It is Sunday, the day before my surgery.
Last time, with my shoulder, I was so full of drugs that by the time my surgery rolled around I was chipper and enthusiastic.
This time I am FREAKING OUT.
The problem I have is that the upper eyelid on my bad eye is drooping and the bottom eyelid is, I don’t know, doing something funky that the surgeon explained to me but I don’t see it so, whatever, just fix it and don’t tell me about it.
So he will fix it. He will fix it by SLICING MY EYELID OPEN WITH A SCALPEL!!!!!!! WHILE I AM CONSCIOUS!!!!!
Owowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowow!!! OWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!
And my therapist is away. IN ANOTHER COUNTRY!!!!!!! Boo hoo hoooooooo!
Dang, I knew I shouldn’t have let go of her leg.
Oy. I need to calm down.
AAAAGGGHHHH!!!!! Unsuccessful calming down!!!
Alright, I will try again. With lots of lovely Bach and Mozart and Haydn and relaxation CD’s that tell me, nicely, to stop acting like a nut.
Keep your fingers crossed for me everyone. :)
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Saturday, July 26, 2008
How the Mighty Have Fallen
This time last year I was a department head at a company in New York City and I was making six figures. I thought I was hot stuff.
This year I am working as a temp after 10 months of being out of work. I definitely no longer consider myself hot stuff.
I am so, so grateful to be back at work. But my ego has taken a major bruising.
As the boss, I had my own office. I came and went pretty much as pleased, although I did, for the most part, work 10 to 12 hour days and had a three hour round trip commute.
Now, I work on a computer at a conference table in someone else’s office. I will be moved when this person comes back from vacation. I don’t even have a phone. And literally every minute of my day has to be accounted for. The work that I am doing is billable back to another organization. So I keep a spreadsheet of how long I spend working on each patient’s record that I review and then make notes on. We have to hand our numbers in at the end of each day. If your minutes are low, you don’t last long. One girl in the office stopped drinking water during the day so she wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom too often and cut back on her minutes. There is dead silence all day long. No chit chat or socializing. Just the constant sound of urgency.
The woman who ‘trained’ me spent five minutes explaining what to do. She appeared amazed that I got it the first time. She was so condescending I had to bite my tongue practically in half to keep from making a sarcastic remark.
So what I am trying to remember is that, despite the pressure, I am much better off than I was when I had to deal with:
This year I am working as a temp after 10 months of being out of work. I definitely no longer consider myself hot stuff.
I am so, so grateful to be back at work. But my ego has taken a major bruising.
As the boss, I had my own office. I came and went pretty much as pleased, although I did, for the most part, work 10 to 12 hour days and had a three hour round trip commute.
Now, I work on a computer at a conference table in someone else’s office. I will be moved when this person comes back from vacation. I don’t even have a phone. And literally every minute of my day has to be accounted for. The work that I am doing is billable back to another organization. So I keep a spreadsheet of how long I spend working on each patient’s record that I review and then make notes on. We have to hand our numbers in at the end of each day. If your minutes are low, you don’t last long. One girl in the office stopped drinking water during the day so she wouldn’t have to go to the bathroom too often and cut back on her minutes. There is dead silence all day long. No chit chat or socializing. Just the constant sound of urgency.
The woman who ‘trained’ me spent five minutes explaining what to do. She appeared amazed that I got it the first time. She was so condescending I had to bite my tongue practically in half to keep from making a sarcastic remark.
So what I am trying to remember is that, despite the pressure, I am much better off than I was when I had to deal with:
- Moronic CEO’s who made bad decisions and then blamed them on someone else. Like me. :(
- Bullying CEO's who made bad decisions and then blamed them on someone else. Like me. :(
- Worrying about the budget.
- Scheduling staff.
- Staff that didn't do their job.
- Staff who called out.
- Staff who said the building was toxic and making them sick.
- Staff who were toxic and made ME sick.
- Staff who had fictitious ailments.
- Staff who had real ailments.
- Staff who were insane.
- Staff who threatened to kill me (yup, it really happened; more than once)
- Patients who were cranky.
- Patients who were insane.
- Everyone’s problems.
Monday, July 21, 2008
And just like that....
...it's over. Well for now. Right after I post my saddest, most brutally depressing post ever. How ironic.
It has happened so fast, I have not even gotten used to the idea yet.
I’ve been offered a temporary, three month position doing work for a large physician practice management organization (that is what my background is). They wanted me to start immediately. And so I will. :)
It has been so long and so hard, I am having a hard time getting excited or even feeling happy. I am relieved. It is a reprieve. If they like me, the assignment could be extended.
