November 28, 1998 dawned just like any other day in Seattle. Gray and raining. But
being the Saturday after Thanksgiving it was our family's traditional day to begin
decorating the house for Christmas.
Paula and Alex left to do some shopping, and while Josiah was taking a nap, Alicia and
I began the task of hanging the outdoor Christmas lights on the house.
The second story roofline went well, although after 8 years at our house I have never
gotten comfortable walking on those wet cedar shingles. Fortunately, most of the area
I have to work in is under the eaves, so as long as I do the work bare footed there
seems to be very little problem.
With the upper story complete, I began the easy part of the first floor roofline above
the front porch. No problems here. I only have to stand on my toes, and it goes quickly.
Then the real fun begins... The peak above our garage rises quickly, and reaches a
height that makes me VERY uneasy. The first Christmas we were in this house, I
purchased 16 foot 2 x 4's to construct a ladder that would get me to the upper peak of
the roof. In the ensuing years, I had replaced only one rung when it had become weak
from a crack. On this day, I made what I thought was a careful inspection, and replaced
two more rungs that appeared to be past their prime.
Two slow trips up the ladder went well and the lights inched up the eave. I was very
careful to step near the end of the rungs where their strength would be the greatest.
Another move of the ladder and I would be at the peak. The climb up went fine and I
stapled the light string in place. As I came down the ladder my downward motion
suddenly became more accelerated than I had anticipated.
A rung on the ladder about seven feet up snapped, and because I was holding the staple
gun in one hand, and the string of lights in the other, I was not able to grab the
ladder in time to catch myself. As my right leg went behind the next lower rung, I
was flipped back into a sitting position for the remainder of my descent. I remember
yelling something, but fortunately with Alicia nearby, I think I refrained from profanity.
Scraping my left arm as it brushed the ladder, I hit the concrete driveway on the back
part of my left hip, just about half way between my hip and my butt. One of my shoes
went flying, and my right elbow scraped the concrete. I was able to roll over just in
time to see the ladder rocking from side to side trying to decide which way to fall.
In a second or two it leaned far to the right and came down at just the right angle to
miss the garage, and the car that was parked just a foot away.
Alicia had not seen me fall, but she quickly ran over to me. She was upset and
I tried to reassure her that things would be OK.
Evening comes early and quickly in the late fall in Seattle. As I was lying on the
wet pavement I began to feel very cold and I wanted desperately to get up and get in
the house where it was warm.
My body had other ideas.....
Getting up was out of the question. Many other times, when I have injured myself,
after a few minutes the pain subsides and I have been able to go on like nothing happened.
This was not going to be one of those times....
Years ago in college I had taken a few first aid courses for a rock climbing rescue team
I was on. I knew that if had had done any real damage to myself it was going to my
pelvis. Still remembering the old lessons, I slowly rolled on to my back and rocked my
pelvis with my hands. There wasn't much pain, so I figured my bones were probably OK and
my injuries were just muscular.
I waited several more minutes, but I still could not get up. This pain was not going to
pass, and I knew that string of lights would be left hanging down in front of the garage
for a while.
Alicia was there and seemed to be growing more upset. I said "Alicia, I'm hurt, and I'm
probably hurt pretty badly. But I'm going to be OK."
By this time I was getting so cold I just wanted to be warm. After much careful
maneuvering I was able to get to my hands and knees. In another few minutes I was on my
feet and ready to try a step. I was able to move my left foot forward, but when I tried
for my right, my left hip was not able to bear the weight. The pain was excruciating and
I realized this wasn't going to work.
With a lot of slow movements I was able to get back on my hands and knees, and I started
crawling up the cement stairs to the front porch. It wasn't easy, and I have no idea how
long it took to get to the front door. Every movement of every part of my body had to be
carefully planned and executed to limit the pain.
Alicia opened the front door, and I crawled in the entry and then to the living room
where I laid down on the carpet to rest. By this time I was exhausted, but I was finally
beginning to get warm. I think I spent about 20 minutes lying there, which was just
enough time to get blood on the carpet from my still bleeding elbow.
Alicia must have felt pretty helpless. She wanted to help but there was really
nothing she could do. That didn't stop her mind from working. While I was lying there
she asked "Would you like me to read you a story to take your mind off the pain?
