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200625 North York GenI've been really okay throughout.On May22, I went for the covid test at Branson because I was having sweats and chills, and when I casually mentioned this on Zoom dance May 15, someone insisted I should go. Going was difficult. At the time, unless you were in real distress, you didn't have permission to visit an assessment centre. At 9pm on the May21, I got through to Toronto311. The call centre guy was indifferent, but kind, and gave me the link for all of the Covid Centres. The Branson one was sweetest for me, as it had free parking! Also a no-appointment required 8am to 8pm visiting window. Amazing for a person like me, since I drag my feet and have mental issues about doing anything which frightens me, even a little. Remember, I'm mostly fine, but have these episodes of Chills, Sweats, and Lethargies. I only went because I was pressured by a stranger at our dance. So I go to Branson. Parking was a breeze, and there is nobody in the lot to speak of. I find the front door, and I'd forgotten how brown and desolate hospitals all used to be. They reorganized all of the space by ignoring the rooms that used to handle people and workers, and replaced them by using white tent material to make 'rooms' out of the waiting areas and hallways. Their website says a health card is not required, but this is incorrect. That is the first thing they request! The people there won't touch anything. So you put the card into a plastic cup, and they read the card through the cup, then slide that back to you. I'm sent to sit down. That lasts One Minute, when I'm called to get my vitals checked. A nurse checks my blood pressure, body temperature, and Oxygen Saturation. This is the important thing to note. It's that number that causes them serious concern. My O2 Sat was 78, 80, 82. Note, I felt fine going in, but more and more as I'm dealing with them, I'm getting hot out of my mind. Sweating. I'm sent through double doors to another indoor tent city. Room W please. I can hear that there is nothing going on at all. I'm the only patient here. Still, I end up waiting half an hour for someone to join me. I'm sitting in a 12x12 room furnished only with a simple plastic chair. "Hi, I'm Dr O'Mara," she says. "I want to do the tests the nurses did again.". Her gear gives her more trouble than the nurse's, but eventually she takes my BP, temp and O2 again. She also gives me the Covid-19 test. This was painful for me. She uses a Q-tip as a drill bit inside each nostril for a full five seconds. It abraides the skin in there, and caused some blood streaking (not bleeding, but still not fun for me at all). Her next act was to introduce me to Charles, a different nurse. He was very strong, but seemed friendly too. He takes me to a room marked 'Isolation-2' and locks me inside. EEEEP. He returns less than a minute later, and asks me not to panic, and that he has a chair just ouside the room if I need or want anything at all. Also, he checked in every five minutes asking if I was okay. So. I was okay going in, but that changed when they decided to lock me into a room which had a toilet, a bed on wheels, and a chair. I was uncomfortable with how this happened. I'm frequently asked, How Are You. Well, during this part of the adventure, I wasn't well. In retrospect, I think the stress does something to me. It was when I was most sick. I felt hot, sweaty and so very worried. I don't like being very hot. Being locked up by surprise wasn't fun either. Charles came in again, and this time he had a handwritten letter from Dr O'Mara to the attending physician at North York General. I read it. I hope I saved a picture of the letter, as I don't have it any longer. But that was when I learned that they intended to take me to North York General hospital at Sheppard E and Leslie. The ambulance arrived for me. They were young and cool. My mood changed when I was pushed into their truck. It had amazing good air conditioning! I started really feeling better. They took all of the same tests they did in Branson, and really wanted to give me Oxygen. I declined. They became confused! "So, you want to give me oxygen for the ride to the hospital, but they will just send me home without it. What good is that? I'm okay without it," I said. They spent a little time trying to change my mind. So I get taken directly into the hospital's emergency ward, no waiting, no bologna. I'm taken to Room P. Apparently the ambulance wants their stretcher back, so I'm helped off. There is one in the room, anyway, but I don't want to lie down. I feel better sitting up. At this point I start to feel sick again, but this time I'm so cold. There is no blanket in sight, but a number of gowns. I try to cover up but cannot keep the wind out. I find that I'm best if I am not lying down, and use the gowns as shirts, and just wear them. After a while, I'm feeling better. The doctor is okay enough. He's kind, but doesn't explain very much to me. Perhaps they're busy. He says things like, "You are getting an X-Ray, OK?" But I'm surprised when they bring a portable unit into Room P. I chat with the two guys. They say they haven't used X-Ray film for years, and that it's all digital. I ask them if the picture is sharp, and one answers "You have to talk to the doctor." I say that's not what I want to know. The other one understands better, and says, "We are the best team in the hospital! We get sharp pictures the first time every time!" and