My Grandmother has been hospitalized with heart failure, I’m in a nursing home, and my parents are basically raising my child.
It’s been twelve days since my hair has been washed, twelve days since I’ve last eaten, and I really, REALLY have to pee.
Now I find out that the nursing home doesn’t actually have a pharmacy at its disposal; it takes time to order and receive prescriptions.
And the nurse’s assistant spilled the contents of the bedpan all over my skirt AND the bed. She put a pad over the bed and said they’d change the sheets tomorrow. The skirt she threw in with my clean clothes.
And these motherfuckers are supposed to reteach me how to walk?
To top it all off, I have a roommate. More on that later, I’m sure.
I’ve spent the past three hours stuck in my room, unable to get out, unable to find the ‘call’ button, which must have slipped beneath my bed. My body is nearly dry of pain medication and on top of that, I’m dehydrated. At least bedpans and catheterization are actively encouraged here; at F. Hospital, I was told it would be easier to just piss myself and clean it up.
Yes, I was indeed told by one elderly Asian woman there was “too much pee” in me to use a catheter (I hadn’t peed in 0ver 24 hours). Lucky, the doctor on call (who turned to have gone home around dinnertime) was able to convince the crazy bitch that catheterization was preferable to bedwetting
So I fell and broke my femur in half on Saturday evening, which led to the discovery of bone cancer. I’ll write about it when I’m feeling a little better and am NOT being kept severely dehydrated. Lots of “WTF Nurse?!” stories to share.
Yeah, I’m just gonna come out and say it: I’m at the hospital with my femur broken clean in half. Took a fall last night, and it turns out “my bad knee” isn’t arthritic; it’s a tumor. Can’t tell whether it’s benign until after they’ve done exploratory surgery.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Benign tumors don’t eat your fucking femur.
When I was preggo, parking was an absolute NIGHTMARE — I’m talking up to a twenty-minute walk just to get into the building. They offered special maternity spots exclusively for the third trimester, but unfortunately they never enforced it. People were constantly parking in my spot, which was so unbelievably frustrating because it was a rough pregnancy and I was already on my feet at work for a good 10+ hours per day.
Most of people who parked unauthorized in these spaces WERE in fact pregnant, yet they were so early on that they didn’t even show, and they certainly weren’t having any problems getting around. I managed to confront a few of these assholes, who would generally snap back with, “well, I’m pregnant too” and if SOMEONE ELSE’S maternity spot was still open, they’d suggest that I park there. Only one woman who claimed to be 5 weeks along (wtf?) had the decency to apologize after parking in my spot two days in a row.
Pregnant woman can have trouble getting around some of the time, most of the time, or almost never. These spots SHOULD be reserved, but that doesn’t meaning having a fetus (or an embryo) inside you automatically entitles you to park there. Just have some fucking decency.