the Banquet...

I had the cutest little black dress picked out to wear for the Leading Lady Banquet. They said it was "business casual" but that results in personal interpretation (there were women in everything from jeans to evening gowns.) It had been in the 60s-70s here all week. The morning of the banquet, however, I woke up to 37 degrees, dark skies, high winds and rain all day. So much for my dress! So much for my whole day, actually. I ventured out just before lunch to have my nails done and by the time I got back I was coughing my head off. I ate a light lunch and promptly coughed myself to sleep. I woke up at around 3:45pm, which sucked because we needed to be on the road by 5pm to head to Charlotte and make the banquet on time. It was a lot of rushing around and tearing the closet apart for something warmer to wear, but we managed to make it.

The banquet itself was very nice. It was like the meal was catered specifically for me: chicken and penne alfredo, baked ziti, and chicken francese. Yummy! We were given a bottle of wine from the sponser, Cambria. They did a presentation about each of the women and gave us an engraved glass plaque.

I know that I had every right to be there, but couldn't help but feel totally overwhelmed and out of place when I would hear all of the amazing things that these other women were doing. The cool thing, though, was that upon talking to some of them, they all felt the same way I did. None of us felt like we compared to the women next to us. It was quite humbling.

They gave special recognition to a Leading Lady that, sadly, had passed away back in August. She had cancer. But for the last however many years, she had started up and worked for a chapter of Flashes of Hope, a non-profit that takes professional photographs of terminal children for their families. It was so beautiful. Her family was there and her daughter accepted her award on her behalf. Glad I brought tissues!

The woman who was named Leading Lady of the Year was seated at our table. We'd had a great evening talking to her and were so excited when she won! And she deserves it! She owns her own real estate business and sits on the board for Habitat for Humanity. What makes her special is that every time she sells a home, she takes her commission (over $60k last year) and uses it to buy and build Habitat Homes in her community. Not only does she fund the projects, but she goes out and helps build them. She is currently making plans to build homes in Haiti as a relief effort. She's incredible!

It was a great night and I'm so thankful to have been able to be included among such fabulous women! Of course....my goal now is to attend again next year!

107.9 the Link Leading Lady Banquet

Heading up to Charlotte tonight for the Link Leading Lady Banquet. 107.9 the Link has a great program in place that recognizes and celebrates women in their listening area who are simply amazing. They come from all walks of life and each is very involved with some sort of community service and/or charity. People can go to the radio station's website to nominate someone, and if they are chosen, they get to be interviewed on the air by radio personality, Ramona.

Last fall, a friend of mine secretly nominated me. I got a call from the station just before I was admitted to the hospital. So, I came in and did my interview in late October after returning home. It was a lot of fun.

Then, we got an invitation in the mail to attend a banquet that will celebrate all of the winning leading ladies from throughout 2009. Garrett and I are looking forward to a dress-up, grown-up night out.

It feels so cliche, but you can't help but think, "it's just an honor to be nominated with such an amazing group of women..."

Day Six at MUSC 10/09

First off...now that I wrote the words "the final countdown", are you sitting in front of your computer going "doo doo dooooo dooooooo doo doo doo doo doooooo"???

I had every intention of staring UP today but the night staff just ruined me.

I went to bed around 11:15. The nurse snuck in around 2:00AM to hook up an IV bag that is supposed to run for 30 minutes, then kick back over to the saline for the night. At about 2:45 AM the machine started beeping...and beeping....and BEEPING. AIR IN LINE...AIR IN LINE...AIR IN LINE. I wait, thinking surely the nurse who sits right outside my door can hear it beeping. AIR IN LINE...AIR IN LINE...I finally, for the very FIRST time since I was admitted, hit the call button. ( I don't like to hit the call button. I am very self sufficient. This isn't the Hilton and they are not my servants.)

"Yes?"
"My IV won't stop beeping."
"Ok."

At 3:09AM, I throw off the covers, rip the plug out of the wall, drag the entire unit over to the door and stand in the doorway letting the beep echo up and down until someone came up and turned it off. I thanked her, got back in bed. Ten minutes later, door opens, light turns on, it's my nurse coming to see what was going on with the IV. She notices that it never ran to begin with, resets program. She leaves.

3:20AM.

"Are you F*ing kidding me?!" I yell to no one.

My new neighbor across the hall apparently doesn't sleep well at night. He watches the tv louder than my father, if that is at all possible, and he, too, does not believe in the call button rather choosing to shout, "Hey....HEY. NURSE. HEY."

I fold my pillow around my head to muffle out the noise and eventually drift back to sleep.

5:59AM.