laughs. "We don't need no re-takes." He answered my question. So, some time passes with nothing. Lots of nothing. Finally, around 5pm I ask my nurse if I can go home. Half an hour later, they remove the thing from my vein, and let me go. It's a long ride to Branson, but I have to get the car before their facility closes. At least, that's what is worrying me. When I get there, the car is just fine. Around 730pm, I get a phone call from Private Number. It's a doctor from North York General, and she wants to know how I am doing, and when they will see me again. I get a similar call at 5pm the next day from a different doctor. They ask about my breathing, and are surprised that I'm monitoring my Oxygen Saturation. They ask for the numbers. I say They because I get a call like this daily until I tell them I'm going to the hospital Tomorrow. So now it's Monday, and I explain to the first person why I'm there, that I'm getting calls from this department. She tells me to take a seat. It's 400pm, and I'm waiting until 730pm with nothing happening. I get up, to tell someone I'm going back home, and the nurse says we are just cleaning your room for you now. I tell her I'm out of time, and have an early appointment for tomorrow, so I cannot stay any longer. "Give the room to the next person, it's okay." I was able to return to the hospital Thursday. This time they're not so busy, and they take me quickly (compared to the above). My attending physician is a Jamie Blinker, and he's just so familiar with me, and with everyone. He orders my nurse to take blood, and then wheels me to the Imaging department. (X-Ray) It takes a while, but they take some pictures of my lungs. The doctor explains it takes a while to get the bloodwork back, so hang tight. Eventually, my nurse comes back with two Huge White Tablets. They're potassium. K-Dur. "The tests shows you are very low," he says. My room was very close to the computer stations, where doctors and nurses can enter their observations, so what would happen is the nurse comes in to do something, and Dr Jamie just shouts something encouraging to me from where he's working. Finally, after hours there, he comes over personally and says, "I really don't like your numbers nor your X-ray. We need to take you upstairs a while. We're just waiting for a room now." With that, I found myself ported to 7-SE room 108. The whole unit was locked up. The porter needed his card to open the door. I was settled in, and met Lele, my assigned nurse. She was nice, gave me permission to wander around my room, do as I please. I was not to leave the room no matter what. If I needed or wanted anything, anything at all, she wanted me to call her. She said I was one of three patients she had to cover. I remember admiring how the sunset looked over highway 401 and Leslie. It was that perfect golden colour that artists look for. I was thinking that if I was free, I could go downstairs and wander in the parking lots. The place had a lot of interesting grounds I could explore. But no, they wanted me to stay put. Time moved slowly. 6pm, 7pm, 8pm. A nurse I had not met yet comes in. She tells me my name, and I answer yes. "They have ordered a CT scan for you. You'll need to have a line drawn. (I hate things that puncture my veins and arteries) "Nobody told me anything," I whine. "They don't tell us either," she said. (I never did get her name) "The computer gets a notification message and we click on it, and find out that the doctor has ordered something for you. Maybe the doctor saw the machine was available." The nurse puts the thing into my arm without much pain. She found it hard, mind you. My veins and arteries are hard for them to find. So a porter comes and takes me to Imaging. We only had to wait a few minutes. The machine was from a famous company. Samsung? I should have taken a picture. The tech wanted me to put my arms, particularly the right one with the valve in it, over my head. That's a problem. My arm doesn't move that way right now. "Just relax!" he says. "I am relaxed, it doesn't go that way any more." The CT machine has a voice. "Hold your breath." Click click click. "Breathe normally." Another tech behind the window says we have to do it again. "When the machine says to hold your breath, don't inhale first. Just hold it until it wants you to breathe again." We do it twice more, and they have clear pictures. The porter remained outside watching CP24. I get wheeled upstairs to my room again. Time is clicking slower now. It's nearly 9pm, and the clock is taking forever to move. I'm very hungry (I tell Lele I'm starving). "Didn't they give you anything downstairs?" (nothing) So she and her friends go looking on the 7th floor to see what they can scrounge. People get sent home and their meals remain. They found such a meal. Just a cheese sandwich. They found some arrowroot cookies. A container of skim milk. Orange juice, apple juice. That was okay. And that's it. I just sit on my bed wearing the gown. I preferred wearing it backwards with the ties in the front. More or less each hour, Lele comes around and asks if I want anything, but I'm just sitting and thinking, and occasionally using my cell phone. I don't want it to go dry before I leave the hospital. After 10pm, perhaps 1030pm, the lights all go dim, and I can no longer hear the nurses talking. Officially quiet time. Occasionally I lie down, and try to sleep or at least rest. Each time I do, I fall asleep right away, but end up waking five minutes later with a strange nightmare. The bed is breathing! It's odd. It respirates every 15s or so. Later on they explain that helps people who aren't moving prevent bedsores. Also I have the cannula in my nose giving me oxygen. While that is good for me, it also dries my nose and mouth out. All of this is working together to keep me from sleeping, and makes me feel so awful. The lights come on some time after the sun comes out, which is far too early. I get up and close the blinds. This doesn't make it dark, but it cloaks the direct sunshine. I got breakfast. ONE slice of whole wheat toast, one pat of margarine, one pat of jam, one pat of peanut butter, a sealed cup of apple juice, another of applesauce. You must be getting the picture, It's so tiny! I didn't leave a drop. Around 9am I finally meet my doctor. She is angry, and we haven't even met! She tells me this hospital has a policy of treating all respiratory illness as Covid, and so I'm locked up. I ask her how I get out of the hospital, and she says, "how should I know when you get better?" Eeeep. I rephrase the question and ask how I can get out of the hospital Sooner. "Well, you seem informed and competant. You can sign yourself out of the hospital against doctor's orders." And she's gone. It's still 9am, and so now I give this place six hours to prove it has some benefit to me. My nurse for today is Jennady, and while he might be trained as well as yesterday's, he's an employee, and just likes to talk to his staff friends. His Tagalog is clear, and I can kind of understand what he's talking about: he wants to travel across Canada when the plague ends. His buddies ask where, and he says it doesn't matter, as long as he can see new things. Another nurse talks about travelling USA, and he's saying it's dangerous because their government won't take action. So for you, it's six hours, but for me each minute takes so long to pass. The period was punctuated with a lunch box at 1205pm. It was so different. A cheese sandwich. A dry salad with one package of Italian dressing. A 3-pack of dry rusk bread. I still have the empty containers. Crystal clear and interesting. Fast forward to 3pm. It's time. I call Jennady, and tell him, "I can't stay here any longer. I'm going crazy. I'm not sleeping." He says, OK, and just vanishes for an hour. Just after 4pm, he comes back. "So, you still want to go?" I say, "More than ever. The longer I stay here, the more sick I feel." So he says, "Ok, I can't do this alone. We will have to contact the Charge Nurse, and I think she will contact the doctor before you can go." I guess that's what happened. I get all sorts of strangers coming over. Nurses I haven't met, explaining in different ways how I am about to kill myself by leaving the hospital. One nurse said that they have been all set up like this since March, and can handle when the respiration changes quickly. I had to maintain a calm attitude: I assured them that if my condition went South, I wouldn't delay in returning. For now, the locked condition was too much for me to bear. The nurses were all telling me how when you leave without permission, all of the records and tests are discarded, and they start again from the beginning. I can now confirm This is Not True. The 9am doctor? She was arranging oxygen for me to have at home! And the following day she called me on the cel, and prescribed a medicine to help dissolve clots. Also she called almost each evening after that, just to ensure I knew how to use the oxygen, and to confirm I was doing better each day. I was going to take the subway home, but a taxi came by at just the right time for me. Just as well, as they sent me with a tank on wheels. It took me to where I parked, Mom's place. I got home and met a representative of the oxygen people. Cool! They gave me an Oxygen Concentrator. It collects the gas from the room, and just sends purer oxygen to the nose prongs (cannula). I asked her to take the tank. "Don't you need it?" "I'm fine on normal air, except when I'm lying down." I was able to join the English Zoom Dance at 8pm that night. So I'm at home until June 11, when I go back to North York Gen for some kind of check up. Y'know? It's easy to get into Emergency. It's rather hard to come for an appointment! It's on the other side of the hospital, and down 2 levels. I go in, and they really scrutinize who comes over. They find my name on some list, and let me in. There is an Outpatient Clinic. Once I'm there, the receptionist says, "You have an appointment for a telephone consultation." Oh Well. They tell the doctor I'm there. Is She Ever Nice. I still cannot remember her name properly. I have it on the box of pills she prescribed. She says (even though both tests are negative) that she still believes I had the bug, but managed to get over it quickly. She says, "How'd ya do it? Don't answer that, we don't have time." I tell her that I've had trouble with my breathing for years. It gets worse when I'm under stress, and some other times, but not always. If I'm overwhelmed, I get fluid in my lungs, and it doesn't go away. "Make sure your family doctor sends you to a Cardiologist." As it happens, that came true on June 25. I made time to thank her for her support as I left the hospital. Then I remembered about the patch they put on my arm. It was still there so I could point it out. It reduced my BP from about 200/100 to 140/80. For me that was magic! So I asked her if she could prescribe some of that for me. "Only if you want to stay here. We