may Allah bless my little pixie!!!

we went to the hospital this morning for Fateha’s hearing test, for the second time. the first was done about 8 months ago and although the results were normal, the doctor there wasn’t too confident. she said preemie babies may have problems occur later. so we were reviewed today!

the ENT clinic looked cool with all the xmas decorations and murals on the walls. it so reminded me of my classroom. while we were there, a female staff was bending over, cutting and pasting and outlining the murals. i felt like going up to her to help haha.

waiting time was the crappiest. waiting for the doctor to prescribe the medication to sedate Fateha, that is. the nurses and other staff were ok, just the doctor. grr! i shall not nag elaborate on the tardiness of the doctor, attending to us for less than a minute after waiting for him almost an hour. WHY??

she didn’t take the sedation well. we struggled cos she wouldn’t cooperate while we fed her the bitterness. she tried to throw up on us and regurgitate the meds but of course she couldn’t get it done. HAHA. she got slightly groggy and we stocked her up with milk and off she went to the lala land that easy.

we went into the audiology procedure room and the doctor patted the bed that Fateha had to lie on. we were told to wait outside for about 1 hour while she ran the tests from Fateha’s brain stem. hubby and i took the golden opportunity to be together and had our brunch at the cafeteria.

we came back just in time for the doctor to call us in. Fateha was waking up and still looking drowsy. and for the results:

NORMAL

we didn’t have to come back for a review so there won’t be any third round of tests this time, unless we want to. which of course, we didn’t want HAHA. we’re crossing our fingers that her hearing will be normal for the rest of her life. looking at the hearing aid price list was like digging my own grave. never mind!

we felt very blessed for Fateha’s achievement. one problem down!

but many more to go.

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Since I was in labor all night I didn’t get a lot of sleep but once I got down to my room on the Mother and Baby floor all I could think about was Gwen, and if she’d be able to be in the room with us.  JD never was, he stayed in the NICU.

Just a couple hours later the nurse wheeled in my precious baby girl!  I was so excited I stayed awake most of the day to look at her, love her and feed her.  I’m glad now that I did.

Around 8:00pm the nurse came in to check Gwen’s vitals.  She was just asleep in her little bed but her breathing had turned rapid since I had put her there.  They took her back to the nursery to see if she would calm down but it didn’t and they ended up having to call a doctor.

2 doctors, and one neonatal specialist later our little Gwen is in the Level 2 NICU.  In the bed right next to the one her brother was in almost 23 months ago.

We are waiting on lab work to figure out if it’s an infection or immature lungs.  She is on a CPAP machine now and her lung x-ray “wasn’t great, but wasn’t horrible” according to the doctors.  They have also started her on antibiotics incase it is an infection.  The antibiotics will require her to stay in the NICU for at least 48 hours.

Later this morning I hope to get more information about the situation.  I went in and checked on her about an hour ago and she was sleeping, all hooked up to the monitors and machines.  Brought back a lot of memories from JD’s birth.  At least this time I feel a bit more prepared.

I’ll keep you all posted.

Monday morning I went to my first of two 35 week  NST/AFT appointments alone.  We figured she wasn’t going to come till next week so Jeremy needed to save his time off.  At that appointment we found out that my fluid had dropped to 5.6 cm (anything lower than a 5 your classified as having a condition called Oligohydramnis).  The appointment that morning lasted quite a while since the doctors were trying to decide if they should induce me a week earlier than they had planned the amniocentesis.

They finally sent me home but I had to go back the next morning and have another NST/AFI done instead of waiting till Wednesday.

Mom went with me Tuesday morning.  We dropped JD off at Trish’s house (THANKS AGAIN) and headed down to UVRMC in Provo.  When they checked my fluid this time it was at a 3.7-9? (can’t remember the exact number).  Sure enough within 30 minutes or so we were sent to AF Hospital to be induced.  With her fluid that low the risk of a cord injury or growth restriction is high.

Mom and I headed north and I called Jeremy to let him know he needed to leave work and meet me at the hospital.  We stopped by the house to grab a bag since I’d refused to put one together ahead of time.  We got to the hospital around 10:30am.

At first things went pretty quickly.  The same doctor that was on call during JD’s delivery was on call for this one so he knew the plan.  They started me on Pitocin at noon and I quickly dilated from 1cm to 3+cm by about 3pm.  At this point I was given the epidural.   Oh that blasted epidural…

I am not given an option with the epidural.   I am required to have one because of my heart.  With an epidural they usually pump a mom full of liquids to compensate for your blood vessels dilating after you get the pain medication.  They restrict my liquids so I have to be started on a very low dose of pain medication and then they will gradually increase it throughout the labor.  It was all explained VERY well to us this time around.  About 30 minutes after getting the epidural I was chatting with the nurse and immediately knew something wasn’t right.  I’d had my blood pressure dip once during JD’s labor and I knew what it felt like.  The nurse said I went white as a sheet very suddenly and sure enough I was at 77/44 and dropping(normal is 90/60-130/80).  Within minutes I was flat on my back getting oxygen and I was getting my first shot (of 3 during the next 24 hours) of ephedrine to bring my blood pressure back up.  The effect is almost instant and within 10 minutes I felt fine.  He ended up turning down the epidural even a little more so I honestly could have walked around if they would have let me.  My legs were not really numb at all.  He explained that if I started to feel pain with the contractions to tell him and he would gradually increase the dose.

