It's a horrible feeling when you find that the basic premise for your writing is completely wrong. (No, not Haadri - CCO808.) I suppose I should really pull the stories off the site, but I'm reluctant to do that, given how much time and effort I've invested in them...
Ah well.
... F***ing wonderful... Ken had his monthly appointment at the hospital this afternoon. Remember I said we'd tried to get hold of them to find out what he should do re: his medication? And left two messages (Monday and Thursday) on the answering machine? (This was the number on the factsheet he was given, the number to ring if he had any queries, and they'd get back to us...) They never got back to us, and then Ken was feeling better anyway...
Well, the registrar was NOT happy, and hauled in the nurse who's supposed to monitor the answering machine messages for a bollicking. Apparently - and they only bother to tell us now, when it's too late - that as soon as Kai went down with chickenpox Ken was supposed to stop the medication immediately. Carrying on taking it can increase the side effects enormously, which is why the spots got so badly infected - and other side effects are pneumonia and encephalitis. (We think if he'd been further into the course he could have been much worse.) He now stands an increased risk of getting chickenpox again - with all its risks - and shingles (repeated bouts, at that).
I'm bloody furious. Ken's angry, but feeling glad he got off so lightly. Apparently the hospital couldn't apologise enough for the ballsup (not that that makes it any better). Ken is now off the meds for a month, then he starts back at the beginning again with the initial three monthly course.
I don't like hospitals, I never have, and this had the unfortunate effect of reminding me of the last time I was there (no, actually it was the time before, last time was for that abscess...) That was back in '97 when I was pregnant with the longed-for sibling for Kai... We'd all gone in for me to have a scan at 12 weeks, and were told the baby was small, had I got my dates right? I knew I had - Kai was planned, so was the second baby, and told them so, trying to ignore the smirking doctor in the background (I knew exactly what he was thinking, the bastard...) They made me an appointment for an internal scan at 9am the next day...
Long story short, the baby had died at 8 weeks, but I hadn't miscarried. They booked me in for a D&C: I spent the day bawling my eyes out, waiting (told Ken to stay home with Kai, he couldn't have done any good). Finally at 3 am the following morning, this excitable Latin anaesthetist who had obviously not read my notes stormed in, practically shouting at me he wasn't prepared to assist at an ELECTIVE ABORTION when there were other women waiting for emergency treatment. I swear if I hadn't been so upset I'd have thrown something at him...
I got a taxi home and got drunk, silly really because I had to go back in the next morning for the op. But it went ahead, and by the time I was over it all, all I wanted to do was put it behind me. Though now I wish I'd complained about the anaesthetist, because that still hurts.
Afterwards, given my age and high blood pressure, that I'd had to spend time in the hospital with threatened pre-eclampsia several times in the last trimester with Kai, and the fact that we already had one perfect child, we decided not to try again. Much as we'd have loved to. It's too late now.
I hate hospitals...
Labels: Cyber City Oedo 808, medical matters
#
Joules *Dances with Haddock* Taylor
pontificated this at 2:09 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment