On returning to the Lindsay

The lack of coordination and planning in the healthcare system is mind boggling. I was getting my antibiotics yesterday morning when a man dressed in outdoors clothes and pushing a wheelchair came into my room. He asked my name. He was a driver come to take me to the Lindsay. There were two significant problems. The first was that he hadn’t been told I had my own wheelchair, so bringing one up from his taxi was a waste of time. The second was that I was still hooked up to the IV antibiotic drip and would be for at least another hour. It would have made sense to coordinate my antibiotic session with transport, but the left hand doesn’t seem to know what the right hand is doing in the medical world. As it turned out, it turned out that the driver for another patient on my floor was unavailable so my driver was reassigned.

About ninety minutes later, another driver with a wheelchair came into my room. At that point, I was ready and waiting. So off to the Lindsay. 

Which wasn’t ready and waiting for me. In point of fact, it was essentially closed for lunch. So I waited for the best part of an hour before I could find someone who could find out where I was supposed to be. This proved to be a room on the same floor as before, but the other side of the hall with much less in the way of windows. The later is probably just as well as with the increasing hours of sunlight, it makes it easier to sleep in. The room is a double room but I am currently the only occupant.

I asked an orderly if I might retrieve the belongings I had left here. She came back with my red MEC duffle. I unpacked, noticing that at least a few things were absent. I asked the orderly if she might send some to check if there was another bag, but nothing came of it.

There has been round after round of greeting assorted familiar nurses, orderlies and doctors as well as several debriefings and assessments of my condition that borders on the ridiculous. I was zonked by bedtime yet failed to get to sleep easily, despite a dark and quiet room as well as a sleeping pill.

After this morning’s round of antibiotics, I ask an orderly if I might check in the storage room for my missing items. This proved a ridiculously convoluted affair of asking various people to find the key to the room. Of course once the door to the room had been unlocked, the way proved to be barred to my wheelchair by a parked mobility scooter. I managed to work out a solution namely walking holding onto the scooter and having the orderly woman-handle the wheelchair past it. Once in the room, I found it hard to find a bag with my name on it until I noticed a photocopied label which had an inventory that matched the one attached to my red bag. It did not have my name or any other on it. As a librarian, I found this to be shoddy workmanship. I opened the black garbage bag which proved to have the missing items. One of them was a box Margo had mailed to me. I showed it to the orderly in order to prove that it was indeed my bag. There are times when having a rare last name comes in handy.

After lunch, I put a load of laundry into the washing machine. I then went to a physio session that demonstrated how much ground I had lost at the General from slacking off from exercise. The Physio and I were disappointed. 

On sleep and dreams

I should have written earlier, but I’ve been more than a little tired. First because of insomnia, partly caused by the disruption to the sleep cycle caused by the lengthy antibiotic administrations and partly due to the relative stress of being at the Montreal General. Even after the change to only two doses of antibiotic per day, I was hardly sleeping. Friday night, I eventually asked for a stronger sleeping pill which improved things a lot.

On Thursday, Alice and I went to see Ghostbusters : Frozen Empire. That was a lot of fun, even though Alice hadn’t seen Ghostbusters : Afterlife. I’d thought of going to the Condo with Alice on Friday. I had even discussed it with my friendly taxi driver. However, my near complete lack of sleep on Thursday night meant that I hadn’t the energy to do something so active. Instead, Alice and I bathed in the sun outside the General.

The weekend can best be described as boring. As in the highlight of the weekend was walking with crutches two double lengths of the floor. During one jaunt on crutches, I was greeted by an orderly or nurse who remembered me from September and who was very pleased to see me on my feet again. That was very nice. I compounded my feeling of improvement by mentioning to her that there was an old woman in a wheelchair in the hall who was quietly saying she was cold to no one in particular.

I still don’t know if I am going back to the Lindsay today. Someone said that my antibiotic levels are good, but then there was some confusion as to exactly when someone drew a blood sample on the weekend. I am also somewhat tired of this nonsensical confusion about the antibiotics as well as the lengthy process of administering them. I’d love to just try to snooze through the process. Unfortunately, more often than not, the machine makes a jarring bleep to warn of air bubbles in the tube. Several people have told me that the antibiotic, Vancomycin, has a tendency to cause bubbles on its own.

I am feeling that I am getting better and that I might well progress to more advanced ways of using the crutches to walk once I return to the Lindsay. This optimism is countered by the frustration of being wheelchair bound. Concurrent with that is the fear that I will be permanently stuck with chair.

