Hospital Life
Sucks
This Substack is about life in Việt Nam from the viewpoint of a 11-year expat who spent his first 60 years in a low-context culture.
Despite the virtual omnipresence of AI “writings”, this Substack will never use them. Everything published here uses only, unless otherwise noted, my original thoughts and words.
Drain Bamage?
I’m beginning to think I may be a candidate.
My short-term memory is worse since I got here; I will suddenly feel light-headed, not dizzy, at random times of the day with no discernable cause or precursor; and my speech seems less clear than it was two weeks ago.
It’s very possible that these things are side effects of the various prescribed medications. It’s also possible they’re not. I’m working on getting a CAT scan of my melon to see if there’s anything new developing or failing inside.
Right Leg Surgery #14 (or is it #2?)
Since EVERYTHING changed drastically this past October, I should probably stop counting from 2016 and restart with the amputation as #1.
In that case, the surgery this 10 days ago (22 January) was #2.
I detailed that procedure here, so I won’t go into it again, except to say that it was almost four hours from lights out to waking up in recovery, so it was quite involved.
In addition to implanting the osseointegration receiver in my femur,
they also performed another RPNI procedure to help rid me of the nerve pain that’s been making me crazy(er) since October’s amputation.
Four days after the surgery, the nerve pain was back, so I’m unsure there’s anything they can do to keep it at bay. Except, maybe returning me to the medication I was on for that when I got here and didn’t have nerve pain? How is that too much to ask?
Somewhere in the conversations leading up to the surgery, I remember being told that the implant is (of course) is a slightly larger diameter than the opening in the femur. They also said that it is coated with a substance that encourages bone growth so the femur will grow into the implant and secure it.
The day after the surgery, when my surgeon came through doing his rounds, I asked him,
Dr. Al Muderis, when you were pounding the hell out of the implant with a big ass hammer trying to get it all the way in and secure, did you have someone at the head of the OR table pushing against my shoulders so that I didn’t fly off the end?
Everyone else in the room — four medical professionals — laughed.
Instead of answering me, Dr. A turned to Jennifer, my nurse, and asked,
How the hell does he know about that?
He hasn’t yet answered my question. I’m pretty sure the answer is, “Yes.”
Prosthesis Preparation
Four days after the implantation, they moved me upstairs to the “In-House Rehabilitation Unit”. I had hoped that they would send me back to Jupiter Rehabilitation, but no such luck. Dr. Al Muderis’s reasoning was,
We are set up here to do the specialty therapy you need, including loading the implant1 to prepare it for your prosthesis. The other rehabilitation places don’t know how to do that.
Okay, I understand. No problem.
Monday morning, I arrived on-time for my PT appointment and asked,
Tell me about loading the implant. How does it work?
Blank stares all around.
No one knew anything about it.
WTF?
So I just did “the usual” PT exercises for my 90 minutes. Tell me again why I’m here?
Near the end of my session, one of the PAs for not-my-surgeon came in with a three-page, single-spaced document apparently written by someone with no knowledge of paragraphs or bullet points.
It was the kind of document that someone looks at, thinks, “Yeah, maybe later.” and puts aside, possibly forever.
It was also something that NONE of the physical or occupational therapists had seen before. As I waded through it, I realized that the protocols are amazingly simple and with a more readable document, any therapist anywhere could probably figure it out.
I could even do it without a therapist. All I need is a scale that went to at least 50kg and a low stool to put it on.
Unfortunately, they told me that I was designated as “Delayed Loading”, which means they want to wait six weeks ‘til my implant is fully integrated with my femur before I start the loading procedure. Then, it’s going to be 10 weeks of loading (5kg per week to 50kg — my body weight is 95kg), before I can start with the lightweight preparatory prosthesis and, eventually, the real prosthesis. That’s late May!
Unacceptable!
My surgeon’s been out of the country for the past week, and I should see him on Monday. We’re going to have a conversation about this.
Bed and Chair Alarms
The fucking lawyers here have their dirty little paws in everything!
I’ve NEVER, in 70+ years of sleeping in a bed, fallen out of one. Nor have I ever fallen out of a chair. Not even when I was too drunk or stoned to walk. Here at St Mary’s Hospital in West Palm Beach, Florida, they insist that the bed alarm be turned on AND a chair alarm is clipped to your shirt so that if you get out of the bed or the chair, an alarm goes off and nurses come running.
