Hospital Chronicles, Part 10 - Family At Last!

Sunday morning, Sparky came in to visit me on his way to pick up my sister and mother from the airport. When he came in, he asked me if I noticed anything different about him. ‘Um, you shaved?” I guessed. Nope. He was no longer wearing a mask, which meant that tuberculosis was finally ruled out. So the two options were now either lung cancer or a fungal infection. We were getting closer to a diagnosis anyway, so that seemed positive even though both choices sucked. But now my sister and mom wouldn’t have to wear a mask when they visited me, and Sparky promised to bring Bee by tonight so that I could finally see her again! Of course she wouldn’t be allowed up to my room, but I could go downstairs to the waiting room and visit with her there and I wouldn’t have to wear a mask and freak her out. Sunday was shaping up to be a good thing. Except for one thing. 

A good friend of ours, our “go-to” person for all things Bee had gone bad. Somehow this episode at County-USC just didn’t register for her. In the suddenness of it all, Sparky had been calling everyone we know to find someone to watch Bee for a few hours so he could visit me in the Contagion Room. The painful part of it all was that she would have been insulted, hurt even, if we hadn’t asked for her help. And who knows what turmoil lurks in the chambers of the human heart? It was never explained, but after four days of saying “nope, too busy, can’t do it”, Sparky gave up on her, and she on us. Many have said that tragedy and emergencies bring a real focus to family and friends, but this was  the most unexpected turn possible. And despite the generally happy ending to this medical tragic-comedy, that multi-year friendship is nothing but a burnt bridge now. It was even more unexpected than the host of potentially life ending diseases that I was being probed for, and was nearly as painful. And through it all this so called “friend” never even asked how I was doing, or communicated directly with me. I was a bystander in the towers of County-USC, and it was a very lonely place to be. For all I know, she may think I’m still there. Because of this situation it has taken me forever to continue on with my hospital chronicles because I have been in full avoidance mode. But I now fully accept it, it is what it is, and was what it was, C’est la vie.

My very good friend Ali who was in France during my hospitalization was there for me despite the distance. She contacted her parents who contacted me and offered their help. And on that Sunday, despite it all, things were looking up for the Misers. I had to have a pap smear done  in order to rule out cervical cancer, but that should be no big deal. And soon my family would be in my hospital room with me. My mom and sister were going to be staying with Ali’s parents, who very graciously offered their guest room to them for a night or two. And then they would be at Ali’s spare apartment which was being cleaned. The generosity of my friends was pretty awesome, and I’m forever thankful to them for being so sweet to my family. Ali’s mom told me that it was no big deal, that it was what friends and neighbors did for one another in times of trouble. 

Sparky left to pick up my mom and Kiki, and I was taken across the hall to have my pap done. It did not go very well. The doctor who was doing it hadn’t done one in a while and was having problems. She had to call another doctor in to help her, and they finally managed to get some of my cells. I then went back to my room and waited for my visitors. 

They finally showed up and I was very happy to see them, I think we all cried a little. I don’t really remember what we talked about, but it was good to have them there. I was served my dinner and my mom made me eat every single thing on my plate because she thought I was too skinny. And then Sparky called me to let me know that he and Bee were downstairs. 

I put on some pants under my hospital gown, hid my IV line under a sweater, and the three of us headed down. Bee seemed a bit disheveled, as though her hair hadn’t been properly brushed for a week, and she had a bit of a glazed look in her eyes. She was as happy to see me as I was to see her. Her voice seemed really high to me and I could tell that she was overtired and needed both a bath and some sleep. But it was so good to finally see her again. Seven o’clock came too soon, and everyone was asked to leave and I hugged and kissed them all and went back upstairs to my little hospital room. I felt both happy and depressed. I dearly wanted out of there, back into my old life. It was hard to get use to this new life in this hospital, and I was afraid of what was going to happen next. But tomorrow I would see my family again so it was not all bad. I took my valium and read my self to sleep. 

(to be continued...)   

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Kindergarten Baby Anxieties

Bee started kindergarten just this Monday. I have very mixed feelings about this as it was not an easy task picking out a school for her. Sparky and I both thought long and hard about it, but ended up choosing her charter school based on the fact that it started one week later than the others (more summer for us) and it starts at 7:50 a.m. vs. 7:45 a.m. To a little girl who loves to sleep and is not much of a morning person, five extra minutes in the morning are huge.

