUR TIMES to get the ABG and failed. The last one hurt so badly and I was crying so hard that I told the lady I'd let her try my left wrist if she'd just TAKE OUT THE NEEDLE!! Apparently Dr. P was outside my room, and he told them no more ABGs for a while. That was the end of the needles for that day. ::sigh::
That afternoon, Mom brought my four-year-old niece Jamie up to see me. She brought me a rock she had picked out especially for me, then she got Mom to lift her into the bed so she could snuggle with me. She was very concerned about the tubes under my nose (I was on an oxygen canula) and in my hand (the IV) and the wires on my chest (the heart monitor), but I explained what they were for and she was fine after that. She even had to give me a play-by-play of my heart rate at one point. "Now it's one-zero-three. Now it's one-zero-zero. Nine-nine. One-zero-one. Nine-eight." Later, she asked me if I still had a rock in my tummy (referring to my kidney stones).
Sunday Dr. P ordered blood cultures because I had run a slight temp Friday night, then he released me to the floor and a regular room. Mom, Dad, and Jamie visited in the evening and brought me a spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's. Jamie gave me a purple Easter bunny, and Mom gave me a pic of Reba after she and Jamie had been playing dress-up.
Monday afternoon I had another CT scan and an ultrasound of my liver. Someone thought they saw a cyst on my liver on the admission CT pics, but there was none. Since I was going for a CT, I asked them to check my kidney. I still have a 1.5 cm stone. After the CT, I joked with the tech about making me a CD of my pictures so I could look at them. He asked Bruce (the head tech) -- who had done my admission CT and my kidney CT the last time I was in the hospital -- and he cheerfully said he would. Bruce likes me. That evening, I had my CD. Now I need to download some software to look at them. If I can figure out how to post them, I will share with y'all.
Through this time, all the various blood tests were being run to try to determine the cause of the acidosis, and we never did figure it out. I was dismissed yesterday afternoon, and I see a metabolic specialist tomorrow. Hopefully, s/he can get this figured out. Twice in a month is perplexing and frightening. I am also supposed to go to Mac hospital on Mondays and Thursdays for BMPs until further notice so that we can keep an eye on my blood acidity so that, in Dr. P's words, "it doesn't get that bad again."
Last Thursday, when the wind was blowing a bazillion MPH and kicking up all kinds of dirt, I started having breathing problems. Fast, shallow breaths. No fun. I took a hit off my inhaler before Mom went to work, and it helped for a little while, but then the fast, shallow breathing returned. I called Mom to see if we had any of P's medicine for the nebulizer, and she said no. She advised me to try the inhaler again or call my doctor. I was a bit nervous about trying the inhaler again so soon (it had only been about three hours since the last hit), so I called my doctor, but he was off that day. I talked extensively with the nurse, explaining I couldn't go see the on-call doctor because Mom was at work and Dad was getting his quad serviced -- no one home to drive me. She told me to try the inhaler again and call her before 5:00 to tell her if it worked. She was very worried, and I wasn't exactly in a cheerful mood about it myself. I tried to call my aunt to get her to help me, but there was no answer at her house. I called Grandma's to see if she was there. She wasn't, and Grandma asked if there was something she could do. I told her what was up and that I needed help with my inhaler. She said she was on her way.
At this point, I was seriously considering going to the Mac ER. The problem was that Dad was feeling worse than I was (he had been off his heart medication for a week but was back on it, and it was kicking his ass all over the place), so I knew he wouldn't be up to sitting in the ER with me. Grandma arrived in short order and helped me with the inhaler, and she decided to stick close until Dad got home. Then she made the mistake of telling me she had driven 70 MPH in a 45 MPH crosswind to get to the house. Short of breath or no, I let her have it.
Me: Grandma, what the hellwere you thinking?
Grandma: You needed help. I wasn't sure how bad you were.
Me: Well, you wouldn't have been very much help to me if you'd wrecked on the way here!
Grandma: Weeeeeeell, I suppoooooose . . . .
That hit of albuterol didn't help for long, either, so I called Mom again at work to tell her I really probably ought to go to the ER. She called my aunt, who was now home, and she took me in. We arrived at the ER at about 6:45 or so. My BP was 185 over 134 and my heart rate was somewhere in the neighborhood of 150. On the way in and while at the hospital, I had a couple of waves of nausea but was able to talk myself out of throwing up. The ER doc gave me three separate breathing treatments, each with different medications, none of which significantly improved my breathing. At that point, she said, "I think you have an inflamed trachea, so I'm going to send you home with some steroids." I wasn't comfortable with that diagnosis and asked her to somehow get in touch with my doc.