A nurses aid, or "tech" as they prefer to be called now. I don't care. They're all either RNs or CNAs to me. Anyhoo, she's out there, plugged into one of the mobile computer carts which happens to be plugged into the outlet in front of my door and she's flirting with a phlebotomist who is there to get blood from noisy neighbor. They are loud. Laughing, cracking jokes. "Nuh-uh, Fo'real?"

Once again, I curse into the darkness, get up, yank the cord from the wall, open the door. Neither of them pays any attention to me. I demand she get my nurse. After a few minutes my nurse arrives to say she was planning on coming in at 6:30 to hang my next bag.

"I thought you'd be sleeping now."
"Well, I'm not, so I may as well take a shower. Bring me a flush please and something to wrap my arm with."

By 6:45AM I have already been up, showered, gotten a cup of tea, and was dozing off watching Robin Meade.

The rest of the morning goes well. Meds arrive on time. RT arrives on time. PFT is rescheduled for today--in fact I bump into my CF doc and he puts my chart into my arms and allows me to walk it over myself, partly because waiting on transport could take forever. So I trek over to the next building to repeat my test.

12% increase over last time! Woot! Suck it, Gil!

I skip back to my room to eat lunch and meet with my CF doc. Not only does he give me the ok to go home, but he decides to forgo the home infusion which was giving us financial heartache and opted for oral antibiotics...the kind you find on the walmart list. YAY.

I text Garrett while he's in class at WU: Come get me NOW.

He bolted out the door and across campus, pulled Rylie out of school, went home to walk dogs. They got on I-77 at 2:15 according to the text I got from Rylie. It's about a 3 hr, drive, sometimes 3 hrs and 20 minutes.

They called at 4:45 to say they were 2 exits away from the one for the hospital.

Couldn't have made better time if they'd been using a transmit beam.

And so, I await the final paperwork and having my PICC pulled.

And I bid this place adieu!

Day Five at MUSC 10/09

What can I say about Day Five? I mean, at this point, I'm getting repetitive, right? Woke up, ate, got meds, incompetence of hospital staff, blah blah blah. Rode the elevators some more. Went to the PT room and used their treadmill again.

Oh, that was a funny story. I think I was finally caught in a lie. Well, not a "lie" per se, so much as a non-truth. Some years ago my doctor insisted that I either get a treadmill or join a gym. It was cheaper to buy the treadmill. Over the years I used it less and less. And less. But every time I go to clinic they ask, "are you still exercising?" and I always answer "yes!" I do exercise, occasionally, but not in the traditional sense of the word. I feel that housework and dog walking and chasing around after my child constitutes exercise. But the test today didn't agree with me on that one.

As I get onto the treadmill a clip is placed on my finger to monitor my O2 saturation and my heart rate. My O2 sat was 98% and I don't remember what my heart rate was, but it was great. We turned the machine on, set it for 2mph to start, at about 5 minutes into my 20, my O2 sat had dropped to 93% and my heart rate was 136. YIKES. The other big test of endurance is to see if you can talk while exercising. Once upon a time, I used to do upper body strength training stuff while on the treadmill. And I'm famous for singing the whole time I'm walking. I could BARELY get through a string of sentences without gasping.

Proof is in the pudding, or so they say. It was obvious that I was not physically capable of that type of exercise. That is something that will absolutely have to change once I get home, I guess.

Did you know that "classic cheesecake" isn't that classic? It was covered in some sort of strawberry sauce that reminded me more of strawberry syrup from IHOP. (mmmmm...I'd kill for IHOP right now). And the cheesecake wasn't classic. In fact, it was barely edible. But I ate it anyway. Desperate times, my friends, desperate times.

Today's blog isn't as humorous as I would have liked. It was a blah kind of day. Every now and then in a person's life the pity party kicks into full swing. And it wasn't just me; it was the other 2/3 of my bubble as well. We've just reached a point where it's time to face some pretty harsh realities.

Garrett was feeling a little homesick for me and we were both struggling with the weight of financial issues. I told him being with me is like being with a superhero. I revealed my true identity to you, and you chose this, you chose this life, this adventure. If you can't hack the batcave, Katie Holmes, get the frack out. That made him laugh and say, "that's why she wasn't in the second film." We both laughed. The best part of it all is that he CAN handle the batcave. And we're in this together, and neither of us would have it any other way. Well....healthier and wealthier wouldn't hurt.

I miss Garrett. He's the Dante to my Randall. And I miss Rylie. I've told her time and again, I can't breathe when she's not around. The three of us are so codependent for one another it must be nauseating to the outside world!

Lots of Docs came by today. This place was like Grand Central Station. They decided to move my PFT up to Tuesday instead of Wednesday. Based on the results, they will begin discussing a course of action in regards to the IV meds. Usually they run a 14 day course. But I am wheeling and dealing with various case workers and staff to see if there is any way that I can finish it up at home as an outpatient someplace, rather than staying here another 10 days or so.