Somewhere during this time I came to the realization that a trip to the emergency room
was inevitable. I had been working outside all day and if I was going to the hospital, I
didn't want the medical staff refusing to come near me without first donning biohazard
protective clothing. I was going to take a shower.
A flight of stairs stood between the upstairs bathroom and me. Our stairs are carpeted,
and this made crawling up them a bit easier. By this time I had my rhythm of movement
down, and once I got into the bathroom I was able to use the counter to pull myself up
into standing position. With something to lean on it was less painful to move, and I
managed to get into the shower. The hot water felt great and I took my time.
A while after my skin turned the color of a poached Maine lobster, I moved to the bedroom
and hobbled to my side of the bed. We have mattress heaters, and I was disappointed when
for the first time I discovered that the temperature dial did not turn past "10".
This was the first time since the fall I was beginning to feel some degree of comfort,
but the realization was hitting me that I was not going to make it back down the stairs
under my own power.
Alicia began to try contacting Paula who had both a pager and a cell phone. But..... Paula
always left her cell phone in the car, so unless she was driving she would not hear it ring.
She also forgot her pager that day. There was nothing left to do but wait for her to get
home or call.
I think it was about two hours before the phone rang. Alicia answered and said "Mom, dad
got hurt. You need to come home right away!"
I don't remember how long it took for Paula's drive, but my guess is she went even faster
than her normal 15 MPH over the speed limit.
Once she arrived the first order of business was to get someone to watch the kids while
Paula drove me to the emergency room. She made a call to one of our neighbors, Russ and
Whitney, who quickly agreed to watch the kids. Whitney's mother, who is a nurse, came up
and tried to see what state I was in. Paula was preparing to get the car ready to go,
and I began to dread the idea of sitting in the car for a 30-minute trip. I knew I
needed help to get to the car, so Paula called back down to ask Russ if he could help me,
but he told Paula that if I was that bad, we should call 911. I was beginning to see the
logic in this.
As we waited for the fire department to arrive, Paula helped me get on some street clothes.
The paramedics arrived, took my vitals, stuck an IV in my arm and prepared to put me on a
backboard. Since I was feeling warm I was in better spirits, and so was up to my usual
pattern of cracking jokes and making bad puns.
Now strapped to a backboard, they carried me downstairs and loaded me into the back of the
aid car. The kids said goodbye and I told them things were going to be all right. After
Paula got the kids down to Russ and Whitney, she too, started for the hospital.
The 5 mile trip to Duvall went quickly, and from there we drove another 15 miles to
Evergreen Hospital in Kirkland. On the way, one of the paramedics told me that she had
mentioned to her partner just a few hours before that she wondered when the this year's Christmas
injuries would begin.
Once again dispensing with the formalities of the speed limit, Paula actually beat the
aid car to the hospital.
The emergency room staff at Evergreen was very pleasant, and they took a lot of time to
talk with us. A couple of X-rays followed, but moving me around on the x-ray table proved
to be a harrowing experience. They were not able to get me in any position but on my back
without hurting me.
Seeing my pain, the doctor decided to give me some relief. He lifted a syringe to my IV
and pushed in the plunger. In a few seconds I was warm, happy, comfortable, and ready to
smile while I let them amputate my entire left leg.
Up until that point I did not realize just how much pain I was in. "What is that stuff?
GIVE ME MORE!!! I WANT MORE!!!" The doctor said, "Dilaudid". Dilaudid! Wonderful
Dilaudid! Had it been around in Shakespeare's time, I'm sure he would have written the
sonnet: 'Ode to Dilaudid'.
A month later I found out that Dilaudid is basically synthetic heroin......
Soon the x-rays were ready, and the doctor quickly discovered two complete breaks in my
left ishium. This is the small loop of bone at the bottom of the pelvis. OK, those were
easy to see, but they didn't really explain the pain I was experiencing in my hip. With
just those two breaks I figured I would have had nothing more than a sore butt and they
would have healed without me ever knowing anything much was wrong. But with more Dilaudid
I'm sure I could have endured....
