Walking and passing out

A blank month would be better than the April I’ve had. Going back to the hit and run of Deby’s Lexus and my Avalon by a speeding, crazy driver of a silver Mercedes shearing off my right side mirror and scratching her left rear while changing lanes where there was not to make, speeding off.—a double hi-and-rung.

I took the car into the garage and was walking home on 24th Street (past Alabama). The next thing I knew, I was being loaded in to an ambulance to SFGH (which was not only the closest and a trauma center but judged the best hospital for someone taking blood thinners). Two people had made 911 calls. They must have seen my fall, since people lying in the street is a common sight, even bleeding ones.

Because I threw out my back the previous Thursday, I could not sit up or get out of bed on my own. And I was pissing 6+ times a night. I was prepared (no food or drink for 10-18 times— while being admonished to drink as much as I could) for a biopsy five times, including Friday night, despite everyone knowing that biopsies are not done over the weekend. My head was also chained to the wall with a heavy box that had no support except hanging from my head or lying on the bed from which it fell to the floor.

The lies began in the emergency room, where no one bothered to wipe off the blood. The doctor who sewed my upper lip promised to check back on her work, but never did.

The arrogant Filipino night nurse J__ told me the neuroimaging gizmos would be removed after 8 hours, at midnight, and that the would call the doctor at 11 to remind him to order the removal. Come morning Jonathan puzzled where I had gotten the idea that the test was going to end at midnight. Come midnight the night doctor said there was no one awake to order the removal, but that doctors came in early. They may have, but the next excuse was that the machine’s technician had to do it and no one knew when he would be around. At 11 Isaac said that if no hospital personnel did, he was going to remove the turban and bundle of cables at noon. Just before noon, the angel of the 7th floor nurses, Yvette, removed it. The technician drifted in as I was going out for a walk to the roof garden, passing some painting by Beth Koseff(?) that I like.

The roof garden, where I walked around many time, was a plus, as was my large single room. I did not want to lose it OR go through readmission, so the hospital bilked me some more o revenue on Saturday and Sunday.

I had two surveillance nurses coughing and coughing and coughing without masks, though my room was labeled an isolation room, requiring masks for all who entered.

A major hospital scam is refusing to let patients take their own medications and billing each pill as if it were the whole bottle. Instead of getting my information from my online records (including UCSF) they asked Keelung for the dosages. He photographed my drug shelf, which includes a 2010 glyburide prescription, which was added to what the hospital bundled with my real prescriptions (I made sure Triumeq was there, albeit in nighttime bundles). They dropped my prophylactic valacyclovir with predictable results (a flare-up). The other iriatrogenc malpractice was giving me blood thinner on Wednesday, the evening after my first canceled biopsy. When the surgical team learned of this hospital induced blood thinner, which was after I was on the gurney with my back shaved and the point of entry marked, was a reason to proposed the procedure again to Monday, keeping my incarcerated for the weekend, maximizing insurance revenue.

Twice I stared to piss into my plastic urinal with its cap on (during the night) and dribbled many times. Once the floor was covered with urine and once I (passively) aggressively urinated in my bed.

Because of my tight back I can’t sit up or stand up on my own. (Once upright can walk). I I successfully used the plastic urinal without sitting up many times, getting my penis inside jar’s lip with the jar on its side… and me on my side.

I was constipated for six days starting before admission and four days spanning two in the hospital and two out. I had four CAT scans and an MRI, as well as the 18 hour brain scan (no results of which has been communicated to me).

They are still staining biopsy results to determine what kind of kidney cancer I have, I am looking at Monday surgery (it’s Thursday, so I could spend another week hospitalized at UCSH Mission Bay and waiting. No thanks!

SFGH has added several more lies that they would report results of various tests, including the brain imaging for which I suffered so much.

©2018, Stephen O. Murray

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