Oh my goodness. I feel as though I can breathe again. Although it is going to take so much work to clean up the mess this debacle has left behind. But I can only take on one thing at a time.
Thank you everyone for your good wishes and prayers and encouragement. Thank you to my family and my parish family and my friends, especially Christine and Cathy, who stuck by me and endlessly offered support and love and hope.
I have so much to be grateful for.
I’M WORKING AGAIN!!!!!!!!
It has happened so fast, I have not even gotten used to the idea yet.
I’ve been offered a temporary, three month position doing work for a large physician practice management organization (that is what my background is). They wanted me to start immediately. And so I will. :)
It has been so long and so hard, I am having a hard time getting excited or even feeling happy. I am relieved. It is a reprieve. If they like me, the assignment could be extended.
Oh my goodness. I feel as though I can breathe again. Although it is going to take so much work to clean up the mess this debacle has left behind. But I can only take on one thing at a time.
Thank you everyone for your good wishes and prayers and encouragement. Thank you to my family and my parish family and my friends, especially Christine and Cathy, who stuck by me and endlessly offered support and love and hope.
I have so much to be grateful for.
I’M WORKING AGAIN!!!!!!!!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Some Things Going On
Dr. Wonderful
Met with Dr. Wonderful this week to check on my shoulder. I was delighted to demonstrate my prowess in doing things like…touching the top of my head. He appeared to be delighted as well. And he told me not once, not twice, but THREE times that I looked good. GOOD. With a big smile. No back pedaling. I was quite pleased.
As a matter of fact, about a dozen different people told me I looked good this week. Or even ‘great’. It has been very cool. Although it has left me wondering if there is an epidemic of poor eyesight going around. Hmmm...
Wedding Preparations
Ordered my dress for my son’s wedding. The Herman Melville special, as in Moby Dick, THE GREAT WHITE WHALE. I am dreading trying it on as I have lost two pounds total. Probably in my earlobes. Oy.
So desperate times call for desperate measures and Mary Kate and I are both starting…dunt dunt dunnnnn…Slim Fast tomorrow. Nourish shmourish, I just want to be thin again.
Lonely
My best friend, my sister and my therapist are all either away or going away this week. Oy. I am already decompensating.
Another Operation
I am having surgery next Monday to correct a problem on the eye I lost when I was a child. I am a little nervous about it, especially since ALL MY SUPPORT SYSTEMS WILL BE AWAY. Traitors. :(
Oh, I'm just kidding. They are the best people in the world and no one deserves a break more than they do.
The surgery will affect my appearance, theoretically for the better, by improving the function of the lids on that eye. But it's a little scary to think of something going wrong that would be so visible. My eye surgeon is supposed to be the best in New Jersey and he is very, very nice. I do trust him.
But God knows I don't want Dr. Wonderful to have to say next time he sees me, "You look...hmm...just so-so."
Met with Dr. Wonderful this week to check on my shoulder. I was delighted to demonstrate my prowess in doing things like…touching the top of my head. He appeared to be delighted as well. And he told me not once, not twice, but THREE times that I looked good. GOOD. With a big smile. No back pedaling. I was quite pleased.
As a matter of fact, about a dozen different people told me I looked good this week. Or even ‘great’. It has been very cool. Although it has left me wondering if there is an epidemic of poor eyesight going around. Hmmm...
Wedding Preparations
Ordered my dress for my son’s wedding. The Herman Melville special, as in Moby Dick, THE GREAT WHITE WHALE. I am dreading trying it on as I have lost two pounds total. Probably in my earlobes. Oy.
So desperate times call for desperate measures and Mary Kate and I are both starting…dunt dunt dunnnnn…Slim Fast tomorrow. Nourish shmourish, I just want to be thin again.
Lonely
My best friend, my sister and my therapist are all either away or going away this week. Oy. I am already decompensating.
Another Operation
I am having surgery next Monday to correct a problem on the eye I lost when I was a child. I am a little nervous about it, especially since ALL MY SUPPORT SYSTEMS WILL BE AWAY. Traitors. :(
Oh, I'm just kidding. They are the best people in the world and no one deserves a break more than they do.
The surgery will affect my appearance, theoretically for the better, by improving the function of the lids on that eye. But it's a little scary to think of something going wrong that would be so visible. My eye surgeon is supposed to be the best in New Jersey and he is very, very nice. I do trust him.