After that whole fiasco the doctor came in and broke my water, at this point I was almost at 4cm dilated and we expected things to go quickly.  With JD’s labor it took me much longer to get to 4cm and once I hit 5cm he was born within 2 hours.

My pitocin was eventually turned all the way up as high as they go, and finally at 5pm I was dialated to 4cm.  Since the contractions weren’t really close together they didn’t check me again till 9pm and there had been no change at all.

At 12:30am I had “maybe” changed 1/2 a cm.  By this point in time we were on our 3rd nurse since we kept getting the 6 hour shift nurses and not the 12 hour ones (I don’t think they expected us to be there this long).  The doctor ordered my Pitocin stopped and then restarted 30 minutes to “kick start” things a little.

My contractions started to get stronger but every time I’d ask a nurse to call about increasing the epidural .  Around 4am I finally got a nurse to call and they did increase the epidural slightly.  This was the only time I got it turned up at all.  At that point in time I was still hanging out around 4cm and starting to get very discouraged.

My nurse came in and decided to check me at 5:45am since she would be switching with another nurse soon.  I was at 4+cm still.

At 6pm I told Jeremy to go get mom and Trish who were down the hall since the contractions were getting really painful.  I figured we had about 2 hours left maybe.  As soon as he got back I told him to grab a nurse because I was feeling a ton of pressure.

At 6:10am I was 8cm dilated.  She was shocked since they had JUST been talking about delivering me c-section.  She left the room and no more than 2 minutes after she left I told Jer to get another nurse that I felt the need to push.

At 6:15am I was fully dilated and ready to go.  The new nurse that JUST got there told me to “hold on” while she got the doctor and extra staff since Gwen was 5 weeks early.  I was not pleased and wanted to just tell her to catch since I was sure Gwen was coming out even if I tried to hold on.

Lucky for all of us my doctor happened to be at the hospital already.  When he was ready for me to start pushing I asked him about the forceps and he said he wasn’t going to use them.  I was THRILLED at this point and only 3 contractions later Gwen came screaming into the world.

Gwendolyn Olive Brierley M. was born at 6:40am and weighed 6 lbs. 6 oz. and was 19.5 inches long.  Her head is full of dark hair and while she still has her daddy’s eyes a little I believe she’s going to look more like mommy.

She was born just one day further into the pregnancy than JD was.  Weighed 3 oz less than him and was 1/2 an inch taller.

Since this post is already very long I’ll tell you about the rest of her fist day in this world in a new one.

3040714    การจัดการโรงพยาบาล    Hospital Management

การจัดองค์การเพื่อบริการประชาชนที่สลับซับซ้อน และประกอบด้วยบุคลากรระดับวิชาชีพ อิทธิพลของสิ่งแวดล้อมต่อองค์การ และต่อการดำเนินงานขององค์การ ปัญหาการทำงานร่วมกันระหว่างหน่วยงานหรือกลุ่มบุคคลหลายกลุ่มในโรงพยาบาล ความจำเป็นของการสร้างและพัฒนานโยบายการดำเนินงานของโรงพยาบาล นโยบายการสร้างความสัมพันธ์ระหว่างบุคคลที่ทำหน้าที่บริหารในระดับสูง การวางแผนการประสานและการควบคุมงานทุกระดับ

(The management of highly-complexed, professional-oriented human service Organization; the influence of environmental factors on the organization and Functioning of a professional-oriented organization; the inherent problems of integrating several separate administrative organization; the needs for well formulated governing policies, for establishing and defining organizational relationships among top mangement personnel; coordinate and technical planning and control mechanism at all levels.)

(3040714 จุฬาลงกรณ์มหาวิทยาลัย)

Weight: I didn’t check

Breakfast: An energy drink

Water: Seven Cups

Lunch: Small bowl of pasta and some tea

3:30 p.m. My boss let me go home early to visit family. I also have the remainder of the week off for the Thanksgiving holiday. WOOHOO.

4:00 p.m. I visited the family member that had the medical emergency. This person is feeling much better, but still rather weak.

EXERCISE: I decided to get off my fat ass and go to the gym. I gained two pounds the last time I checked and it pissed me off. I attribute the gain to poor diet and the stress and lack of sleep from the family emergency. However, these excused mean nothing. I need to get into gear.

Dinner: Leftover Spighetti and beer

8:00 p.m. I have moved my computer into my room and plan to watch movies and relax. I am also doing my laundry since I am down to my last pair of underwear. ALWAYS HAVE CLEAN UNDERWEAR. ALWAYS.

Days without soda: 44

Days without candy: 11

Days without energy drinks: 0

By yesterday morning, the bed of my thumbnail had morphed into a hideously bulbous thing, and in its nearly infectious state, caused me much consternation. An embedded thorn that I’d removed had apparently traumatized the nailbed. So my dilemma was this: do I stay home, suck it up and hope that, with time and care, the healing will happen on its own; or do I brave the inevitable crowds and head to the nearest walk-in clinic or (lord help us all) emergency room?