I sometimes try to relieve the negativity by dreaming up short-term or long-term vacation ideas. I know the first trip I will take once I am able will be to go to Vancouver to see Margo. Going to Sioux Lookout would be next. A more exotic trip idea would be to fly Emirates to Dubai from Toronto so as to go in an Airbus 380. 

Closer to home, I’d love to hire a light plane with pilot at St-Hubert Airport and do a sightseeing trip to North Hatley and back. A brief Google search told me that it is not only possible but might also include me piloting the aircraft at times. That would make my bucket list, though only after I make a significant recovery of my left foot. I discussed this with Alice on Friday. She asked if I would like to do something like that in Sioux Lookout, as she is familiar with the significant local bush flying community. I said that I could relate to that but what would be more fascinating would be to see the familiar landscapes around North Hatley from the air.

On Mount Royal

On Tuesday, Alice came by with her rented car and drove me to pick up some bagels from St-Viateur and then to Beaver Lake on Mount Royal. We ate the bagels while admiring the view. I regaled Alice with a story about how Aunt Lorna had once saved the day at Beaver Lake:

A small boy was on the verge of tear as his toy sailboat had become becalmed in the middle of the lake. His dad was trying to figure out what to do. Up came Aunt Lorna walking one of her highly trained standard poodles. She took the dog off the leash, pointed at the boat and said “fetch”. The poodle jumped in to retrieve the boat and thus saved the day.

Some well behaved ducks

While Alice went into the pavilion to use the restroom, I stayed by the edge of the pond to make sure that the ducks didn’t go amuck. A small child also came to the edge and called out to his family that there were red fish in the water. I took a look and there were indeed some koi fish swimming in the weeds.

I returned to the General to find that my antibiotic regime had been changed to twice per day, thank God. Ironically, this meant that I had to have a short additional session to make up the increased dose.

Owing to a minor medical mix-up and poor communication, Wednesday morning was spent in bed. In the afternoon, I walked up and down the corridor just outside my room. Later in the day, a physio cleared me to walk the length of the corridor by myself. In the evening, I walked to the near end of the corridor and back to my room on my crutches. I didn’t realize just how much it had taken out of me until I accidentally went into the room two doors before my room.

During the afternoon, I had briefly gone outside for some fresh air. I notice some recently fallen snow. It seems that there had been a snow shower earlier in the day which I had snoozed through. Facebook promptly displayed some posts showing people mowing their snow covered lawns!

This morning, I found out that they still aren’t happy with my antibiotic levels, so I am here over the weekend. *Grumble*

On a disappointed hope

Alice has come from Sioux Lookout for various reasons, not the least of which is to see me. She came up to the General and my room this morning. When a nurse came by to give me my pain medications, Alice proceeded to ask a number of relevant questions regarding about how and when I receive my antibiotics. 

This has been every eight hours via the IV PICC line. Unfortunately, this has meant that at least once I received a dose at 2 in the morning resulting in my sleep schedule shot to hell. I have been getting by on very little sleep. Alice asked if I might get a larger dose twice daily. The poor nurse said she would pass the request up line.

Alice also inquired about possibly being given the medication, machine and training so that she might administer them herself so that I might go to North Hatley for a day. There, the nurse was very skeptical that it would approved.

Alice left it at that and as I was very tired, she left me to catch some sleep as well as rest herself. I awoke from a nap shortly before the nurse came back to say that it looked like that she had passed on the messages. Then, almost as an afterthought, she said that I would be going back to the Lindsay tomorrow.

I was suddenly very awake as I have been waiting for that news for about two weeks. While I am tired from lack of sleep, I am feeling very fit (relatively speaking) and I am dying to walk and do more physical activities than is currently permitted or even possible here at the General. 

So I posted the good news on Facebook, then started writing this blog post. I was writing away when the infectious diseases doctor came in. She went into some detail about exactly why I am getting the antibiotics. I had known in general why, but now I know better. It seems that I have a coagulate-negative staph aureus infection in my tibia. Because of the complications with my allergies to certain antibiotics and scheduling issues, they hadn’t been able to determine the exact dose necessary to do the job as of yet. Therefore, she will not sign the release forms meaning that my return to the Lindsay is delayed until at least Thursday. I am disappointed.

On a room transfer

For reasons that I can only describe as bureaucratic, at short notice, I was transferred up to the 18th floor of the General this evening. Luckily, I got a single room that is somewhat larger than the one I had in September. It is a bit more sensibly laid out than my previous double but single room in that I can use the sink from my wheelchair. Unlike the other two rooms, it looks out over the City and the Saint-Lawrence with a much more dynamic than that of Montreal Royal.