Until this Saturday, I signed a waiver at the beginning of each shift (2x/day) that said I was responsible if I fell out of bed or a chair and got injured or died, it was my fault. The thing is that the alarm DOES NOT PREVENT falling, it just notifies everyone within 30 meters that you have fallen. If you’re hurt in the fall, too bad.
I finally decided I’m going to play their game, but in a way they will not like. I didn’t sign the waivers this morning.
They clipped the chair alarm to my shirt, and as soon as they left, I unclipped it.
Since the bed alarm goes off if I get out of bed or move too much, every time I wake up in the night, I’ll get out of bed and set off the alarm. My hope is that at some point they give up.
We’ll see.
I hate this nanny bullshit!
She needs to be in a cage
Before last Wednesday, I’ve never before said (or thought) that about someone.
Other than every one of the J6 traitors/insurrectionists. And Mango Mussolini. And the Pocket Nazi.2
Before last Wednesday, I’ve never before been up front and center for a total meltdown — other than inside my house in Việt Nam.
I was trying to work with a new-to-me physical therapist, and it wasn’t going well. She was most likely following protocol and I’m less than thrilled about jumping through hoops I’d already jumped through just because protocol says so.
This is a good place to mention that I’ve been blowing away the little tasks they give you to make sure you can get by in “the world”. Every therapist with whom I’ve worked has commented that they’re surprised by how well I’m doing.
Then give me the task list and let’s blow through it so I can get back to listening to music/podcasts in my room.
Yeah, right. It doesn’t work that way…
It should!
Back to the need for a cage…
The therapist was getting impatient with me for questioning “Why?” every time she assigned an evaluation I’d already nailed previously, and I was already long past the limit of my patience. In a very calm, even tone, I told her,
This isn’t working for either one of us. I’m going back to my room. You’re fired.3
Suddenly, a woman I’d not noticed before and who was working out on one of the machines nearby without involvement in my conversation with the therapist ERRUPTED like Mt. Vesuvius!
WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?
SHE’S HERE TO HELP YOU AND YOU NEED TO DO WHAT SHE SAYS, YOU UNGRATEFUL MOTHERFUCKER!
FUCK YOU, YOU COCKSUCKER! GET OUT OF HERE!
IF YOU DON’T WANT HER HELP, THEN GO BACK TO YOUR FUCKING ROOM, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!
FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!
GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, ASSHOLE!
And on and on and on, without appearing to pause to take a breath, for what seemed like five minutes though it was probably only 30 seconds.4
I quietly asked her how this was any of her business, though I’m positive she didn’t hear me.
Another physical therapist with whom I’d worked well the day before quickly came over and shepherded me out of the gym.
HOLY SHIT! WHAT TF WAS THAT???
I reported the incident to my “Case Manager”, my nurse, and a PA because I knew they’d hear about it and I wanted my version to be the first one they heard.
An hour or so later, the Nurse Leader — I guess “Head Nurse” was dropped after that joke made the rounds (pun intended) in the 70’s — the Case Manager, and the head of PT showed up together in my room asking for my version of what happened. I told them, answered their questions, and asked that they do their best to ensure Nut Job didn’t attack me in the hallways. I ended with,
That woman belongs in a cage!
Or maybe the high school fundraiser dunk tank.
I didn’t tell them I’d pay good money to see either one.
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Applying 5kg of pressure on Day 1 and then increasing by 5kg either daily or weekly, depending on the applicable protocol, until reaching 50% of the patient’s body weight
Former (yea!) Obergruppenführer Greg Bovino
From working with me, not from her job. Yes, I know that’s “understood”, but perhaps not by everyone.
Einstein once explained relativity by saying, “When you sit with a nice girl for two hours you think it’s only a minute, but when you sit on a hot stove for a minute you think it’s two hours. That’s relativity.”
So, they actually pound that pin thing into your bone? With a honest to goodness hammer? Is it adjustable at least?
Yes, into the femur. With a hammer. No, it's not adjustable.
I'm still chuckling... thanks for that.