I chose the latter. Big mistake.

By ten o’clock in the morning, I’d paid a visit to a clinic with which I was familiar. Mindful that school being in session and people not yet on lunch break, I hoped the wait would be short. HA. As I walked in, a quick glance around not only hinted at the impending waiting time, brought on added dread: every single seat was taken. “About three hours,” said the receptionist.

Ok, so H1N1 madness has swept the nation and swine flu vaccinations are in full swing. On my way out I see kids coughing, babies crying and others suffering from varying levels of pain, despair or boredom.

Next stop: A clinic run out of a physician’s home basement. I call first, asking about the wait, because I am recovering from an accident, I have alot of pain and I can’t sit for long. “No problem,” she bellows over the phone in a Russian or Bulgarian accent, “no long wait today. Doctor will see you soon when you come over. You come now.”  So there I am in the car again, whizzing off through an enclave of homes, into which is tucked this nondescript home and hidden office.

I knock on the door, and hearing silence, I walk in, half-expecting to see an empty room, smiling secretary and doctor waiting for me. HA. Meeting my shocked gaze as  I entered the darkened room were no less than a dozen weary-looking people of all ages, stuffed into heavy couches, among them a smart-ass who, noticing the pillow I carry around as a ’sitting assistive device’ exclaimed all too jovially, “so you brought your bed with you too?”

Quickly informed by the chorus that I had to add my name onto the list, I took a look around and asked who had been waiting the longest. A timid, wigged-out, mousey-looking woman eventually piped up: “Almost three hours.” Another one dead in the water. Off I went.

Then, off to a government-subsidized (oh-oh!) clinic housed in an office tower. Much recommended. On the phone, I was convinced to come in right away because there was no wait. Not possible, thought I. Sure enough, when I arrived, only one other person was in the reception area. Once I got to see the nurse I understood why: the doctor is not in today. Excuse me?? Which basically meant that the nurse could do absolutely nothing but ship me off to yet another clinic. Ah, the wonders of our healthcare system.

That was it. My body couldn’t take it any more. Three strikes, Hippocrates, and you’re out.

Or so I thought.

I momentarily forgot that I had an evening appointment with my newest addition to the practitioner-bunch, Claudia (more on her later). Arriving earlier than my scheduled time, I entered a ground-floor walk-in clinic in her building, a large sign outside advertising that  emergency cases without appointment were accepted. Great, I thought, this is it.

Not a chance. The minute I walked into an empty waiting room, my heart sank. Immediately I knew it was a bad sign. Sure enough, the receptionist, at the end of her rope at the end of a long day, quickly brushed me off, assuring me that walk-ins were no longer welcome.

As if 8:30 PM, post-treatment, wasn’t late enough to call it a day, a decision was made to drop in at an ER to check on the situation. I promised that if told the wait would be longer than 1/2 an hour, I’d return the next day. Almost verbatim, here is the conversation that transpired:

AJ: Hi, can you please give me an idea of how long the wait will be?

Nurse: Not too long, take a seat.

AJ: Well, that’s just the problem, I can’t sit for long because it’s painful. You see, I’m recovering from an accident, and if you tell me that it will be longer tonight than, perhaps, tomorrow morning, then I’d rather not have to wait.

Nurse (looking out at the filled-to-near-capacity waiting room): No, the line is moving along pretty well. A triage nurse will see you very soon and then a doctor a short while after.

AJ: OK.

Famous last words. A triage nurse did indeed see me within minutes. As for a doctor… I finally heard my name called three and a half hours later.

In retrospect, I should have known better. As a trained lawyer, I ought to have insisted that the nurse sign a contract stipulating that, due to my pre-existing condition,  I would be seen within the half-hour (or hour, let’s be lenient here); otherwise, the responsibility would be with the triage staff to find me and suggest that I return another time. Or, they might have offered me a stretcher to lie on…

Voila, welcome to the Medical Circus, aka our medical system and its phalanx of acrobats. Overtaxed.  Magic tricks. Sleights of hand. Juggling too many balls. Throwing us to the lions. Forcing patients to walk sky-high tightropes or wait interminably in the wings. When or how will this madness stop?

Even with the Medicare hospital trust fund projected to go bust in a few years, slowing the rise in Medicare costs is a political minefield for Congress. One idea that’s gained favor to give lawmakers some political cover is an independent, bipartisan commission that would make recommendations that Congress could approve or reject en masse, without amendments.

Although the idea has been kicked around in the health-care debate, Nancy Pelosi has opposed the idea in the House, and Harry Reid’s Senate bill would create a commission with an authority that’s more limited than earlier proposals suggested.

But maybe a commission will come from outside the health-care debate. As we noted earlier this month, Senate Budget Committee leaders from both parties support creating a commission to take on the financial problems in both Medicare and Social Security. Top White House officials met yesterday with the Budget Committee chairman to discuss the commission idea, and the administration is likely to make its own recommendation for a panel, the WSJ reports this morning.