My new room

Unfortunately, it is closer to the nurses’ station as well as other rooms. This means I hear the alert calls bleeps as well as the “all done” cries of IV stands. Currently, a pair of them are performing a duet while the nurses concentrate on finishing their paperwork.

My old room for the record

On crutches again

On Thursday, I convinced the physio to let me try walking with crutches. It went very well. As luck would have it, Saint-Michael the Holy Mole came by at just the right time to capture the event on camera. I find it much easier to walk with the crutches than with the walker.

Still no word about getting back to the Lindsay. 

On it being two weeks since the operaton

Well, it is now two weeks since the operation and I’m still at the General. I’ve been waiting on lab results, allergy tests, antibiotics and PICC line installation. The lab results finally showed that I have an infection to some bug or other. The allergy tests demonstrated that I was allergic to the first antibiotic they were giving me so they are now giving me another one by IV which takes longer to administer, three times a day, which means at least one is administered at some ungodly hour resulting in disturbed sleep patterns. Despite a PICC line (a semi permanent IV line) being put in, someone said that it might delay my return to the Lindsay as they might not be able to administer it there. 

That would be ghastly as the antibiotic regime is supposed to last about six weeks, medical time which is annoyingly elastic. While I am getting some physio here, the sessions are brief to the point that I feel I am losing ground. Among other things, I haven’t been cleared to use my crutches again.

Alice is coming in next week. There has been some discussion as to whether she might be able to administer the antibiotic which would allow us to go out to North Hatley for a day or two to celebrate Mummy’s 80th birthday. There seems to be the notion that as a medical professional she might be allowed once given the proper instruction. However, there is a distinct amount of medical dithering, ass-covering and poor communication around the General. 

Not to mention poor cooperation between professionals. An example of this occurred the day after the operation when one of the ortho team came to adjust the screws on my Taylor spatial frame. It was the second such adjustment of the day. He had to remove a cloth bandage around the frame to make the adjustments. However, when it came time to put the cloth bandage back, he seemed to be all thumbs and this was stressing me out. Also, my leg was getting tired from holding itself in the air for his ease. Eventually, I got fed up to the point that I asked him to please get someone who really knew how to apply a bandage to help him. To his credit, he did so readily that I think he had wanted help but was too proud to admit it.

The bandages are now gone and I have too good a view of my lower left leg. Too good as it is very hard to resist picking at it. I have devised a way to cover part of it with my side snap trousers. Out of sight, out of mind.

I am finding easier to cope being here at the General than during my first visit. One very important factor is that I can hop in my wheelchair and see the sights as well as do things like go for coffee or peruse the books at the Déjà lu Book Nook. While doing so one time, I asked if I might take a look through the Lonely Planet guide to Bolivia. I was disappointed that La Cancha wasn’t mentioned in the entries for Cochabamba. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t jump at the chance at going back to the Lindsay.

On ye olde teknowlowgee

The end of the nerve block test went very well, so its IV thingy was removed early yesterday afternoon by Nick, the good humoured nurse from the day before. The procedure was just about pain-free which was all to the good. It was a considerable relief to be free of the IV stand as I could now transfer myself to the wheelchair and thus attend various needs myself. 

One of these was filling my water bottle with ice and water from the machine near the elevators. My room is at the far Western end of the corridor, so it made for a nice roll. Coming back, I noticed several examples of ye olde teknowlowgee (old technology). The first was a pneumatic tube system complete with a olde instructional poster and a list of the locations of the various departments in the building from 1984 which had been typed then photocopied. I also noticed two phone booths built into the wall. The seats were still there but Bell has removed the phones, if not an ad. I mentioned the pneumatic tube system to Nick. He hadn’t know it was there and went with me to take a look. In turn, he mentioned its existence to another employee who had used them at another hospital.

This morning I had the usual round of minor treatments. This included a visit from Nicolai, a member of the Ortho team. I asked him how long I was going to remain at the General. He said they were waiting for the all-clear to be deduced from the cultures of the tissue samples they had taken during the operation. He said it usually took five days before they knew. I replied, “So I will know yesterday?”

Later in the morning, I put a note on my door saying I was going for a roll in the wheelchair along with my mobile number in case they needed me of a sudden. I set off in search of the widely rumoured but never seen cafeteria which the lore suggested might be found on the 4th floor. I celebrated finding it by buying a slice of pizza and a pint of milk. The food I get served here isn’t bad, though it is a bit bland. It also seems to be not quite as filling as it might.