have to observe you on that stuff. Talk to your doctor, there is the same drug available as a long acting pill he can prescribe." I'll find out on June 30, as that's when the Cardiologist will talk on the phone with me. I tried begging. "It works so well. Within a minute while the monitor showed my BP high, it dropped before my eyes. Just like that." She had a sense of humour! "Save your tears for someone who cares. Besides, used wrong that stuff could kill you, otherwise I might. Your doctor can help. Now pay attention for a moment," and she told me the details about my referral to a clot specialist. "His office will call you in about two months, and he shares the office with someone who has the same surname, so don't mix them up. Here." She hands me a page which repeats what she said to me. It has his address, and other contact information. And that is the end of North York General adventure. Yesterday was June 25, and I spent a long day at the Cardiac Centre on St Clair at Winona. They kept changing the time. I wanted 1130am, they agreed to 1115am. They call me back 1100am. Someone else calls, now 1030am. Someone ELSE calls, and it's 1000am. I am not a morning guy, but as long as I'm up, this is all the same. I arrived at 10am. I have to wait until after 11am for someone to let me in! I'm taken to the back, where a very experienced tech injects me with Nuclear stuff. He looks at his watch, and I get an hour to do what I want, as long as I don't eat, and definitely don't drink coffee. He takes a nuclear picture for about 7 minutes. I am given permission to eat, and I brought a lunch with me. There was nonstop radio pushed in loud. 680 News. No peace for me. After about 90m, it is my turn again. He cannot find a good vein. I need an intervenous line so he can inject nuclear stuff while I'm on the treadmill. Frequent question asked: Do you have any chest pain? I don't get that often. Certainly not from a treadmill. It was harder for me than I imagined. Exercise used to be much easier. My heart rate was at 150 and finally I feel the great gym feeling of taking someone's aerobic class. I would have enjoyed another minute or two, but they stopped me as soon as their needs were met. It took a few minutes for me to settle down. I'm given another 90m rest period. Coffee is permitted! So I go to the What-A-Bagel next door, and get one. Mom called me. "So? What did the doctor say?" "Well, I haven't met him yet." I go back, and the tech guy takes a smaller nuclear picture for about 4 minutes, and proclaims "We're done. This page says you are supposed to get a 24 hour BP monitor." I go to the front, and it's so dead. Everybody has gone home. The reception guy comes out, and calls someone who is hiding, the home equipment person. She tells me I have to return it by 6pm, but they like to clean it up for the next guest, so how about 5pm. I'm shown how to put it on wrong but eventually figure out the right way for my arms. Before I get all of my junk organized, the lady comes back and says, "OK, the doctor says you can have a shower, but keep it on as much as possible at other times. Also bring it back for 4pm, as someone needs it right after you." And that's it. I went back this afternoon to return the unit, and people kept phoning me over and over, but I couldn't figure it out. I was trying to drive, and their calling was stressing me out. After I park, it looks like Mom, The Cardiac place, and a Private Caller all decided to phone me at the same time, 330pm. June 30 I find out some answers. Dr G phones me and he is polite, but doesn't tell me much. "Your heart is fine." Well, I expected that. "Don't you have chest pain?" No, my doctor wanted your help to control my blood pressure. "OK, just give me your pharmacist details." I do that, but asked about the drug they used at the hospital. "We don't like to prescribe that. It works well, but tapers off after a year. We would rather keep it as an emergency drug. Your body gets acclimated to it, and then we don't have a way to reduce your BP." When I finally get a hold of the Walmart pharmacy, he hasn't increased my drugs at all. That's not right. He's reduced them to the levels I was taking 20 years ago. So my final opinion of Dr G is that he talks but doesn't listen well. His clinic is first class, and the techs who work there know their job and the doctor's too. During the injection of nuclear material, I told him about what I wanted from the clinic. He said, "You are describing Heart Failure. We don't do that here. Just Heart Attacks." So for you, I'll explain what brought me to the hospital, and all: When I am upset or angry, when I run for the bus, when I am thinking about sex, something happens to me so that my lungs get very wet. Not mucus, like a sick cough, just clear. It is very hard for me to cough out. At the hospital, they confirmed that it doesn't all cough out, and that I had some blood clots. They called it pneumonia, but it's this same problem I've had for years. Dave gets upset, Dave cannot breathe for many hours, Dave takes a Lasix pill, and breathes okay enough in half an hour. This is called Heart Failure, and nobody seems to be able to reduce my symptoms. Why am I still allive? I stay calm like a fish tank as much as possible, and avoid driving when roads are busy. If I do that, and always maintain a restful demeanour, I'm good. So today is 2020 Aug 23 now, and this post covers a lot of ground. But I think that ends the story and the adventure. |
2015 is upon us.