23 May 2008
This awful thing In my life Is now over, and I still live somehow.
The worst was the waiting, and the trying desperately to get someone – anyone – to listen to my fears, my concerns, my needs. They didn’t care about those things. They said all they cared about was my heath; apparently my mental health did not figure int their calculations.
I went round and round and round with my surgeon, his nursing staff, the anesthesiologist staff, and just about anyone who might listen. My last call sen me accidentally to the media relations staff, who sent me right back to P., the rude medical secretary who exclaimed in frustration: “I have heard from everyone; I even just got a call from media relations! I have never been through such a thing before with anyone!”
I guess I forgot to tell her I wasn’t just “anyone”.
Somehow, by the day of the surgery, I had calmed down. It was no longer in my hands. They had made that abundantly clear.
The neurologist seemed nice; a happy little Asian woman who promised me happy medicine. Except, as I predicted, it ddn’t go planned. Two of Verced didn’t even even touch me. Two of morphine? Nothing.
Something eventually did, as I crashed out.
But not before the doctor cheated me. There was a student. He sent her over to me, a young-faced, open-looking young woman. I grabbed her hand – very tightly – and made her promise that what she learned today, she would use to help other women. She agreed. If I am going to be exposed like that to a student, it may as well be a young woman who will learn t recognize the signs of this disease early and do something about it.
I’m sure I lost on the intubation fight as well, but as everyone else I talked to, I don’ t remember it going in or coming out.
I apparently woke up at some point complaining of plain, and was put right back out again.
Which is where I am now; Out of it and barely able to type this.
I think I shall go back to bed and try again tomrrow.