Stephen, Margaret and Avery came by in the afternoon with leftover chocolate cake from Pappy’s birthday and some rice pudding curtesy of Joey. I made a point of showing them the pneumatic tube.

After supper, I got a phone call from Vélo-Québec. The lady wanted to know if I would like to be volunteer again for the Tour-de-l’Île. I responded that I would like to, but that I was incapable of doing so as I had a broken leg. Maybe next year.

On the Eclipse

There were three unsuccessful attempts to put a new IV in me yesterday. All of them painful in a “this-would-be-less-painful-if-it-worked” sort of way. The successful attempt was at about 10 PM just as I had been about to settle in for the night. It was immediately followed by a dose of IV antibiotics which I knew from previous experience would take about an hour to be injected at which time the device would start beeping. So I watched an episode of Archer then one of Connections. Sure enough, the machine started beeping at about the time I’d expected. What I didn’t expect was that it would take at least forty or sixty minutes for a nurse to be available to press the right buttons and unplug me from the IV. That is forty to sixty minutes of the wretched machine going beep-bleep every fifteen seconds.

This is relevant as it factors into more joyful events. I awoke, had breakfast and physio, then got dressed for the first time since the operation. A phone call to Saint-Michael the Holy Mole managed to convince him to come up the hill to escort me out to watch the Eclipse. He had been going to watch it with a much more mobile cousin. I also had a nice chat with my hospital GP doctor in which I expressed how upset I had been without my antidepressants.

After lunch, I used the facilities for the first time since the operation (FTFTSTO). I also put in my contact lenses (also FTFTSTO). Shortly before Michael arrived, a male nurse came by with large syringes that I recognized as being antibiotic related. We discussed the timing of events as it was getting close to H-Hour for the Eclipse. He assured me that it would be done in time for the Eclipse, which he also wanted to see. As Michael came in, I jokingly swore that I would hold the nurse to that promise or else I would get Michael to kill him.

True to his word, the antibiotics were in at an appropriate time. The nurse prompted disconnected me from the IV and hung the nerve block drip from one of the handles of my wheelchair for easy wheeling.

(I fear I must digress about the nerve block drip. Since the operation, there is has been a drip going into my left leg to numb the nerves from the pain caused by what the doctors did to repair the damage driver did. It is quieter than the IV drip for antibiotics. More on it later.)

Michael and I headed down in the elevator to the 6th floor, a.k.a. the Cedar Avenue entrance. Two older men got on and asked if the sixth floor was the one they wanted. Noticing that one of them had a pair of Eclipse glasses in his hand, I said: “Yes, assuming that you both are going to that,” indicating the glasses. There was small crowd outside. I parked the wheelchair upwind of some smokers and put on the glasses. The Sun was already about halfway covered, though you would barely know it from the apparent sunlight. We sat, chatted and watched as the light grew dimmer and it felt colder. Totality was reached as the crowd cheered and the World became a spookier place for a couple of minutes, before the Sun returned.* 

Street lights have come on

Saint-Michael the Holy Mole flabbergasted by the Eclipse

We watched for a few minutes more then went back it. As we approached the atrium, I noticed an older woman on a mobility scooter coming from inside the hospital. Something about her body language indicated that she hadn’t known about the Eclipse. In the atrium, my suspicions were confirmed, so I offered her my Eclipse glasses so she might see the remainder of the event. (The Sun was still about three-quarters covered.) 

Thank you, Saint-Michael the Holy Mole.

As people are interested in my medical condition, I will fill you in on some more news. The doctors were worried about the bone being infected, so when they extracted the original external fixations and some other bits, they took tissue and blood samples to see if there were any nasty bugs in them. So far, the cultures have come back negative which is good news, suggesting they might stop with the antibiotics. As well, tomorrow they will try taking me off the nerve blocker at 6 AM. The male nurse said that if all was well at 12, then they would take out the line. Any doctors, nurses or orderlies (current or future) should pay attention to this next bit. I called him back for clarification. Did he mean 12 noon or 12 midnight? I thought the timing sufficiently important that I illustrated my confirmation by saying: “So if I haven’t killed someone because of the pain by noon, you will remove the nerve block line?” He was a good sport about my exaggeration of the violence my pain might cause, even before I apologized.