Congress will soon have to act to raise the ceiling on federal debt, and more than a dozen senators (Democratic, Republican and independent) have said they want to see some action on a special commission before they vote to increase the debt, the WSJ notes.

If such a commission were created, it could be far more powerful than the board described in the Senate health-care bill. (The description of the “Independent Medicare Advisory Board” starts on page 1,000 of the bill.)

As David Leonhardt notes in his New York Times column today, the Senate bill would create a commission without much authority to slow rising costs in the long-term.

The commission would not be allowed to change Medicare eligibility or benefits, and its ability to change payment rates would be limited. Still, a CBO analysis estimated that the commission as described in the bill would reduce spending by $23 billion through 2019.

But beginning in 2020, Leonhardt notes, the commission would only intervene to reduce spending if costs for each Medicare beneficiary rose faster than non-Medicare health spending — which may not be enough to keep Medicare solvent in the absence of significant tax increases.

Photo: Associated Press

Ever had one of those days when you just feel restless or something. You are not quite sure what to do with yourself. Feel like you want to do something or even need to do something but just have no idea a to what.

Talked to Kelly this morning. She is a very very nice lady, a nurse at the heart failure clinic I think I wrote about an appointment I had there a couple of weeks ago and of how I lucked into having a test done immediately. Sort of being in the right place at the right time. I got some, I suppose you would call preliminary results back on the test results. I am sure I will be writing more on that just not in the mood right now.

I came across a saying last night that really struck me. Huh, memory guy here, I can’t remember where I came across it or even the exact wording. It was the message contained in the words that got me. I know I have come across this saying before and maybe even posted about it, don’t remember.

The message was to the effect. “While we are on this adventure of life, why do we take every thing seriouly. It is not like any of us are going to get out of it alive.”

Some thoughts seem to impact on me in different ways at different times. I hope I was able to find the words to get the point of the message across in the way I meant it.

I think about that.  We are all people, all individuals in our own ways. Where we are all identical is that each of us was born into this world and each of us will in their own time leave it. Common bonds that we all share and there is no getting away from that, try as we may.

I image our Heavenly Father as having a calendar, one for each of us. On that calendar is stamped two dates. The day we will enter this world and the day we will leave it. We all have that in common.

Where we differ widely is how we will spend the time between those two dates. Our free will gives us that choice on a daily basis. We can live, learn from and enjoy our days, Or we can endure them.

What is my definition of enduring life? I use what is a look back  in my own life for that.

To me endure life as opposed to living it is:

- being so caught up on the frenzied speed of the treadmill of live, that each day passes in a blur. We are continually moving at such a frantic pace we take no time to look at and enjoy the beauty of life, of the world around us.

- we struggle with each day, struggle just to get through it. We put our heads down, plodding away. We are so determined to keep moving we have tunnel vision and fail to see the beauty of life or the world around us.

- we find ourselves in an intolerable situation but fail to do anything about it. We fool ourselves into thinking we don’t have the time or energy to change it. We deprive ourselves of the beauty of life or of the world around us.

- Always wanting something more, or something different in our lives. Not stopping to really look, see and appreciate what is already there.

- there are dozens, no more like hundreds or even thousand of excuses we all use as need to justify not living life. We do it without even realizing we are doing it, or realizing what it is we are depriving ourselves of.

Life is the greatest gift of all, what a shame it is to waste something so precious.

During the first week after discharge I felt strange. When Alex had been in hospital all I had wanted was for him to come home. But now that he was home, I had a very different outlook.

I wanted him to just ‘be better’ and of course he wasn’t, so I felt far from relieved; instead I found myself quite worried. I felt that he had changed and to some extent we had both probably changed, but it seemed more marked in him.

The strong, wise and fiercely independent man that I loved had gone into hospital for surgery. But that man had not come out of surgery, instead a very frail and fragile man had come out of hospital, one that didn’t seem like my Alex at all. And I missed him!

One significant psychological problem of having a heart attack is simply that it is (usually) very sudden and this sudden impact is then exacerbated by the fact that it is, to a large extent, a near brush with death. This means that there are all kinds of psychological issues going on. There are the inevitable thoughts of ‘What if?’ in the sense of ‘What if X had happened?’ or ‘What if Y had happened?’

But there are other thoughts going on as well. After you have had a heart attack then you are told that there is a risk that you may have another one, particularly within the first year. This means that you don’t really know if you loved one is going to be ok, or whether they are going to have another heart attack and that is pretty frightening.

The fear of another heart attack is then made worse by the knowledge that the heart is actually not recovered fully. After a heart attack part of the heart tissue dies, although the heart does indeed recover, it can take up to 8 weeks for the heart tissue to scar and so in the immediate period after a heart attack there is indeed a certain vulnerability to the heart, which in itself is frightening.

The thing I also remember most about the first week at home was just how everyone else around me assumed that if he were at home, life was back to normal. They simply felt that there was no need for me to be anxious or upset. I found the lack of understanding a huge barrier. I just wanted people to see what he had been through, what we were facing in terms of an uncertain future. I did not want people to simply think that life was just ‘back to normal’, but of course, that is exactly what they did think!

How hard would it be to leave a bowl of these in the room?