The doctor looked the x-ray over again, and said he couldn't see anything more. By this
time I was finally getting that second shot of Dilaudid, so anything the doctor said was
fine with me. Give you my house? Sure. The keys to my BMW? I don't own a BMW, but I'll
sure get one! Sign over my life insurance to you and then let you perform experimental
surgery on me? No problem.
Unfortunately for Paula, but fortunately for me, she was not experiencing the blissful
Nirvana that had engulfed me. She began to examine the x-ray and saw a large, strange
shadow in my hip joint. She asked the doctor but he said it was only air. Looking a bit
closer, he began to wonder and left to get a magnifying glass.
By this time I was offering to become a living organ donor if someone would just give me
another dose of my new best friend.
(Seriously speaking, it's not like I was off traveling in another dimension, but I was
certainly feeling no pain. To this day I find myself still wishing I could experience
that wonderful feeling again. It's easy for me to understand how people can become
addicts with this stuff.)
The doctor soon returned and sheepishly confirmed Paula's diagnosis. I had a hip
fracture, and in my typical style I didn't do it in a small way. This break was a
doozy. Shaped like a "V" it was nearly an inch wide at the top and went down far into
the hip joint itself.
Now there was no way around a stint in the hospital. I was tired and ready to have them
just check me into a room and let me sleep for a few decades. The staff began to make
arrangements, but things were not going to be that simple.
It seems that a massive hip fracture is enough to make almost any orthopedic specialist
run away screaming that he is selling his golf clubs and joining a monastery in Nepal.
The one local doctor that would take a case like mine was on vacation. No one else would
touch me. Evergreen was not where I would be hospitalized. The one alternative
was the county hospital in downtown Seattle. In a short time I said goodbye to Paula, and
I was loaded on an ambulance bound for (insert music: Toccata and Fugue in D Minor)
Harborview Hospital.
By this time it was after midnight so the 12 mile trip was quick and quiet, and at only
$133.33 per mile it was quite a deal... for the ambulance company.
It had become a long day, but considering my injuries and what had transpired since my
fall, things weren't TOO bad. Overall it had been a somewhat tolerable experience.
This was all about to change................
First, you must understand a few things about Harborview. It is the county hospital where
just about anyone can end up, but primarily they see people who lack the
finances or medical coverage to go anywhere else for help.
When you come through their door, the ER staff doesn't know whether you got a splinter
from the toothpick through a martini olive while partying on Bill Gates' private yacht, or
if you were just scraped up out of the gutter in Pioneer Square after being run over by a
Metro bus driver who's seeing eye dog was out sick.
Did I say the ER staff doesn't know who you are? Let me rephrase that.. The ER staff
doesn't CARE who you are!
They don't care where you came from, who has treated you, or what previous care you have
received. They are equal opportunity and treat every patient in exactly the
same way. Like a fresh side of beef ready for carving.
They have a job to do and your questions and concerns are just preventing them completing
what THEY need to do to you.
I was wheeled into the emergency room and flurry of activity exploded around me.
As you might expect, they could not part me from my mere four pieces of clothing quickly
enough. My socks disappeared before they had moved me from the gurney and my shirt soon
followed. One doctor stood anxiously with scissors in hand ready to reduce my pants to as many
swatches of useless material as possible. He seemed disappointed when I refused his
offer to "make it easy for me."
I thought things were beginning to look up when a nurse offered to give me something for
pain. I'm sure you can guess what I asked for.
HOSPITAL FACT #1: If you know enough about a drug to ask for it by name, you'll never
get it.
Quickly surmising that I was a skid row drug addict who stepped out of an eighth story
window just to obtain a free fix, the nurse lied and said "We don't have that here."
No fewer than 8 people where doing everything from checking the reflexes on the soles
of my feet to looking into my eyes and ears. Their combined level of anger grew steadily
as I continued to ask what they were doing to me. The fact that I had the audacity to
actually want to KNOW what was happening seemed to be beyond their understanding. They
had WORK to do and I was interfering! They knew what was best for me and I should just
shut up and let them get to it.
The last straw came when they decided to check my kidneys for injury and required a urine
sample. As I was lying on the table, fully conscious and coherent, a doctor who suspected
that I might still have some small remaining shred of dignity said "Foley Catheter".
Enough. I protested and asked "Can't I at least TRY before we go to that extent??" The
doctors looked at each other in a confused way, and after a few seconds one said,
"Well........I guess we could try that....."