But God knows I don't want Dr. Wonderful to have to say next time he sees me, "You look...hmm...just so-so."
Thursday, July 17, 2008
On Being Unemployed
I have been out of work for ten months now. It has been an ordeal.
Not working means not having money for things like…paying the bills.
I’ll bet you thought I was going to say something like not having money for going to the movies or buying books or going out to dinner with friends. Well, that is correct. All those things are out as well. Things that were part of my life before. So now I have this idea that I am being punished for having been so shallow and self-indulgent, because I know it was a privilege to have those things that I never gave a second thought to. I irrationally think maybe I’m being penalized for taking my luxuries for granted.
No, more than anything, being unemployed means you cannot pay the bills.
It means you no longer even answer the phone if you don’t recognize the caller ID.
It means when the plumber, the nicest man in the world who has been doing work for you for years, fixes your disgusting outflow pipe you ask him if you can pay him the following week. But then you forget because some new disaster has arisen. And he sheepishly shows up at your back door one day and at first you are confused and think he has stopped by to say hi which would be very odd and then you are horrified to remember you never paid the man and you write a check for $240 even though you don’t have it.
It means eating almond butter for breakfast, lunch and dinner some days. But that is ok, because you like almond butter. It is full of protein and lots of lovely fat.
It means going to the neurologist, feeling so, so sick, and having a GREAT BIG NOTE on your chart that you have to see the billing person before you see the doctor. The billing person, we’ll call her Mean Petty Little Cow, is a 20-something snot with a flat affect and a personality disorder. She treats you as if you have just robbed the Bank of England with a machine gun and taken out 20 people because you have a balance of $115. She sneers (literally, I am not kidding) when you offer to pay half and lectures you on financial responsibility. This despite the fact you spoke to someone else the week before offering to make payments and they said that was fine. And then to add to the humiliation, when you finally are allowed to see the doctor, you can’t stop crying.
It means owing everyone you see money.
It means not being able to pay your mortgage and watching your beloved home slip further and further out of your grasp.
It means holding your breath for so long you almost forget how to breathe.
I’ve sent out hundreds of resumes. And it’s a good resume. I have a Master’s Degree and years of experience. But I have had six interviews in ten months and no offers.
After months of worrying, sleepless nights and enough nervous energy to use up a bazillion calories (although I still stay fat), all of a sudden one day the worrying stops. It could be the decades of therapy. It could be the Cymbalta. But it also could be that I am just incapable of worrying for one more second about something I have absolutely no control over. I am simply worried out.
Just because I am not worrying [as much – I will never completely stop worrying, sheesh] does not mean I don’t care. It mostly means I have stopped bursting into tears in public. I still think about my dire financial state almost all the time.
At physical therapy the other day I was doing leg curls designed to strengthen my legs. My mind was focused, as usual, on my problems. So this was me:
Legs up: Can’t pay the mortgage.
Legs down: What am I going to do?
Legs up: Can’t pay the mortgage.
Legs down: What am I going to do?
It was quite the depressing little rhythm I had going. All the while I am idly looking around the room, watching the other patients, looking out the window, looking at my feet going up and down, when my eyes rested on this:
And I thought, why on earth is there a bottle that says “PRAYER” at physical therapy? Spray prayer? Is it a joke? And then the light bulb came on. The bottle actually said “SPRAYER” but was turned so the “S” wasn’t showing.
So I took it as a sign. This is the action I need to take. There are no easy answers or solutions. Nothing is going to fall into my lap. Therefore, I have been praying more. Not for specific corporeal things, but for support and direction and strength and courage. I think we all need these things the most. Everything else can slip into place with those gifts.
Good thing the bottle didn’t say “TAKE THE GAS PIPE”.
Not working means not having money for things like…paying the bills.
I’ll bet you thought I was going to say something like not having money for going to the movies or buying books or going out to dinner with friends. Well, that is correct. All those things are out as well. Things that were part of my life before. So now I have this idea that I am being punished for having been so shallow and self-indulgent, because I know it was a privilege to have those things that I never gave a second thought to. I irrationally think maybe I’m being penalized for taking my luxuries for granted.
No, more than anything, being unemployed means you cannot pay the bills.
It means you no longer even answer the phone if you don’t recognize the caller ID.
It means when the plumber, the nicest man in the world who has been doing work for you for years, fixes your disgusting outflow pipe you ask him if you can pay him the following week. But then you forget because some new disaster has arisen. And he sheepishly shows up at your back door one day and at first you are confused and think he has stopped by to say hi which would be very odd and then you are horrified to remember you never paid the man and you write a check for $240 even though you don’t have it.