(Update: 3:30 p.m. PST, 11/25/09. Cat won’t be going home tonight; we’ll be staying another night here at Club Med. She’s fine; she’s just not recovered enough to leave. So tomorrow’s a Thanksgiving we won’t forget!)

(This post is a continuation of my last four or five posts.)

Why won’t the nurses who are taking care of my wife give me drugs, too? For her they’re concocting Morphine Delight milkshakes, and filling her with Percocets like she’s Nummo, the Pain-Killing Pez dispenser. Meanwhile, I’m stuck popping Skittles from a vending machine in the parking garage. How is that fair?

“This cot you gave me is not that soft,” I said. “Lying on it has made my shoulder pretty sore. Ow.” But the nurse only turned her back on me, and continued screwing into Cat’s I.V. tube the kind of drugs Houdini probably used for his own private disappearing act.

“Oh, come on,” I said. “Just squirt a little into my broth here.”

“And will you please stop eating your wife’s food?” snapped Nurse Attitude.

You know, for a group afflicted with such tragic fashion sense, you’d think nurses would develop better people skills. I hope there’s something in Obama’s health care plan that addresses this serious problem, which I’m sure every day affects tens of thousands of spouses of patients.

In the meantime, I’ll just have to wait. And, of course, take the opportunity of my wife napping just now to find out what all those buttons do on the wall panel next to her bed.

(Ha, ha; is drug humor ever not funny? Oh. Well, good time to get serious, then: Cat’s fine. Actually, she’s having a bit of a rough go of it. She may not get to go home today as originally planned. The amount of blood she lost yesterday has left her pretty anemic today—which has left her unable to walk, and to do some of the breathing exercises and other such things she needs to in order to avoid developing pneumonia and a whole assortment of other post-operative maladies lurking for a chance to take hold. So she may have to get a transfusion, and then stay another night for monitoring. It’ll depend on how the next four or five hours go. But basically she’s good; it’ll work out. Poor thing. This has been a rough ride. She’s napping right now. And she’s been asleep now for at least ten minutes—which means it’s absolutely certain that within moments someone will burst in here to do anything from taking her blood to taking away the linens. I’m deeply awed by the number and range of miracles that I know are happening every moment throughout this hospital—not to mention the ones happening right now in this room—but dang, I wish they could let a girl sleep for more than five minutes straight. It’s weird: out in the real world, everyone knows that one of the best ways to heal is to sleep. But trying to sleep in a hospital is like trying to play badminton in a sandstorm. Oh, well. Once I get her home, I’ll let her sleep like the angel she is.

Hey, thank you all for the love, prayers, and wonderful thoughts you’ve been sending our way. I’ve read and re-read everything you’ve written us. Bless you guys for taking the time to send us your love. We sure do appreciate it.)

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Picture this: laughter, gaiety, pleasant company, delicious dinner on the floor, Nerf darts flying through the air, giant piles of bean bag-esque dealies to sit on—a generally lovely night all around. Queue temporary anoxic nightmare. Queue emergency room. Queue nothing. Somewhere a doctor at Edwards Hospital retreats to his/her office and admires his/her own face in a solid gold plate before delicately eating a decadent truffle off it. At least that’s how I picture it.

Alright, so you tell me where the money went.

I am having an evening with my darling male escort at the home of a few of his friends about two months back. His friend is cooking us a superb dinner (which we will then eat, charmingly, on the floor. Having grown up in a home that was additionally a daycare in the basement during my formative years, I have an affinity for floor-eating, so I am in my element). The food being prepared far outweighs my abilities in the kitchen, and so I volunteer triumphantly to take the little Pillsbury crescent rolls out of the tube and arrange them on the pan. The ones I do look like multi-layered and variously sized sticks. Huh. Not sure how I pulled that off, but at least it does not affect the taste. We eat, all is right with the world.

After about an hour and a half eyeing their cat, whose name is Tribute (as I’m told, he’s not the greatest cat in the world), my cat allergies begin to overtake my fragile little body. Massive asthma attack (oh yes—I am asthmatic too. My mother did not breed genetically superior progeny). No uses of my inhaler (17 puffs in about a half hour will give you the shakes, child) will take it down. I inform Darling Male Escort, who since dinner has been engaged in a lovely Nerf dart gun fight with others, that I’m just a touch out of stuff like oxygen and seem to be getting worse by even the minute. I am trying not to panic; I feel like possibly Pavarotti has popped a squat on my chest. Knowing that Pavarotti died recently, I can be reasonably certain that it’s an asthma issue and I need to go home. I pop a Benadryl that the lady of the house is wonderful to provide me with, and we are off.

Alright, strike that “home” business. We have now left the house 5 minutes ago, and I cannot catch a breath. I am panicked and coughing, and I’m concerned I’m going to lose oxygen and pass out. To the ER, Jeeves! Step lively, step lively.

So Darling Male Escort quickly gets me to an ER, where they promptly put the Swine Flu prevention mask over my mouth—my mouth which already cannot get a breath. Thanks, guys. One of those cruel to be kind things, I wager. Hack, hack, hack, cough, cough, wheeeeeze, as a mask sucks itself to my face like gauzy kidnapping gag tape.