The other things I like about her new school is that besides having an ambitious academic program (she has homework everyday, even on the weekends) the emphasis is on dance. Which seems like the perfect thing for a little five year old. Each day, after the rigors of learning math and reading skills, the children get to exercise and move around and dance. It just seems like a good, healthy thing for them to do each day. So that is definitely a plus. Also, they are required to wear uniforms. Sparky and I like uniforms. In fact, I would wear one myself if I could. But since I’m not in a profession that requires one, it seems kind of weird. 

We plan on being very involved in her schooling, which I think is important; the parents at her new school must volunteer for at least 15 hours a year. The parents all seem enthusiastic, the teachers are nice, and the principal is very friendly and knows all the kids by name. My misgivings, though, come from a campus that is all asphalt and concrete. There’s no grass, and the few trees are trapped in planters and look sad.  In short, it’s very much of an inner city type of place, and seems particularly wrong in verdant Echo Park. The kindergarten shares this campus with another separate elementary school that has been around forever. They have tried to beautify the grounds with large pots full of plants, and maybe when these plants get bigger and fill out the place will look nicer. 

But aesthetics seem like they should be a minor thing. We wanted to send our Bee to a school in our neighborhood, and not ship her off to some fancy private school that we couldn’t afford. What we hope for is that she gets a good education, and that she’s as happy and well adjusted as can be as she begins her school journey that will last for the next seventeen to twenty years. (The twenty years would depend upon whether or not she goes to grad school. Although I don’t think you need a degree to be a fairy, and I know you don’t need one to be a rock and roll singer, so the twenty years of schooling could be a moot point.) And if it really blows there we can always enroll her somewhere else for first grade. In the grand scheme of things as Sparky says, “It’s just kindergarten.”

Squirrely McNutty

Last week was something of a bittersweet time for the Misers. Shortly after learning about Piano Man's demise, Sparky discovered a baby squirrel lying on our patio in the backyard. At first he thought that our cat Lila had caught it and that the poor thing was on its last little legs. His first thought was to put it out of its misery. Bee was screaming because she thought it was a dead rat and I didn't even want to look at it because I thought it would be broken and bloody. But when Sparky poked at it the little squirrel moved a bit and curled up into a teeny ball. I then looked at the baby and saw that it was breathing and seemingly whole. We decided that it had most likely fallen out of the tree and Sparky guessed that a Red-tailed hawk had gotten its mother which caused this little guy to fall out of its nest. We also decided that he was a boy and put him in a box lined with an old cotton t-shirt. I looked up what to do on the inter web, and after comparing baby squirrel pictures we decided that he must be about four and a half weeks old. He was tiny and very cute and we very much wanted this little guy to live. We named him Squirrely McNutty, and Bee placed a little knitted red heart in the box with him to keep him company. 

Sparky then called our local veterinarians who told us to bring him in. This vet office had recently changed ownership and were now open until 10:00 p.m. weeknights. They also happened to have a wildlife expert on hand, so it seemed like serendipity. The woman at the front desk cooed over the baby when she saw him and asked his name. She then took Squirrely McNutty to the back to be examined by the expert. She asked us what we wanted to do with him, if we wanted to take care of him ourselves or if we wanted to hand him over to them. I told her we wanted to do what was best for Squirrely McNutty. But then Sparky chimed in that he thought that we should care for him ourselves, and that it would be a good learning experience for Bee. The vet wanted to keep him for a bit to give him some nutrients and some badly needed fluids, so we were told to come back later that night to pick him up and to get instructions for feeding him.

When we got home, I received a phone call from the vet's receptionist telling me I needed to get some kitten formula for Squirrely McNutty - and she told me that he would need to eat every three to four hours for a couple of weeks or so until he was able to hold solid foods in his little paws. Wow. I realized that we were probably not be the best people for this job after all, especially since Bee starts kindergarten this week. I told her that I wanted to release Squirrely McNutty to them since I knew that they were better able to care for him. Their plan was to nurture him for a few days and them turn him over to a squirrel sanctuary where there would be other orphaned squirrels for him to play with.  She told me that he had opened his eyes and wrapped his little paw around her finger. She was completely smitten with him and I knew that Squirrely McNutty was going to a-okay. Bee cried when I told her that Squirrely McNutty wasn't going to come home with us after all. Sparky and I feel a bit sad as well but we are happy that Squirrely McNutty will live and that we saved his little furry life.

We are hoping that his eventual recovery will lead to a release ... in our wildlife sanctuary, our backyard!