While she did some calling and the stupid respiratory therapist kept asking me every ten minutes if I felt better YET, my nausea returned, and this time I couldn't talk myself out of yakking. Through the entire ER process of that night, I threw up three times, increasing in volume with each episode. After either talking to MY doc or the one on call, the ER doc ordered blood chem tests, blood gases, and a CT scan of my heart and lungs to see if I had a clot somewhere. The CT required the injection of contrast solution, so first we had to have fun with starting an IV. By this point, Mom had spelled my aunt (it was now about 10:15 or 10:30) and I had gotten her to lay me down on the gurney because my kidney was really starting to rock and roll. By about 1:30, we had determined I did not have a blood clot, but I DID have acidosis -- so badly that I was admitted into ICU. Well, at least we explained the shortness and rapidness of my breathing -- when you're blood is acidic that means your CO2 levels are very high, and you breathe rapidly to try to get rid of it and put your blood gases back into balance.
I slept fitfully that night, sleeping no more than an hour and a half before having to reposition or pee (I was on IV fluids by this time). Then started fun Friday.
Dr. P was afraid I'd blow the IV that was placed in a tiny vein in the back of my left hand, so he ordered another IV started. My RN tried and failed. Another RN tried and failed. They called anesthesia to get them to do it. He tried twice and failed. Interspersed throughout this were scads more CBCs and ABGs and BMPs and XYZs and such (blood work). Dr. P ordered a central line.
For those of you who don't know, a central line is a small catheter that is threaded through your jugular vein down to about your collar bone. They put a needle in your jugular to where they want the end of the catheter to be, then they thread a guide wire for the catheter, and finally they thread the catheter and then remove the guide wire and the needle. On most people, I'm sure it's easy.
I was assured I would be sedated for the procedure, and that was Jim Dandy fine with me since I was TIRED of being stuck. The guy went to get the materials, and I peed yet again. When he came back, he patiently answered my questions and then broke the bad news.
My doctor would not let me be sedated.
Turns out sedation can mess with your CO2 levels, and mine were already out of whack. I wasn't happy, but what could I do? I said OK, and we started.
Let me just say that a central line placement is in my Top 5 Worst Things I Have Ever Been Subjected To. Those of you who have ever had a PICC line placed will have some idea of what I felt.
And they never got the damn thing in! Forty-five to sixty minutes of work (of which I only started to cry in the last fifteen -- go me!), and they never got the damn thing in. I cried hysterically for at LEAST fifteen minutes after the guy gave up. He and the sweet student who was observing got me settled down, then they turned off all the lights, advised me to turn on the TV, and then left me blessedly alone. I cried a little more, calmed down, called Kender, and cried some more. ::hitching breath:: Man, that SUCKED!!!
Saturday was better. I slept a solid five hours, and the blood work was taken with a finger stick. Then they tried to get an ABG (arterial blood gas). I had already been stuck for it three times in my right wrist and wouldn't let them touch my left because I was babying that hand to keep my precious IV. My right wrist had had enough. The nerves were tender, and the artery was SO DONE with giving blood. They tried FOUR TIMES to get the ABG and failed. The last one hurt so badly and I was crying so hard that I told the lady I'd let her try my left wrist if she'd just TAKE OUT THE NEEDLE!! Apparently Dr. P was outside my room, and he told them no more ABGs for a while. That was the end of the needles for that day. ::sigh::
That afternoon, Mom brought my four-year-old niece Jamie up to see me. She brought me a rock she had picked out especially for me, then she got Mom to lift her into the bed so she could snuggle with me. She was very concerned about the tubes under my nose (I was on an oxygen canula) and in my hand (the IV) and the wires on my chest (the heart monitor), but I explained what they were for and she was fine after that. She even had to give me a play-by-play of my heart rate at one point. "Now it's one-zero-three. Now it's one-zero-zero. Nine-nine. One-zero-one. Nine-eight." Later, she asked me if I still had a rock in my tummy (referring to my kidney stones).
Sunday Dr. P ordered blood cultures because I had run a slight temp Friday night, then he released me to the floor and a regular room. Mom, Dad, and Jamie visited in the evening and brought me a spicy chicken sandwich from Wendy's. Jamie gave me a purple Easter bunny, and Mom gave me a pic of Reba after she and Jamie had been playing dress-up.