After I fulfilled their request, it was time to take some x-rays. Several x-rays.
Several hundred x-rays. I calculated that in the next hour I got enough radiation
to power a small town for several weeks just by donating a nail clipping from
my little finger.
However the technician who took the x-rays did everything he could to try and make things
comfortable for me. He spent a lot of extra time and effort taping me to the backboard
and table so that my weight would not shift and cause pain. Several times he went and got
another person to help move me in a smooth fashion so that I would be more comfortable.
It was peaceful and quiet in the x-ray room, and with the care I received it was the
highpoint of my experience that day.
But all good things come to an end.......
I was soon back in the ER. The x-rays were examined, and the staff decided that my leg
needed to be put in traction. "No big deal," you say? Guess again.
Following the procedures firmly established by the 'Saddam Hussein School of Medicine
and Interrogation', the doctors determined that the proper method was to "place" a "pin"
in my leg.
Let's take a closer look at the words "place" and "pin":
- place v. "To manually force completely through with nothing more than brute strength"
- pin n. "Large metal rod"
This is where the REAL pain of the day began. Realizing that a "placement" might cause
me some discomfort, the staff gave me injections of local anesthetic on both sides of my
knee.
Funny thing about those local injections. They are rather...
well... LOCAL!
As the doctors began to "place" the "pin", it passed the "local" area and began its slow,
methodical, slow, non-swift, slow journey through the NON-LOCAL remainder of my leg.
As the seconds turned to years, and I began to believe that euthanasia might not be such a
bad idea, my eyes watered and I writhed with a vigor I never knew I had. I'm sure I held
my breath longer than at any time during my days on the high school swim team.
I hadn't been able to see the "pin", but from the pain I was experiencing I visualized a
rusty iron pipe salvaged from a sunken oil-drilling platform off the coast of Alaska.
I thought that they were "placing" the "pin" under my kneecap, but I later found out that
the "pin" was actually being driven through the lower part of my femur, which is the upper
bone of the leg.
When the current geologic eon had passed, the end of the "pin" completed its outward
journey and pierced the skin on the other side of my leg. As the pain subsided, I began
to reacquaint myself with the joys of taking in oxygen. Thinking the worst was over, I
made the mistake of starting to relax a bit.
Noticing that my pain had diminished, one doctor examined his handiwork to discover, I'll
put his in his own words, "It's in at the wrong angle. We'll have to take it out and put
it back in again."
When I had my wisdom teeth pulled, the oral surgeon was kind enough to give me a few
minutes rest between each of the individual extractions. Thinking this would be a good
practice to repeat, I asked if I could rest a bit before I was subjected to another round
of "medical care".
Before I could respond, or for that matter even take a breath, a nurse near my head said
"Here. Let me give you something."
(Insert music: Final Jeopardy jingle)
The next thing I remember was laying on the table in the ER, with no one around me.
I had a "pin" though my leg to which 20 pounds of lead weights were attached.
The second "placement" had been performed while my mind was out exploring alternate
universes. I was angry because she had knocked me out without my permission. I
found out several days later that the nurse had given me "Verced". This is an amnesia
drug. I hadn't been put under. I was awake for the second ordeal; I just couldn't remember
any of it.
The doctors, knowing that there was little more that they could
do short of a full amputation, dispatched me to a room in the trauma ward. It was now 5 AM on Sunday morning.
I called Paula to give her a status report. A nurse came in and gave me some pain meds,
NOT DILAUDID, and turned out the lights. I was asleep before the room got dark.
I was awoken a mere 90 minutes later by two doctors who were making their rounds. Here
again we must return to the medical dictionary:
- rounds n. "opportunity to harass and annoy patients by asking questions that have
answers you already know or don't really care about"
The two doctors asked how I was feeling and didn't catch the sarcasm in my answer of
"tired". They informed me that there was no question that surgery would be required to
repair the fracture in my hip. They told me that I should prepare myself for the imminent
operation, but that they had no idea when it would be performed. "It's up to the surgeon
and staff," they said. They also said that the surgeon would be in to see me soon.
- soon adj. "sometime before the continents of North America and Asia collide"
I mentally prepared myself for surgery but also knew that Monday would be the earliest
possible day.