Piano Man

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Hospital Chronicles, Part 9 - Saturday Night At The Movies

Saturday morning marked the fifth day in the hospital. Honestly, I was surprised to find myself still there. Being in a hospital makes you feel suspended from the rest of world, as though you are not a part of society any longer. My life in that isolation room had taken on an unreal and dreamlike quality and time seemed warped, moving both fast and slow at the same time. I still did not know what afflicted me but I had ample time to think about it. I stopped reading "Just Kids" right at the part where Robert Mapplethorpe gets sick because I couldn't bear to read about him dying. I figured that I would read the rest of the book after getting out and hopefully was in a better space. So instead I downloaded a bunch of books onto my iPad by female comedians like Tina Fey's "Bossypants", Mindy Kapling's "Is Everybody Hanging Out Without Me?" and Sara Barron's "People Are Unappealing: Even Me" as I was more in the mood for some shallow and light reading then anything that was heavy or profound. Funny books were all I could stomach there on the inside.

I was scheduled for two ultrasounds in the afternoon to check for any cancer cells that may be lurking in my body. I was again wheeled through the massive labyrinth of hospital corridors and taken down to where the sonograms where performed. Since I was to have two separate ultrasounds done, I was taken down twice and seen by two different technicians. The tests were both fairly uneventful as they didn't hurt or anything, but they did take forever to complete and were very impersonal.  The technicians barely spoke to me as I laid on the table in the small darkened room but instead worked the sonogram wand with one hand and the computer with the other. They both seemed to be concentrating very hard while they performed their tasks. It felt like they were doing a very thorough job for which I was thankful, and then finally it was over.

Two pulmonary specialist also visited me that Saturday afternoon. The first lung doctor (who was older than me) told me that because of my age he seriously doubted that it was lung cancer. He still wasn't sure what it was, but wanted me not to worry and to hope for the best. I liked him quite a bit and he promised to visit me later when they had more information. The second lung doctor (who was younger than me) told me that because of my age there was a likely chance that it could be lung cancer, and that we should proceed with caution. What the hell? The first guy made me feel like I was too young to get lung cancer and the second guy made me feel like I was suddenly the perfect age for lung cancer. And that made me feel old. And kind of depressed. I told Sparky about it when he came to visit me and he told me not to worry, that everything was going to be all right, and that he could tell that I didn't have lung cancer. He said this with great conviction and it cheered me up because I really believed him at that moment, and his intuition in these matters has been remarkably accurate over the years.

After Sparky left, I ate my bland saltless dinner and decided that I was going to spend Saturday night in the hospital watching a movie! I had my own little flatscreen TV hanging on the wall but had not watched it at all. "The Blind Side" was showing that night and my sister had recommend it to me, telling me that her oldest son really like it. She assured me that it had a happy ending which was really my only criteria. So I watched it that night and enjoyed it quite a bit. It made me cry, but in a sentimental kind of way. It's not the type of movie I would ever seek out at the movie theater or rent from Netflex, but it was perfect for what I needed that Saturday night in the hospital. It was the only thing that I watched on the TV while I was there, and I will always associate Sandra Bolluck and the movie "The Blind Side" with my stint at County/USC.

(to be continued...) 

Hospital Chronicles, Part 8 - Bronchoscopy

I woke up early Friday morning feeling anxious about the bronchoscopy. I wasn't allowed to eat or drink anything, so I waited nervously for my transporter to take me to the operating room while wishing for a cup of good strong coffee that would never appear the entire time I was there. My wheels soon arrived and I had to wear a mask again to keep me from contaminating anybody with my deadly tuberculous germs. I could have walked to the O.R. just fine, but at County/USC you're always made to sit in a wheelchair as though infirm, regardless of your condition. As a side effect, this brings feelings of helplessness and a sense that you're really as sick as they think you might be. If I had been allowed to simply walk it would have done wonders for my outlook, but instead I complied with the transporter and played the role of the ailing patient. 


When we got to the operating room, I was greeted by two nurses, and was helped up onto a gurney. One of the nurses attached fluids to my IV. She asked if I had had anything "by mouth" in the past twelve hours. I hadn't, but wondered why they always say "by mouth" as though you could drink or eat using another orifice. They let me take off my mask as they were both wearing these crazy space age helmets to protect themselves from catching my virulent disease. The room did not look like much of an operating room to me, and I started having doubts about this whole bronchoscopy business. Then a doctor was standing above me, peering intently into my face. He was wearing a paper mask which somehow made me feel better. He asked me in a German accent if I had ever been really sick, if I had ever felt like something was going on in my lungs. (The fact that the doctor was German also made me feel better as the first bronchoscopy was done by a German back in the late 1800s, which I knew because I had looked it up on my iPad the night before.) 