It means eating almond butter for breakfast, lunch and dinner some days. But that is ok, because you like almond butter. It is full of protein and lots of lovely fat.
It means going to the neurologist, feeling so, so sick, and having a GREAT BIG NOTE on your chart that you have to see the billing person before you see the doctor. The billing person, we’ll call her Mean Petty Little Cow, is a 20-something snot with a flat affect and a personality disorder. She treats you as if you have just robbed the Bank of England with a machine gun and taken out 20 people because you have a balance of $115. She sneers (literally, I am not kidding) when you offer to pay half and lectures you on financial responsibility. This despite the fact you spoke to someone else the week before offering to make payments and they said that was fine. And then to add to the humiliation, when you finally are allowed to see the doctor, you can’t stop crying.
It means owing everyone you see money.
It means not being able to pay your mortgage and watching your beloved home slip further and further out of your grasp.
It means holding your breath for so long you almost forget how to breathe.
I’ve sent out hundreds of resumes. And it’s a good resume. I have a Master’s Degree and years of experience. But I have had six interviews in ten months and no offers.
After months of worrying, sleepless nights and enough nervous energy to use up a bazillion calories (although I still stay fat), all of a sudden one day the worrying stops. It could be the decades of therapy. It could be the Cymbalta. But it also could be that I am just incapable of worrying for one more second about something I have absolutely no control over. I am simply worried out.
Just because I am not worrying [as much – I will never completely stop worrying, sheesh] does not mean I don’t care. It mostly means I have stopped bursting into tears in public. I still think about my dire financial state almost all the time.
At physical therapy the other day I was doing leg curls designed to strengthen my legs. My mind was focused, as usual, on my problems. So this was me:
Legs up: Can’t pay the mortgage.
Legs down: What am I going to do?
Legs up: Can’t pay the mortgage.
Legs down: What am I going to do?
It was quite the depressing little rhythm I had going. All the while I am idly looking around the room, watching the other patients, looking out the window, looking at my feet going up and down, when my eyes rested on this:
And I thought, why on earth is there a bottle that says “PRAYER” at physical therapy? Spray prayer? Is it a joke? And then the light bulb came on. The bottle actually said “SPRAYER” but was turned so the “S” wasn’t showing.
So I took it as a sign. This is the action I need to take. There are no easy answers or solutions. Nothing is going to fall into my lap. Therefore, I have been praying more. Not for specific corporeal things, but for support and direction and strength and courage. I think we all need these things the most. Everything else can slip into place with those gifts.
Good thing the bottle didn’t say “TAKE THE GAS PIPE”.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
A Beef Tip
Because I am a healthcare professional, I am authorized to give you this little tip:
If the label on the chopped meat says “Use By Jul 10”, do not sniff it, shrug your shoulders and use it on Jul 12.
A boo-boo belly will result.
Ouch.
If the label on the chopped meat says “Use By Jul 10”, do not sniff it, shrug your shoulders and use it on Jul 12.
A boo-boo belly will result.
Ouch.
Saturday, July 12, 2008
Mixed Blessings
In the past, when I have been on IV steroids, the Solumedrol came in this self contained, pre-mixed pump.
I had my port put in and then each day I just flushed it, hooked up my little ball and when it was finished, flushed it again.
Then, when I went to administer my second infusion, I find my port was leaking. I called the nurse and she said try to tighten the connection. The connection that was under a ton of tape and a piece of Tegaderm (a small sheet of protective plastic). Try to tighten it with one hand.
Guess what? Oh, you are so smart!! It didn’t work. The IV wouldn’t infuse and I had to pull the port. Which meant I was going to need another one inserted.
Oy vey.
The same very, very nice nurse came back. We picked a lovely, plump vein in my right hand. In went the needle. In didn’t go the little tube that would deliver the medicine. She kept trying, very gently, but I knew just by looking at it, it wasn’t going to work and I was going to have to get stuck AGAIN. After about five minutes she apologized and gave up.
Stick number SIX took.
Because this has turned into such a freaking ordeal, I developed a nurturing routine for myself. I might as well enjoy myself instead of getting totally pissed off.
So my set up is as follows:
My favorite scented candle.
My bed where I will relax and put my feet up
with tons of pillows, my knitting, my laptop
and, of course, Bella.