I am then wheeled to an ER room and given a gown and a bed. I am already feeling a little better, breathing better, certain I won’t be passing out at least. Darling Male Escort and I wait for a doctor or a nurse or something. Someone to get my information. Someone to give me a nebulizer treatment, or even just half-assedly pretend to read my blood pressure. We wait for an hour.

An hour when you are unable to breathe due to environmental causes will accomplish one of two things—1.) you will die, or 2.) you will entirely recover. I’ll break the tension here: I did not die.

No, in an hour, I got entirely better. Apparently the Benadryl kicked in, and that was enough to stave off the allergy attack, which effectively released the stranglehold on my asthma issues. Let me tell you, gentle reader, one begins to feel a little silly lying pitifully on an ER table in a gown when the doctor comes in to find you a rather lovely shade of flesh-colored, no longer wheezing or coughing, and you tell him “Hey, um, so about that breathing. All better. Uh, thanks for all your negligence; how did you know it would be just the ticket? Amazing.” You feel silly because it’s actually the truth.

Ah well. I collect my humiliation up to use at a later date, reconstruct my previous outfit onto my newly oxygen-occupied body, returning my hour-long hospital gown to the bed, and Darling Male Escort and I ease on down, ease on down the road back to his place so’s I can sleep it off. And as I drift off to sleep in a happy haze of Tylenol PM and Xanax, a cynical thought occurs to me—I sat in an ER for an hour with no treatment whatsoever. I bet this is going to cost lots of money.

I had no idea. I received the bill this week in the mail. I got charged $22. I do not think I received $22 of service. I mean, I rented a gown that doesn’t close in back and a bed without a blanket from the hospital for an hour, but I’d probably only consider that to be worth about $10. And no tip! Bastards never checked up on me. Hey MD, you got other tables to serve here, guy.

But $22 was nothing compared to what my insurance company got billed. $850! Let me repeat that—they had to cover $850!! How do you people sleep at night? Aside from, clearly, on 1200 thread count Vera Wang Egyptian cotton sheets. With people fanning you and feeding you grapes. Goodness. For a bed, for an hour. Whores charge less, and they at least make sure you leave the bed smiling.

Jesus. I hope that ER bed is rent-to-own, or someone might have been screwed here…

Get well soon C

I know I haven’t done a blog for a while and I’ll catch up soon.

This is a blog for a very special little boy and his family. We met them when we were in Dublin for the Daily Mail. C was waiting for heart surgery and because of the cutbacks in Crumlin he was one of many on the waiting list.

He had his surgery today. We are keeping everything crossed for him that he makes a full recovery. Jono and C were ‘dinner buddys’ on our day at the hotel.

C is only three years old. Thinking of them all and sending love and prayers. xxx

Last night at around 8pm, I was talking on the phone and couldn’t get a breath. I could breathe, but my chest kept tightening up so I couldn’t get a deep breath. Earlier that day, I was swelling up a lot: legs, hands, etc. I’d gained ten pounds in 24 hours!

I do take a fluid pill in the morning, and when I called the doctor, he advised taking another to help control it, and to come see him next week. But that evening, it didn’t seem to be doing any good, yet. With all the difficulty breathing, I called my mother for advice and she was worried that fluid was around my heart and told me to go to the emergency room.

So I did, and it was weird being the one looked at instead of Robin. They checked me over: EKG was good, lungs looked fine, and I was getting plenty of oxygen. With the critical stuff ruled out and the swelling finally starting to go down (I’d also put compression stockings on), they discharged me.

Today, my chest hurts like hell. I haven’t worked out since last week because I’ve been in too much pain with the bad weather, so it wasn’t anything like using muscles too much. I have been getting a lot of muscle spasms in my arms and legs these past few days. Again, it’s the weather. Doc says that my arthritis is pulling my muscles. I can sit still and see my arm muscles vibrating, which isn’t painful, just weird. But simply lifting a jug of tea makes the muscles feel like they’re pulling hard. That is painful. Plus random sharp pains all over.

But anyway, I wonder if it wasn’t chest muscle spasms or the like, tightening up so it was hard to breathe. Can you get arthritis around your ribs? They were among the many things injured that cause pain elsewhere. In ‘92, my rib cage was rotated and stayed that way for three years, plus a steering wheel was bent forward with my chest and face (I really need to blog about all that someday).

Anyway, I’ll find out when I see the doc next week, but at least I know it was nothing life threatening.

Visiting is restricted to one hour a day at Stoke-on-Trent’s main hospital because of the prevalence of norovirus in the area…. From BBC News. Full story

This site may contain information about: virus. The blog is also related to: virus.

I had to go in fasting, so that meant no meds in the middle of the night or this morning. Geezum crow!!! I forgot how weak I am without Mestinon. It was really hard getting in and out of the van. I walked like a drunk, shuffling old lady. Steering the van was WORK.

I cannot take my meds without food, so had to do without. Mestinon is tough on the guts. Days and days of diarrhea have made me weaker than usual…..and also dehydrated. The woman drawing my blood had a hard time. She had to poke me repeatedly and move the needle around. Until then, I did not realize how dehydrated I had become. Did the pinch test and the skin on my hands stands up in a sharp line from being pinched. Sigh…

I’m soooooo darned weak! I guess it will take more than one dose of Mestinon until my strength comes back. Both of my legs hurt unmercifully The pain is making me extra queasy. Sigh…   Nap time!