I told him that when I had pneumonia I had felt really sick. He asked me if I had been really sick some other time, and I said no. He asked me was I sure? Surely, I must feel what was going on in my lungs? I shook my head no, and felt slightly bad that I couldn't remember because it was evident that he very much wanted me to. Then he patted me on the forehead and said not to worry, that he was going to put the camera into my lungs and find out what was going on in there. He said that if it all went well he would do a couple of brush biopsy, but if things were trickier he would have to do a needle biopsy which would take longer and was more dangerous. He said he was pretty sure that it would just be the brush biopsies which were much safer. I hoped he was right. Then he kind of patted me again, and I realized that I was feeling slightly floaty and that the medication running through my IV was starting to kick in. He turned to the nurses and asked them why they were wearing those crazy space helmets, and then scoffed at them when they replied that it was because I may have TB. "She does not have tuberculous," he said with great conviction, "and I am not going to wear one of those ridiculous helmets." And that is the last thing I remember until I woke up and found myself back in my hospital room. 

I had no idea how I got there and realized that I must have been really out of it. After the operation. you are wheeled into a recover room and remain there until the anesthesia subsides. Then a nurse looks you in the eye and talks to you to make sure all is okay before you're sent back to your room. I had no recollection of the process and I wondered it I had just dreamed it all. Before the 'oscopy I thought my throat would be sore, but it wasn't. How could that be? And I found that I was suddenly starving as it was almost noon and I had had  nothing "by mouth" since the night before. Very soon an orderly showed up with my lunch: salad, pasta, vegetables, roll, milk and juice. And no salt to speak of, so everything was really bland. God, I really hate hospital food. I found my self continually singing the Eels song "Hospital Food" to myself at each meal. If you write a song about hospital food it means that you have spent way too much time in the damned hospital, and I was quickly reaching that point as well. How much longer was I going to be here, and what the hell was wrong with me? Those seemed to be my constant thoughts.

A little later, Sparky came to visit which cheered me up. And my sister called to inform me that she, Mom and our little brother were coming out to Los Angeles to visit and to help out! Yeah! That news made me so happy that I almost cried. I really needed them right now, and thankfully they were able to be there for me. I suddenly felt very lucky for a potential cancer victim.

A little bit later, Dr. Pop came to visit me. Sparky was out getting something to eat, so it was just me and the good doctor. He informed me that the bronchoscopy had gone exceptionally well and that they were able to get three good brush biopsies, so that was good news. He seemed to be pretty happy about  the whole thing, but then again he was just an upbeat kind of guy. And then he rattled on, saying that if it was a fungal infection that they would try to treat it with antibiotics, but they might also have to remove part of my lung. What?! It was the first I'd heard about about that kind of drastic, invasive direction. My insides sank with that cold hard free fall of bad hospital news. I asked him how much of my lung would be removed, and he said a quarter, maybe half. Wow. This news was made even worse because I had been rooting for the "fungal infection" diagnosis the whole time - it beat cancer in my mind any day, but now I was filled with dread about all of the options being offered. I asked him if I could run a marathon with half my lung missing, and he seemed surprised by my question. He asked me if I was planning on running one, and I said  no but you never know, I liked having the option of running one. He told me that the pulmonary dudes would be by to see me later and I could ask them. But he said that we should just take it one day at a time and figure out what I had first. Right, one day at a time. And then he told me that they would be doing all kinds of tests to see if there were cancer cells anywhere in my body. Tomorrow they would do several sonograms, and later I would be given a pap smear as well as a mammogram. And of course they were still awaiting my tuberculous sputum test as well as my skin test, and at the end of next week they should have my lung biopsy results.

The rest of the day was uneventful, which is what you want when you are in the hospital. Sparky came back and we hung out some more. I talked to my mother who was in much better spirits as she was going to be coming out to see me. I did not tell her about what Dr. Pop said regarding a fungal infection as I didn't want to freak her our anymore than she already was. Then Sparky left to go feed Bee her dinner and I was also fed my delicious hospital dinner. After that I read some, took my tranquilizer, and tried not to think about fungal infections.

Hospital food,
Want some Hospital food,
Hospital food,
Delicious Hospital food...

(to be continued...)

Supreme

I am feeling very optimistic right now, thanks to the Supreme Court. With all of the medical troubles I've had recently not to mention my utter lack of health insurance, this ruling is of particular interest to me.  I (like CNN and Fox News, apparently) thought that the Justices would strike down The Patient Protection and Affordable Care Act as unconstitutional, but they actually upheld it! After spending eight days in County/USC I know firsthand how broken our current healthcare system is, and Obamacare is definitely a step in the right direction. Now all we have to do is reelect our President. As Bee would say, Go Obama, Go!