*Mummy has claimed that it was because they had sacrificed a goat. I’ll take a photograph or homemade goat curry as proof. **

** Addendum: It turns out Mummy was lying about having sacrificed a goat.

On the consequences of the operation

I would like to apologize to my readers for the lack of posts, but things have gone unfortunately. For reasons I am unable to easily write about, the operation I had longed for was not the one I had. Rather than something final, it came down to removing the external fixations and replacing them with a Taylor spatial frame which seems more cumbersome.

I have been told by several independent sources that the doctor I had is absolutely top notch. He has a signature of drawing smiley faces on his patients. The nursing staff on the whole seem better than on the floor I was on.

However, I think they should have handled my meds better. I was kept off my antidepressants for two days. Together with post-operative pain, I’ve cried a lot for next to no reason. It was well after midnight when I finally fell asleep last night. Unfortunately, my slumber was dominated by a recurrent nightmare. I finally got my antidepressant this morning by begging a nurse with tears in my eyes. I have been through a lot of physical and psychological pain, in the last couple of days, and even before the operation, an anesthetist commented I had PTSD.

On getting the news

I am grateful for the way that Easter fell this year. Otherwise, I might have got the call on April 1st and then been struck by the worry that it was an April Fool’s joke. Instead, I got the call on April 2nd, seven months after being hit.

I had gone down to the gym this morning to meet with the Occupation Therapist. She de-briefed me on the weekend in North Hatley, then we discussed details of my planned experimental stay at home due to start in the afternoon.

I went back up to my room to deal with something minor, when my phone rang with the Montreal General’s phone number. I answered it. The person began by asking where I was, then asked if I could come in for X-rays tomorrow? I said yes, then asked if this meant the date of the operation had been set and if so for when? The answers were yes and Thursday. The joy in my voice alerted my roommate that something was up. After I hung up, I headed towards the nurses station to relay the news. My roommate inquired as to what the good news was and was the first to know. My nurse was next. I then phoned my neighbour Jacques who had been going to help me get into my condo today, followed by The Mole who had been going to spend the night. Mummy was next to know, then Facebook, then this Blog.

I had a physio session at 10, but went down early to her and the Occupational Therapist know the news. I found the gym orderly first and let her know, then later found the OT and the Physio. The latter did a little dance to celebrate!

I had been wondering what my reaction would be to getting the call. It turned out to be joyful relief. (I am so utterly fed up with the external fixations.) It was tempered a bit by second phone call from the General asking where I was. Apparently, they hadn’t got the message that I had moved from the Champlain to the Lindsay.

Stephen later phoned as he and his gang had been due to visit me at home tomorrow, but given the circumstances, the home stay is put off until further notice. A bit disappointing that. Another disappointment is that I will likely be unable to go to North Hatley for the Eclipse.

On returning to North Hatley

I better start writing quickly as after a long spell of nothingness, suddenly things seem to be coming in a rush.

On Saturday, Mummy picked me up at the Lindsay. She then drove me to North Hatley. Our first stop in town was at the Store where the owner held the door open for me. I congratulated Elliott on the birth of his third son, and generally stood at the front greeting various customers. 

Pappy wasn’t at home when we arrived. I was sitting in my wheelchair when he came in. We hugged and cried on each other’s shoulder.

There was a certain amount of adjusting furniture and carpet removal in the Guestroom and the downstairs toilet. I left the wheelchair in the guestroom and got around the house on crutches. This was a good thing as it stimulated me to use the crutches.

A little before supper, Dominique came by with Maki the dachshund. He wasn’t too sure about me, which was a bit disappointing but vaguely expected.

The next day, we were invited to lunch at Jean-Philippe F.’s house. I was expecting his immediate family and Jean-Paul his father. Instead, there were two of his brothers and their significant others and his sister, her husband and kids. Along with Jean-Philippe’s wife and kids it was a full house and somewhat of a surprise. Christian, the oldest brother is about my age and we go back to primary school. We used to be best friends but about twenty years ago we drifted apart. We chatted a lot, particularly after one point, I found the noise too much and went outside for some quiet where he joined me. I neglected to mention to him that the Lindsay is within sight of the apartment building where he lived while he was studying at La Polytechnique.

Back in North Hatley, I prepped my spinach dish before taking a doze. Philip and company came down for Easter supper of lamb and maple mousse.

On Monday, Mummy drove me back to the Lindsay. A little past Mount Orford, I spotted a wild turkey flying over the autoroute. I don’t think I had seen a wild turkey in flight before. 

It was very good to see the village again is unfortunately the best way I can put it. My words fail me.