Early that day I discovered that I had no appetite. I was not hungry in the slightest
and this worked out well since I could not eat for 24 hours before the surgery.
Surgery...but when?
I have never been put under a general anesthesia, and the prospect, quite frankly,
scares me. I had been awake for the pulling my wisdom teeth and surgery on my elbow.
I did not want to be at the mercy of people I didn't know, and from my experience the
day before, had absolutely no reason to trust.
Paula and the kids came to visit, but this proved a disaster. The novelty of the new
hospital surroundings was too much for Alex and Josiah, and their delight and climbing
over the bed and wrapping themselves in the curtains was too much to deal with.
Subsequent visits were made by just Paula, or with Alicia joining her.
Paula brought me my company laptop computer, so I was able to get online and have
some communication with the outside world. With the boredom of just lying in the
hospital, I don't think I could have kept my sanity without the computer. Over the next
several days I was even doing some work from my new, much more comfortable "office".
I met my roommate, John, and his family. He was a young man who had been in a car vs.
truck accident and was undergoing reconstructive surgery on his leg. We talked a
lot although we did not have a great deal in common.
Sunday crept by, and I was not eating or drinking anything. I was preparing for the
surgery that I dreaded, but wanted to get over with as soon as possible. The promised
visit from the surgeon never materialized.
Monday 6:30 AM. Another visit from the two doctors on "rounds". More promises of
surgery, more promises of a visit from the surgeon. The rest of the day was pretty
uneventful. I did call in to work to participate in our weekly staff meeting. The
jokes flew and I tried to always have a snappy comeback. I got more pain meds on
request, NOT DILUADID, didn't eat a thing, and the nurses came and went.
Ah... The nurses.
There are two basic types of nurses. Type 1 nurses are pleasant, soft spoken and truly
kind people who understand that the comfort and care of the patients is the primary focus
of their jobs.
This type of nurse does not exist.
The Type 2 nurse has modeled her career on the lives of nursing's two patron
saints: Mildred Ratched (remember "One flew over the Cuckoo's Nest"?) and Josef Mengle.
This is the nurse who believes that she is the General in this medical army and any
patient who doesn't follow orders and measure up will quickly find themselves consigned
to a battery of painful and expensive medical "tests". Don't disobey orders from this
lady. You're likely to get KP or latrine duty.
In actuality there are some Type 1 nurses out there, but the hospitals have wisely
scheduled them to work the night shifts so that no false impressions of the official care
philosophy will have a chance to be conveyed to the patients. Since I tend to be a night
owl, I had the opportunity to meet several very nice ladies and always welcomed their
presence.
The hospital must have spy equipment in every room, because as soon as I had any
conversation with one of these wonderful ladies, she would be reassigned for the
following night's shift.
Tuesday, at 6:30 AM, Doctors Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum return to ensure I don't get
too much sleep. Yes, the surgeon will be coming to see me. Yes, I will be having surgery.
I again pass on breakfast and get my morning orders from the currently assigned General.
You have to remember that I still have my leg in traction, and the most movement I can
make is raising or lowering the head of the bed. Periodically throughout the day the
nurses would come in and prop my body up on some pillows so that I could lie a bit more
on my side. More pain meds, NOT DIDLAUDID.
I have a high pain threshold and have repeatedly made even my dentist cringe as I allow
him to perform dental work on me without anesthetic. This pain was different. I was
waiting for the effects of the meds to substantially subside before I rang the Generals
to ask for more. Inevitably it would be about 45 minutes before they returned. I soon
learned that I had to summon them at the first indication that the last dose was beginning
to fade.
I also rediscovered something I had not experienced since I was about 8 years old.
Remember being a little kid and taking trips with the family and getting tired? What did
you do? It didn't matter where you were or what was going on, all you had to do was close
your eyes and drift peacefully away. I had forgotten what that was like. Of course the
hospital staff soon noticed my new found pleasure, and quickly moved in with "rounds" or
orders to make sure I never forgot who was in charge.
Sometime before I was served the lunch I wouldn't be eating, I received a most unexpected
visitor. The Orthopedic Surgeon had finally lowered himself to grace me with his presence.