Today’s Wednesday, and I’ve been learning photoshop a bit in the last couple of days. I’m no expert and personally I don’t want my photos to be over-edited, however I am enjoying learning new ways to use the program and some of the effects are wonderful.

This morning we went to the hospital so that I could have my blood drawn and then came back home. I had breakfast at the bar near our house-a cappucino with coco and sugar mixed inside and a croissant filled with chocolate chips! Delicious and flaky! Last night we watched Home Alone and today I want to watch the sequel (which has always been my favorite of the two!).

Today I hope to work on more of my photos and look for more ways to promote my shop. I don’t get many visitors yet and I’ve made very few sales. I am completely new to this business though, and even though it’s tough, I am enjoying the process. I love to see what other sellers on etsy can do!

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Find out more about The Hospitalis Restaurant here!

(South Wales Evening Post)

Welsh opera diva Katherine Jenkins needed hospital treatment after being hit by the Norovirus stomach bug. The usually fit and healthy singer, aged 29, from Neath, was diagnosed with the illness – known as the winter sickness bug.

Katherine was sent home to recuperate and was forced to cancel several engagements. Friends said she had swapped her glittering dresses and heels for pyjamas and slippers as she recovered at her London flat. The former teacher has had to pull out of the iTunes concert in London. But Katherine was able to twitter from her sickbed and apologise to fans who missed her personal appearances promoting her number one album Believe.

She wrote: “Still feeling pretty awful (Norovirus apparently) and just wanted 2 say sorry 2 all those who were coming to iTunes. A hospital visit last night has made a big difference and I feel I am coming out the other side of it. I hate letting you all down.”

Katherine works out in the gym every day and did a 10k run for the Kidney Wales Foundation in September. A friend said: “She’s usually the picture of health but this bug has really hit her and she says she’s feeling a bit green. She was so concerned she went to hospital for a check-up but it is nothing too serious.”

The blonde mezzo-soprano scored a number one with her latest album – her seventh release.

3107766    การบริหารโรงพยาบาลสัตว์เลี้ยง    Companion Animal Hospital Management

รายละเอียดเกี่ยวกับขั้นตอนการจัดตั้ง การบริหาร และการจัดการโรงพยาบาลสัตว์เลี้ยง

(Details on procedure of the establishment, administration and management of companion animal hospitals.)

(3107766 จุฬาลงกรณ์มหาวิทยาลัย)

Samak finds food and politics don't mix

Former Thai Prime Minister Samak Sundaravej died yesterday. He succumbed to liver cancer in Bangkok’s Bumrungrad Hospital, aged 74.

Samak was PM when I moved to Thailand in April last year. He was quite a character and his presence – along with the movements of his rivals and his interactions with the press – could at times be quite comic, if not downright farcical. Before Thai politics turned sour with mob protests, airports seiges and coups, it could even be quite fun to read about Samak’s exploits.

He was the first of three PMs in my time here (three leaders in 19 months in itself is an indictment of the state of Thai politics) and by far the most memorable. He was nowhere near as photogenic as current PM Abhisit Vejjajiva, nor was he anything like as polite as his successor, Somchai Wongsawat, but that is precisely why he made his mark. He behaved aggressively, he was beligerent to the media, he sulked in public, he was unafraid to belittle people if he felt they deserved it, he was stoic in the face of political pressure – and his hardened appearance matched these, ahem, qualities.

In deeply-divided Thailand, he certainly had his critics and enemies. It was his very presence as PM – and the fact that he was an open supporter of Thaksin Shinawatra and his ideology – that sparked the “yellow shirt” protests of the People’s Alliance for Democracy (PAD), who laid seige to the grounds of Government House for weeks while Samak was in charge, and which ultimately – under Somchai’s premiership – led to deaths and the one-week closure of Bangkok’s two airports, causing untold damage to the nation’s economy and reputation.

But I respected Samak’s single-mindedness in the face of such pressure, with not only the PAD but also significant political commentators calling for his head. Not for him the weak attempts to appease all of successor Somchai, whose two and a half months in office were among the more forgettable even in a country known for the transciency of its leaders. Nor for him the squeaky clean, ever-smiling PR profile of Abhisit, who was surely appointed (notice I didn’t say elected) more for his appearance and undoubted charisma than for any heavyweight political credentials.

No, Samak told it the way he saw it, and while that of course didn’t mean he was always right, it did at least show he had the courage of his convictions, and to express himself publicly without first needing a spin doctor to polish his words.

Now, as stated before, I’m not a political analyst. This is not my area of strength, although like most people I have my own political opinions. But the news of Samak’s passing gave me cause to remember some of his more colourful moments.

Cake-eating cat

First of all, before the squabbling erupted into violent demonstrations, there was the usual tit-for-tat name-calling in Government House, with one opposition politician (I forget her name) bringing Samak to task for his choice of cafeteria food. As a man in his seventies, she said it was inappropriate for him to choose a piece of cake for lunch, washed down with a glass of bright red soft drink. She suggested Samak seek psychological help, because Adolf Hitler was known to have similarly immature tastes.