Monday afternoon I had another CT scan and an ultrasound of my liver. Someone thought they saw a cyst on my liver on the admission CT pics, but there was none. Since I was going for a CT, I asked them to check my kidney. I still have a 1.5 cm stone. After the CT, I joked with the tech about making me a CD of my pictures so I could look at them. He asked Bruce (the head tech) -- who had done my admission CT and my kidney CT the last time I was in the hospital -- and he cheerfully said he would. Bruce likes me. That evening, I had my CD. Now I need to download some software to look at them. If I can figure out how to post them, I will share with y'all.
Through this time, all the various blood tests were being run to try to determine the cause of the acidosis, and we never did figure it out. I was dismissed yesterday afternoon, and I see a metabolic specialist tomorrow. Hopefully, s/he can get this figured out. Twice in a month is perplexing and frightening. I am also supposed to go to Mac hospital on Mondays and Thursdays for BMPs until further notice so that we can keep an eye on my blood acidity so that, in Dr. P's words, "it doesn't get that bad again."
Saturday, April 01, 2006
LSU Brings Joy to Katrina-Ravaged State
I've had two teams I was rooting for in the NCAA Tournament -- my alma mater, who made it further than I honestly thought they would, and my new home team, who have REALLY made it further than I honestly thought they would. People down South are always talking about the Saints, but it's the college teams that actually do something for their home fans. Go Tigers!!
LSU Brings Joy to Katrina-Ravaged State
INDIANAPOLIS - LSU is going for more than just a national championship at this Final Four. The Tigers are playing for all those people back home who need a reason to celebrate, a reason to believe that everything will be all right, a reason to get on with their lives.
Already, the impact has been profound for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.
"We've helped the state a lot," said freshman guard Garrett Temple, a second-generation LSU player. "When people watch our games, they forget they're living in a trailer instead of their house in New Orleans. It feels great to know we're making people happy."
In the days following Katrina, the Tigers came face-to-face with unimaginable pain and incomprehensible suffering. They saw children crying out for mothers and fathers who were swept away by the floodwaters. They saw parents desperately searching for sons and daughters who would never be found. They saw battered bodies and hopeless souls.
They saw people die.
"It makes you appreciate life at a younger age," said Glen "Big Baby" Davis, the Tigers' sophomore star. "You think about the choices you make in life. You want to make sure you go out the right way."
If the Tigers are carrying a greater sense of purpose than UCLA, Florida or George Mason, they also have reason to be the loosest team in Indianapolis. When you've seen as much agony as these guys have seen, there's no reason to get all worked up about a basketball game.
"It kind of woke us up," freshman sensation Tyrus Thomas said Thursday at the Tigers' hotel in Indianapolis. "It could have been any of us."
After the hurricane slammed into New Orleans, crumpled the levees and turned the Big Easy into a lake, most of the victims fled inland to Baton Rouge. The Pete Maravich Assembly Center resembled a MASH unit, the wounded scattered all over the Tigers' home court.
Davis got a chance to pitch in.
A man who was hospitalized in New Orleans after a serious car accident had been moved to higher ground, but his condition worsened on the trip to Baton Rouge. While doctors performed impromptu surgery, Davis was drafted to hold the IV bag.
"One of his lungs had collapsed," Davis said, his voice barely above a whisper as he recounted that awful day. "He couldn't breathe. You could see him struggling for air.
"They made this huge hole in his lung. That was crazy. I had never experienced anything like that before. You want to collapse, but you can't collapse because you're holding the IV up. They're depending on you. That was real, real tough."
It was all in vain. Davis watched the man take his final breath.
There was no getting away from the misery. Temple's mother took in at least a half-dozen of the homeless, both family members and people she barely knew. Two of them are still living with her, trying to put their lives back together.
"We would watch the news and see how much water there was," Temple said. "I can't imagine how they must have felt to see their houses going underwater like that."
Eventually, a sense of normalcy returned to the LSU campus. Most of the refugees moved on to other cities, trying to rebuild the lives they once had in the Big Easy. The cots were packed away. The hoops went back up.
The Tigers had a most unexpected season, winning the Southeastern Conference's regular-season title with a lineup of three freshmen and one sophomore. They kept it up in the NCAA tournament, knocking off top-seeded Duke and No. 2 seed Texas on the way to their first Final Four since 1986.
While Katrina's fallout gave the Tigers an added sense of purpose, it wasn't a factor when they stepped on the court. Coach John Brady made that clear to his players before their opening-round game against Iona.
"He told us that the team we played in the first round wouldn't care about Katrina," Temple said. "They would be trying to win the game."