On the plus side, within one day my legs felt as strong as if I were normal. My back pain has disappeared. My other symptoms, which I guarantee you would rather not hear about, are diminishing.
I had my port put in and then each day I just flushed it, hooked up my little ball and when it was finished, flushed it again.
Easy peasy.
On Wednesday, when Dr. H. ordered the IV for me, his secretary asked if I would be interested in trying this new company. They were trying to build business in our area and they were very nice. So I said sure.
Big mistake.
The next morning the new place called to say everything was set up and the pharmacist would call me in a little while to go over the order and arrange the nurse’s visit to start my IV.
The pharmacist calls and asks me the usual, allergies, other meds, etc., and then says my medicine and supplies will be delivered by 3 pm with everything I needed to mix the Solumedrol.
Mix?
So I say to her “Mix? I usually get a pre-mixed ball pump.” “Well we don’t use that, you will mix the medicine and hang it.”
Hang it?
I could put the ball in my pocket and walk around with it, not be tethered to an IV pole. But that is exactly what I ended up being.
The nurse came that evening. She ended up sticking me FOUR times before we had a patent port. Each of the others infiltrated. This had never happened before. She was so, so nice, but it was frustrating to be stuck so many times.
Then she showed me how to mix and hang the medicine. It was a million ridiculous steps. Especially for someone with weak, numb hands!
1) Pop the Solumedrol bottle to mix/reconstitute it.
2) Let it sit for the powder to dissolve.
3) After it is dissolved, draw it up into a syringe and inject it into the bag of Saline.
4) Attach the tubing and prime it by allowing the medicine to go all the way to the end, so I don’t end up with 10 cc’s of air preceding my infusion.
2) Let it sit for the powder to dissolve.
3) After it is dissolved, draw it up into a syringe and inject it into the bag of Saline.
4) Attach the tubing and prime it by allowing the medicine to go all the way to the end, so I don’t end up with 10 cc’s of air preceding my infusion.
5) Clamp everything until I am ready to attach it.
6) Flush my port with Saline.
7) Attach the IV tubing.
8) Set the tubing control to 125.
9) Open the clamps
10) Sit in one place next to the pole for an hour ( because if I move the pole around, the infusion stops running).
11) When it is over, clamp everything again.
12) Detach the tubing.
13) Flush my port with Saline, then Heparin.
14) Clamp my port.
15) The end.
What year is this?!?!
6) Flush my port with Saline.
7) Attach the IV tubing.
8) Set the tubing control to 125.
9) Open the clamps
10) Sit in one place next to the pole for an hour ( because if I move the pole around, the infusion stops running).
11) When it is over, clamp everything again.
12) Detach the tubing.
13) Flush my port with Saline, then Heparin.
14) Clamp my port.
15) The end.
What year is this?!?!
Then, when I went to administer my second infusion, I find my port was leaking. I called the nurse and she said try to tighten the connection. The connection that was under a ton of tape and a piece of Tegaderm (a small sheet of protective plastic). Try to tighten it with one hand.
Guess what? Oh, you are so smart!! It didn’t work. The IV wouldn’t infuse and I had to pull the port. Which meant I was going to need another one inserted.
Oy vey.
The same very, very nice nurse came back. We picked a lovely, plump vein in my right hand. In went the needle. In didn’t go the little tube that would deliver the medicine. She kept trying, very gently, but I knew just by looking at it, it wasn’t going to work and I was going to have to get stuck AGAIN. After about five minutes she apologized and gave up.
Stick number SIX took.
Because this has turned into such a freaking ordeal, I developed a nurturing routine for myself. I might as well enjoy myself instead of getting totally pissed off.
So my set up is as follows:
My favorite scented candle.
My nightstand with the phone, books, pictures of
my beloved children and my beloved grandmother,
along with flowers from someone I love very much.
And a lovely high calorie drink. Because I deserve it.
There’s a lot of love on my nightstand.
And a lovely high calorie drink. Because I deserve it.
There’s a lot of love on my nightstand.
My bed where I will relax and put my feet up
with tons of pillows, my knitting, my laptop
and, of course, Bella.
On the plus side, within one day my legs felt as strong as if I were normal. My back pain has disappeared. My other symptoms, which I guarantee you would rather not hear about, are diminishing.
On the down side, the first night I couldn’t get to sleep until 2 am. And then I woke up at 2:45 am. And could NOT get back to sleep. Forty five minutes of sleep in 48 hours. Woo hoo.
This is yet another MS adventure. What can I say?
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