He was young, VERY young, and friendly enough. He had at tan that made him appear to have
just returned from Maui on his private Lear Jet.
He had reviewed my x-rays and surprisingly offered me three choices. The first was
surgery where metal plates and screws would be inserted (notice I did not say "placed") in
my pelvis and the break would be closed and secured.
The second choice was only slightly less invasive. Two pins (I knew what this word
meant!) would be "placed" into the right and left sides of my pelvis while being allowed
to protrude out through my skin. The outside ends of the two pins would then be cinched
together with wire to close the break. Thinking of the two young boys at home, I couldn't
help but equate this set up with circus trapeze. No, this wasn't going to be an option.
My final alternative...
Do nothing and just let the break heal by itself.
What?? I called one of the Generals to
ask if I had been given some dilaudid by mistake.
Dr. Maui assured me that this was a viable alternative for a person of my age. My age?
Who does this still-wet-behind-the-ears millionaire think he is?
Let's see.. decisions, decisions. Surgery at Harborview or no surgery at Harborview...
Another two weeks at this place, or just another couple of days... Door number 3 appeared
to be the clear winner.
My young tanned savior wanted to wait a day or two before I made a final decision, just so
he could monitor my progress. I asked to have my leg irons removed and he agreed. He said
he would come back to check with me on Thursday. He quickly departed. My guess was for the
Ski slopes at Vail.
About three hours later, doctors Dum and Dee returned to cut the pin through my knee
with (I am NOT making this up) a
sterilized pair of bolt cutters. They again missed the
humor when I asked if I should go to sleep first so they could wake me before they began.
I concluded these guys must have performed lobotomies on each other. A quick snip and I
long slow pull, and my leg was once again my own to move as I willed. But with the pain
in my hip my will was pretty limited.
I was tired of lying around so I got up and managed find a walker in the hallway. I spent
the next two hours making one trip down and back a long hallway that ran the length of the
building. The
Hospital staff was surprised to see me up and around, but they didn't discourage me from
moving about.
The next thing I wanted was a shower. I asked the nurse for some towels and got to the
shower room. I had to take the walker in with me because the room was rather large and
there was nothing to lean on. The entire time I was hoping that I wouldn't drop anything
because I knew it would be pure agony trying to pick up something up off the floor. In the
next 45 minutes and had two bouts of pure agony. Each time it took about 5 minutes of
careful movements to retrieve the dropped item. Afterwards I was able to talk one of the
nurses (Type 1, of course) in to getting me some hospital scrubs to wear, so I was able to
escape the open-air gowns patients are normally given to wear.
John, my roommate was taken away for surgery, so I had the room to myself for the rest of
the day.
Well, things were finally beginning to look up. I was up and moving around. Dinner came
and went (no, I still didn't eat anything), and Paula came for a visit. In the middle of
the evening I made another circuit of the hospital floor with the walker.
It was during this time that I made and interesting discovery... The majority of the
patient rooms have their doors open most of the time, and while I was passing one I
couldn't help but notice a patient devouring a meal with one arm securely fastened
to the bed with handcuffs. Standing next to him was an armed King County Police
Officer. I then remembered that this was a county hospital that took in people from all
walks (and crawls) of life. This could explain, but still not excuse, the actions and
attitudes of some of the hospital staff.
The remainder of the day was uneventful, however I was told that a physical therapist
would be visiting me the next day to get me started on crutches.
It's Wednesday morning, 6:30 AM. Do you know where your doctors are? Sure. They are on
"rounds", waking you up from a sound sleep to ask you how you feel.
Late in the morning Dr. Maui returned, and I told him I was staying with my original
decision of no surgery. We talked for a while about my recovery and he decided to discharge
me on the following day, provided that the physical therapist said I was good to go with crutches. I thanked him, and he then headed his waiting limousine in the executive
parking lot to whisk him away to the airport so he could be on time for his evening wine
tasting party in Zurich.
Paula arrived at just about the same time as the physical therapist. We all worked
together on me getting around on the crutches, with special attention on going up and down stairs. We all
thought I did well, so the therapist cleared me to be discharged the following day. Paula
made plans to return at noon and then left for an evening meeting. I
spent the next several hours navigating the hospital corridors while trying to set new
speed records for a cripple on two extra legs.