Now, even within the realms of political cat-calling, which often amounts to no more than childish spats along the lines of “You smell!” “Yeah? Well, you smell worse!”, this was adorably convoluted. Never mind education, employment and crime – “Prime Minister, would you care to justify buying that cake? Because I’m rather worried it is a sign you may be a tyrant in the making, capable of ordering the slaughter of millions.”

Samak, as was his wont, barely dignified the comment, choosing instead to fix her with a customary silent staredown.

But Samak’s finest hour would not have looked out of place in an episode of Fawlty Towers, such was the level of high farce.

Pursued on motorbikes by a press pack from Government House to Chatuchak Market, Samak sought refuge in a public toilet. Not wishing to speak to the media, he remained in a cubicle, but unfortunately for him the journalists proved even more stubborn than he. More than an hour later, Samak could no longer stand the heat, moisture, smell and mosquitoes (I have been to the toilets at Chatuchak Market and they’re no place for a dignitary, let me tell you), and emerged, furious and doused with sweat.

He ignored the reporters’ questions (surely the fact he spent an hour inside a toilet cubicle would have told them he was in no mood to speak?), instead bearing down on them with a fuming glare of which Charles Bronson would have been proud. After staring them into silence, he set about berating them and their conduct, and labelling them “disgusting” no less than a dozen times.

Reaction to this incident depended, of course, on which side you were on – either Samak was rightly defending himself against media intrusion, or he showed an arrogant disrespect towards the free press, who were just doing their job in the public interest.

There’s a bit of truth to both sides, but the bigger picture for me at the time was the fun factor of living in a country where the PM is forced to flee halfway across a city as hungry hacks literally chase him into a stinking, mosquito-blown long-drop. Add to that the picture of the nation’s leader stewing there for over an hour, followed by his ultimate outburst, and clearly you can see Samak Sundaravej was not your average politican.

And his eventual dismissal from office in September 2008, after just eight and a half months, was also unorthodox, if not comic for its irony. While the country’s leading industries of tourism, exports and foreign investment were taking near-death blows from the effects of the protracted demonstrations, and while the spectre of corruption hung over everything Thaksin and his allies did, it was none of these concerns which spelled the end for Samak. No, he was booted out because he had twice appeared on a TV cooking show. Innocent enough, except politicians are not allowed to accept money for working with private enterprises. Samak’s fee was nominal and his appearance of no bearing whatsoever to his political standing, but this was a conflict of interest. Not quite along the lines of Thaksin using his position to allow his then-wife Potjaman na Pombejra to purchase multi-million-baht swathes of land, but still, rules are rules…

Ultimately, it may have been a face-saving move. As pathetic a reason it may have seemed for removing a democratically elected PM, Thailand was at the time being virtually held hostage by protesters, with the international news coverage doing the country no favours. There were far bigger concerns than the PM’s appearance on a cookery show, but Samak was steadfast in his refusal to stand down or dissolve the cabinet, the two main demands of the PAD, despite the presence of 30,000 protesters camping out on the lawns of his workplace.

So while the cookery show controversy was of negligible importance, by following the law to the letter, the courts could remove him from office legitimately. And with that removal came a lull – as temporary was it was – in the tensions. The PAD had not been placated, as the Thaksin-backed People Power Party was still in charge, but tempers were nevertheless calmed, and at a critical time.

It also proved timely for Samak himself. Despite being disqualified from the premiership, he had the opportunity to return to power if voted back in, but instead he accepted the judgement and retreated from politics. It seemed strange for such a combative man to slip away from the spotlight so quickly and readily.

But then news came less than a month later that he had been diagnosed with liver cancer, and it all made sense. It’s unknown how long he’d been sick. Indeed, it’s likely he was running the country while ill. Considering how stressful a task that must have been in the late summer of 2008, that shows either remarkable devotion or unwavering stubborness. In Samak’s case, it was probably a bit of both.

He flew to the US for treatment in the new year, returning to Bangkok and continuing to be treated at Bumrungrad, one of the country’s best hospitals. After roughly a year battling the disease, he passed away at 8:48am yesterday morning.

Here are some articles that can be discussed. Talk about others if you like.

Subdivision Ordinance:
Quote from the paper; “The manner in which agricultural and forest land is being consumed by residential growth hurts the integrity of planned growth”. Did I miss something? So is OK to buy up farmland for county business just to sit there not being used?

Letter to the Editor: Morgan Phenix
I never been to Dr. Horng for anything. It is sad to lose a doctor. From what I understand, he is “old school” like Dr. Holsinger was. I do not believe that the decision by the State Board of Medicine was hinged soley on Dr. Dale’s testimony. If a board had decided the Dr. Horng is not vital to this community, then are they breaking their own code of ethics or of some sorts? Can anyone remember that we almost lost a hospital a while ago because the hospital was described by some as a “roach motel” (you can check in, but you wouldn’t check out)?

Fire Siren:
Those that live near it claim it is a pain. For some, it is a life saver.