Heard back from fosteronfilm's folks about his father's angiogram.
The fantastic news: His dad's okay and at home now. I'm so relieved. I absolutely adore my dad-in-law and I was stressed to the eyeballs thinking he might not pull through the procedure.
The bad news: The doctors had to keep him overnight because they had problems stopping the bleeding. My dad-in-law regularly takes blood thinners as part of his medical regimen, and apparently even though he did stop taking them several days before the angiogram, it still negatively impacted his ability to coagulate. He's home now, but the doctors gave some rather alarming instructions to my mom-in-law with regard to looking for and what to do in case of blood clots and resumed bleeding. I think they ought to have kept him in the hospital for another day or so, especially since he's going back for follow-up today anyway. But as long as there don't turn out to be any complications, I shall suppress my displeasure with the doctor people.
The so-so news: They didn't perform the valve replacement. Once they got in, they didn't think doing it would result in improved quality-of-life, making it not worth the additional risk.
The mostly good news: After discussing things post-surgery with the in-folks, the doctors were appalled to discover that my dad-in-law wasn't seeing a lung specialist. Hell, I'm appalled that he's not seeing a lung specialist. I hadn't realized he wasn't. After my experience with going to a rheumatologist to treat my Lupus/MCTD instead of just a GP, I would've been badgering and pleading with him about it if I had. But at least now the in-folks are going to send him to one. Better late than not. Although it may mean some unfortunate difficulties as I don't think there's an appropriate pulmonologist locally for them.
Also, something that we tried to impress on them, that he ought to be on regular oxygen, was hammered home by a series of nurse-types (three cheers for the persuasive powers of pretty young women). He's an ornery one, my dad-in-law, and doesn't like using on oxygen tank. When his GP put him on one months back, my dad-in-law promptly sent it back. He claimed it wasn't helping and that the tubing was bothersome and/or defective. Over the holidays, it was fairly obvious that he ought to be on oxygen therapy, so I'm extremely pleased that they've managed to convince him of the necessity of it.
The irksome news: Unfortunately, the medical people have only given him one tank of oxygen that he's supposed to use for the whole house, both upstairs and down. But of course my in-folks can't be expected to lug a heavy oxygen tank up and down the stairs, so instead of giving them a second tank, the medical folks gave them 50 feet of tubing! Like that's going to make it easy for him to use, between it kinking up and both of them tripping over trailing tubes. He was already unhappy with how annoying the previous, shorter tubing was to deal with. While we were there, I spent some time unkinking and sorting out the length they had (something like 30 ft), and no wonder he got disgusted with it. It was a mess of twists and snarls. I can't see how oxygen could have gotten through that chaos of tubing. And what a shocker that he said it didn't help; it wasn't getting to him! Grr. Now why didn't they give him two tanks? And surely there must be a more efficient method of managing the tubing than simply handing over a fifty-foot coil. A hose reel would be an improvement. I'm very worried that he'll get fed up again and refuse to use it after a while.
In other news:
Our lovely USPS carrier (who probably hates us because of all the magazines, books, and assorted heavy stuff we force her to lug to and from our doorstep) left me a birthday parcel the other day from dude_the: Word Menu, a reference book that I've been coveting since I saw pleroma's. Squee! Thankyouthankyou!
Checked the HP website for a status update, and my laptop is now making its way back to me from California. Thank God. Unfortunately, they don't say what they did to it or whether they repaired it or just threw up their hands and packaged up a replacement one. I'll find out soon enough, I figure, but I'm quite curious to know whether they were able to identify and isolate the problem.
Did an overdue Critters critique.
Fifty feet? Good grief. Could you improvise some kind of reel for it?
But, hose annoyance aside, it's good that he's home.
I love my in-laws, and they're getting old. Lois has already broken both hips, but fortunately has recovered well from both. I dread the day when the worries get even more serious.
"Good grief. Could you improvise some kind of reel for it?"
In theory, yes. I was thinking maybe a kite string reel might work. Unfortunately, them being in Illinois and us being in Georgia makes it awkward trying to jury-rig anything. Argh.
He also has a travel tank, but it doesn't hold enough for extended use. It's more for short trips out and emergencies. I'm not sure what his options are regarding what he can get, what he's got, and what the medical folk will allow to have. Foo.
It's hard to believe the inconveniences that the medical types and insurance companies think are reasonable. Here's hoping to a full and speedy recovery for dad-in-law and many story ideas for you, even if your muse decides to be on walk-about for a while longer.
On January 7th, 2006 12:05 am (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
I know how you feel on the oxygen dilemma. My mom's on oxygen, and there's been times she was ready to rip the blasted tubing apart.
And it looks like Keesa's not the only one in need of a creativity fairy, so if a tiny little cutey-pie with wings zings into your house, flies up your nose, and tickles your brain; be kind enough to clean her off before you send her back, ok?
So, um, I take it I'm about 3500 words ahead of you right now, eh? Watch, after boasting like that, I'll end up blocked all next week.
Scott M. Sandridge
"so if a tiny little cutey-pie with wings zings into your house, flies up your nose, and tickles your brain"
Your muse is a pixiesque cutey-pie? Dang. Mine's a torn-fishnets, too-much-makeup, combat-booted, insolent floozy. Err, I hope your muse wasn't that lil winged critter I saw Hobkin chewing on the other day . . .
"So, um, I take it I'm about 3500 words ahead of you right now, eh?"
You calling me out? Just you wait until my laptop gets back!
On January 7th, 2006 10:32 pm (UTC), (Anonymous) replied:
Your muse is a pixiesque cutey-pie? Dang. Mine's a torn-fishnets, too-much-makeup, combat-booted, insolent floozy.
Nah. The pixies are just extra help. My actual muse is a leather-clad dominatrix with a whip (Her: *Crack!* "Did I give you permission to chit-chat!?" *Crack!* "Get those 500 words written!" *Crack* "NOW!"
Err, I hope your muse wasn't that lil winged critter I saw Hobkin chewing on the other day . . .
looks like I'll have to send out another one.
Scott M. Sandridge
(Psst: vote for "Treecutter" on the P&E Reader's Poll) [end shameless plug]
Speaking of overdue...it might be next week before I get the Talebones review done. I have a nasty sinus infection and have been unable to do anything but sleep because of the codiene I'm taking for my cough.
And Happy belated birthday.