I was glad to be leaving the hospital, and looked forward to a relaxed evening before I
left for home the next day. Again the hospital staff noticed my elation, and quickly
took measures to suppress any increases in patient morale.
While I was out in the halls, a doctor informed me that I was being discharged
IMMEDIATELY. While this idea was not exactly displeasing to me, Paula was gone at her
meeting for the night and there was no one I could call to come and get me. The house
was locked and I had no keys, and even the therapist said that I should have assistance
at all times during the next several days. All this did not matter to the doctors or
nurses. They needed the bed and said they would call a cab to take me home.
I was able to relate this new revelation to a social worker that I located in the ward.
She was shocked and went off to "consult" with the staff. About 30 minutes later the
same doctor came to me and sheepishly said that I would be discharged at noon the
following day.
That evening was the regular monthly meeting of our local water district, and I was
about to be appointed as a Commissioner. I tied up one of the hospital phones lines for
over 3 hours while I was conferenced in to the meeting. I then went
to sleep and waited for
Dr. Dum's and Dee's 6:30 AM inquiry into the status my health. But I should have learned
by then that things at Harborview NEVER go as you planned...
At 5:30 AM.... I was awakened by a nurse who curtly informed me that I was being
discharged that day. I don't remember her name, but for the sake of discussion
I'll refer to her as Nurse Adolf. As I looked at her, I knew she was going to make Nurse
Ratched look like Florence Nightingale. Most of the nurses wear hospital scrubs, but this
lady was in a starched, pressed, white nurse's uniform. She was nasty and rude, and acted
as if my being discharged was new information to me. This was going to mean trouble, but
after my preceeding 4 days, I resolved that the trouble would mine to give, not receive.
I was still 6 hours away from leaving but Nurse Adolf was ready to boot me out the window
if only she could catch me unaware. She proceeded to storm around the room and throw all
of my belongings and any hospital trash she could find in plastic bags for me to take
home. After she left to torture other patients, I took some pleasure in removing
objects from the bags and setting them back up in the room. Nurse Adolf would soon
return and repeat the process, making it possible for me to enjoy this pleasure
several times during the morning.
But my ultimate satisfaction came later....
I knew John was in recovery, so I hobbled into the hallway where I found an unattended
wheelchair, and headed for the elevators. I actually left the building and went to
another wing of the hospital to talk to John. He was fairly coherent, and I stayed for
about an hour. Much to my surprise, Nurse Adolf did not arrive with dogs and armed
guards to haul me back to her prison ward.
When I returned it appeared that no one had even noticed I had left, but I found out
later that Nurse Adolf DID notice, and was very angry about it. While I was gone,
my mother called my room and Nurse Adolf answered. She rudely told my mother that I
wasn't there, then angrily added "HE'S OUT HAVING A SMOKE. CALL BACK LATER!" and abruptly hung-up.
Revenge is sweet.
As noon approached a kind orderly came and helped me pack the things that I had thoughtful
re-distributed for Nurse Adolf's next visit. He got a wheel chair, and took me down
to the main lobby to wait for Paula to bring the car around. After about 5 minutes of
careful maneuvering, I was able to close the door and make good my escape.
The next
several months saw me getting a lot of sleep, spending some good time with the family
during the Christmas Holidays, and trying to get back to some semblance of normality in
life. It took several weeks for my appetite to return, and before New Years I would lose 30
pounds.
Since that time I have come to realize that my injuries so severe that they will most likely
affect me for the rest of my life. I tried a bit of climbing and paid the price for several days. I have yet to brave a return to skiing.
If we are smart, as we go through life we learn from our experiences. My "education" at Harborview taught me several things.
First, I don't believe that the general state of medical care is as bad as I experienced
at Harborview. I think that with the restrictions of county funding, the number of patients and the
financial status of a majority of them, and the apathy that can occur in
unpleasant working conditions, create attitudes in the hospital staff that are frequently less than desirable.
Second, there are some fine and truly caring professionals that are part of Harborview's
staff. Unfortunately, the reverse is also true. I encountered far too many rude and callous individuals to believe that my experience was unusual. The hospital would be well advised
to institute a program of re-educating their staff in the non-medical aspects of patient
care.
Third, I never want to go through this again, and finally...