But the Tigers never forgot all those people who were watching back in Louisiana. After beating Texas to win the Atlanta Regional, Davis donned a gold, Mardi Gras-style boa, grabbed the microphone and sent a boisterous shout-out to Katrina's victims.
He wanted to give them a sense of hope. He wanted to show them some love.
That sentiment has been returned many times over.
"We've helped a lot more than I thought we would," Temple said. "I didn't really think it would be like this going in."
Imagine how good everyone will feel if the Tigers win two more games.
"A devastating thing happened. People lost their homes, their families, their lives," freshman Tasmin Mitchell said. "We want to bring a little joy back to Louisiana. We want do something good for our state and for LSU."
They already have.
LSU Brings Joy to Katrina-Ravaged State
INDIANAPOLIS - LSU is going for more than just a national championship at this Final Four. The Tigers are playing for all those people back home who need a reason to celebrate, a reason to believe that everything will be all right, a reason to get on with their lives.
Already, the impact has been profound for the victims of Hurricane Katrina.
"We've helped the state a lot," said freshman guard Garrett Temple, a second-generation LSU player. "When people watch our games, they forget they're living in a trailer instead of their house in New Orleans. It feels great to know we're making people happy."
In the days following Katrina, the Tigers came face-to-face with unimaginable pain and incomprehensible suffering. They saw children crying out for mothers and fathers who were swept away by the floodwaters. They saw parents desperately searching for sons and daughters who would never be found. They saw battered bodies and hopeless souls.
They saw people die.
"It makes you appreciate life at a younger age," said Glen "Big Baby" Davis, the Tigers' sophomore star. "You think about the choices you make in life. You want to make sure you go out the right way."
If the Tigers are carrying a greater sense of purpose than UCLA, Florida or George Mason, they also have reason to be the loosest team in Indianapolis. When you've seen as much agony as these guys have seen, there's no reason to get all worked up about a basketball game.
"It kind of woke us up," freshman sensation Tyrus Thomas said Thursday at the Tigers' hotel in Indianapolis. "It could have been any of us."
After the hurricane slammed into New Orleans, crumpled the levees and turned the Big Easy into a lake, most of the victims fled inland to Baton Rouge. The Pete Maravich Assembly Center resembled a MASH unit, the wounded scattered all over the Tigers' home court.
Davis got a chance to pitch in.
A man who was hospitalized in New Orleans after a serious car accident had been moved to higher ground, but his condition worsened on the trip to Baton Rouge. While doctors performed impromptu surgery, Davis was drafted to hold the IV bag.
"One of his lungs had collapsed," Davis said, his voice barely above a whisper as he recounted that awful day. "He couldn't breathe. You could see him struggling for air.
"They made this huge hole in his lung. That was crazy. I had never experienced anything like that before. You want to collapse, but you can't collapse because you're holding the IV up. They're depending on you. That was real, real tough."
It was all in vain. Davis watched the man take his final breath.
There was no getting away from the misery. Temple's mother took in at least a half-dozen of the homeless, both family members and people she barely knew. Two of them are still living with her, trying to put their lives back together.
"We would watch the news and see how much water there was," Temple said. "I can't imagine how they must have felt to see their houses going underwater like that."
Eventually, a sense of normalcy returned to the LSU campus. Most of the refugees moved on to other cities, trying to rebuild the lives they once had in the Big Easy. The cots were packed away. The hoops went back up.
The Tigers had a most unexpected season, winning the Southeastern Conference's regular-season title with a lineup of three freshmen and one sophomore. They kept it up in the NCAA tournament, knocking off top-seeded Duke and No. 2 seed Texas on the way to their first Final Four since 1986.
While Katrina's fallout gave the Tigers an added sense of purpose, it wasn't a factor when they stepped on the court. Coach John Brady made that clear to his players before their opening-round game against Iona.
"He told us that the team we played in the first round wouldn't care about Katrina," Temple said. "They would be trying to win the game."
But the Tigers never forgot all those people who were watching back in Louisiana. After beating Texas to win the Atlanta Regional, Davis donned a gold, Mardi Gras-style boa, grabbed the microphone and sent a boisterous shout-out to Katrina's victims.
He wanted to give them a sense of hope. He wanted to show them some love.
That sentiment has been returned many times over.
"We've helped a lot more than I thought we would," Temple said. "I didn't really think it would be like this going in."
Imagine how good everyone will feel if the Tigers win two more games.
"A devastating thing happened. People lost their homes, their families, their lives," freshman Tasmin Mitchell said. "We want to bring a little joy back to Louisiana. We want do something good for our state and for LSU."
They already have.