Hospital stay :
the whole ordeal began with a trip to Doctors Hospital's emergency Room.
I couldn't pee. I couldn't #2. I desperately needed to do both. After two hours, I got in.
A blood test showed an elevated white count, a chest xray showed that the bottom of my lungs were stagnant, not surprising for an ALSer. A scan showed I had a nasty bowel impaction.
I entered into the world of catheterization, a rude and crude humiliation only bested by the formidable pain and embarrassment of a "manual depaction" performed by a marine turned doctor.
After pissing 1200 ml down a tube into a bag at my side, I was released with a Foley in my bladder and instructions to finish what the doctor started. I was given the name of a urologist to advise us on the catheter.
The previous occurred on April Fool's Day. Fuck.
On April fourth, a Friday, we saw the urologist, Doctor Holden, who unstrung the Foley and checked my prostate, which was apparently normal in size. He sent me away to see if I could pee.
By the middle of Saturday night, I could not.
After waiting two hours at Doctors Hospital's emergency Room, we left for another hospital, Presbyterian, where we go in immediately. Ironically, I peed my pants on the way. I was carefully fitted with another "one size fits all" Foley, apparently the current catheter of choice in America. Lucky me.
On Monday, Amy called the urologist and explained that we needed to have another Foley installed. We were informed then, on April seventh, that a test would be performed on my bladder on April twenty fifth, where the catheter would continue to suck urine from my bladder via tube inserted in my pee hole. Fuck that. We went a week with it in, and on Tuesday, we visited the urologist and insisted he pull the hose and teach Amy to be my nurse and install an in/out catheter as needed. It wasn't. By Wednesday the sixteenth I began to get really sick. The vomiting/diarrhea bug had hit everybody in the house but me. I'm of the belief that if I vomit, I might very well aspirate into my lungs and die, so I physically suppressed the urge all night long. By morning, I was convulsing and spastic, feverish and extremely anxious. I told Amy to take me in. I hadn't felt that bad since a year ago when I spent a week in the hospital with an unidentified infection generically labeled as sepsis.
When I entered Presby, my temperature was 103.4, my blood pressure was 158/110, my heart rate was 128 and my blood oxygen was 92. I was a mess. After setting me up with IV medicine and visits from several excellent doctors, the best being Doctor Kamali, I was admitted. To spare you any more sordid details of incontinence and sponge/water nurse care, bedside commodes and soiled sheets, I won't mention them.
Pseudomonas. A potentially deadly bacterial infection that started in my bladder and spread to my bloodstream. Highly resistant to antibiotics. Eight years ago there were none for this.
Originally, my stay would have been the course of the two weeks of IV medicine. Fortunately, pill form is available and I'm home.
The likely cause: catheter. Never again. Never. I'll learn to pee out my eyes. Just yellow tears with a little whang.
the whole ordeal began with a trip to Doctors Hospital's emergency Room.
I couldn't pee. I couldn't #2. I desperately needed to do both. After two hours, I got in.
A blood test showed an elevated white count, a chest xray showed that the bottom of my lungs were stagnant, not surprising for an ALSer. A scan showed I had a nasty bowel impaction.
I entered into the world of catheterization, a rude and crude humiliation only bested by the formidable pain and embarrassment of a "manual depaction" performed by a marine turned doctor.
After pissing 1200 ml down a tube into a bag at my side, I was released with a Foley in my bladder and instructions to finish what the doctor started. I was given the name of a urologist to advise us on the catheter.
The previous occurred on April Fool's Day. Fuck.
On April fourth, a Friday, we saw the urologist, Doctor Holden, who unstrung the Foley and checked my prostate, which was apparently normal in size. He sent me away to see if I could pee.
By the middle of Saturday night, I could not.
After waiting two hours at Doctors Hospital's emergency Room, we left for another hospital, Presbyterian, where we go in immediately. Ironically, I peed my pants on the way. I was carefully fitted with another "one size fits all" Foley, apparently the current catheter of choice in America. Lucky me.
On Monday, Amy called the urologist and explained that we needed to have another Foley installed. We were informed then, on April seventh, that a test would be performed on my bladder on April twenty fifth, where the catheter would continue to suck urine from my bladder via tube inserted in my pee hole. Fuck that. We went a week with it in, and on Tuesday, we visited the urologist and insisted he pull the hose and teach Amy to be my nurse and install an in/out catheter as needed. It wasn't. By Wednesday the sixteenth I began to get really sick. The vomiting/diarrhea bug had hit everybody in the house but me. I'm of the belief that if I vomit, I might very well aspirate into my lungs and die, so I physically suppressed the urge all night long. By morning, I was convulsing and spastic, feverish and extremely anxious. I told Amy to take me in. I hadn't felt that bad since a year ago when I spent a week in the hospital with an unidentified infection generically labeled as sepsis.
When I entered Presby, my temperature was 103.4, my blood pressure was 158/110, my heart rate was 128 and my blood oxygen was 92. I was a mess. After setting me up with IV medicine and visits from several excellent doctors, the best being Doctor Kamali, I was admitted. To spare you any more sordid details of incontinence and sponge/water nurse care, bedside commodes and soiled sheets, I won't mention them.
Pseudomonas. A potentially deadly bacterial infection that started in my bladder and spread to my bloodstream. Highly resistant to antibiotics. Eight years ago there were none for this.
Originally, my stay would have been the course of the two weeks of IV medicine. Fortunately, pill form is available and I'm home.
The likely cause: catheter. Never again. Never. I'll learn to pee out my eyes. Just yellow tears with a little whang.
Damn Tracy......I'm not sure how to keep, "I'm sorry as hell that happened to you" out of this message. As a matter of fact, I would even suggest that Amy start actually insisting that every doctor/nurse that uses a stethoscope on you first use Cavicide or other germ-killing agent on the surface they touch to your skin before they actually use it on you. An awful lot of MERSA cases start with the use of a stethoscope that's tainted with nasty a** bacteria. I hope you are on the mend.
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