Then again, if I can manage to stay in past the 14 day mark, I might be able to eliminate two of my credit card debts. That annual protection plan thingy I got suckered into paying $90 for each year supposedly takes care of your balance if you are hospitalized continuously for 14 days or more. But is that worth me losing my sanity in here?

Like I said, I've got a lot of options and a lot of wheeling and dealing to do tomorrow. I've got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to walk away, and know when to run.

Geez! I'm bored enough to quote Kenny Rogers.

Oh, and I didn't get to stare up today. It rained. Bah. May take Kay up on her advice to approach a doctor in the lobby frantically and yell at him for not answering any of his pages. That could get interesting.

I've checked 5 on-call rooms, by the way, and none of them have hot doctors having crazy sex. The television lies. All these years, the black box has been messing with my mind.

Life's a funny thing, isn't it? We spend most of our time worrying or complaining about things, and hurrying through it all. But where are we rushing to? What's the end game? Bitch and moan, and then pray it never ends.

* shudders *

Whew! I think it's time for some chocolate cake and some Monday night shows. Far be it from me to get all philosophical on an empty stomach.

Oh, and staring at the cashier through the glass of the little shop like she's in a fish bowl is very unnerving to her.

Please let my PFT have improved when I repeat the test. And please let the powerball ticket I've been carrying around since Wednesday yield something. I'm stir crazy enough to start a "bucket list" and I'd much rather just go home and get back to nagging everyone.

Day Four at MUSC 10/09

I debated not writing anything for Day Four. Day Four fell on a Sunday, and as Dursley once said to Harry, "There's no post on Sundays."

But it wouldn't be me if I wasn't rambling on incessantly about something...

Woke up later than usual, 7:10 AM to be exact. It was foggy outside, so no sunlight to assist in my waking. I was surprised that the nurses hadn't been in yet. Granted, there is a sign on the door telling them not to come in until after 7:00, but that hasn't stopped anyone yet. In fact, I rather liked it when they would hook up my IV bag at 6:30, as it runs for an hour. So I would eat breakfast while it was attached, when it was done I'd shower, then make my run for tea and be back before respiratory therapy.

I open the door to look for a nurse. I find one. I ask her to unhook me from the pole (I was still attached from my 2AM bag, but with only saline running at this point) so that I could shower quickly before being tied down for an hour. She told me no. I pushed the issue. She told me that if they did that, it would mess up my blood levels for the tobramycin since it has to go in exactly every so many hours. Seriously? If that were the case, then I should be all sorts of messed up, seeing as how the previous nurses were hanging the bag by 6:30.

I pleaded for a compromise. Disconnect me long enough for what my mother calls a "bird bath" and what Garrett and Robin call a "whore bath". Done! I was allowed the length of a Nascar pit stop to coat myself in baby powder and put on clean clothes before being hooked to the bag. Face washing, hair combing, and the like would have to wait until after the meds started. Bah.

After breakfast I debate if I have enough time to get tea. I take my chances. Not only did I have enough time for tea, but another episode of Doctor Who. My morning RT didn't show until nearly time for my lunch tray to arrive (in fact it did arrive as she was leaving) and to top it off, one of my meds was missing. This was a problem again later in the day when the RT was supposed to return between 2-3PM and didn't show until 4:30...as the dinner tray was arriving. Took the med, skipped the therapy, sent her away.

Boredom finally reached new heights. Literally. Ended up on the 10th floor "Charleston Room" which seems to be a secret room. Not quite the Room of Requirement, as food, drinks, and phones are not allowed. But it's clean, has leather seating, and windows on both sides so you get a great view of the city and the bridge.

Decided upon new tactic today. Abandoned the jim jam bottoms for some denim capris. Dressed like the natives. Wandered around for almost an hour like the civilians do. Hid my id bracelet beneath the sleeve of my sweatshirt. Notice I didn't say hoodie. It's a sweatshirt. Or even zip up jacket. When I was in high school, as Sharon, Michele, and Jenn will recall, it was my wubby.

I rode the elevators up and down, talking to the security camera. I wonder if someone is actually watching live, or if it merely records. Either way, as I stared at the ceiling and asked it where the escape hatch was, no one answered. I even pondered out loud, how I would reach said hatch should the elevator malfunction. I have no other person to step on. I might be able to get a foot onto the handrail, but then what? Still, no one answered.

I looked people in the eyes as we walked towards one another, never breaking my gaze, initiating a staring contest that they weren't aware they were involved in. I won, well, most of the time.

I would take it a step further by talking to them...loudly. "HI" "HOW ARE YOU TODAY" "BEAUTIFUL DAY, ISN'T IT"

It's amazing how this simple act of kindness unnerves most people. They avoided me like New Yorkers avoid each other on the city streets.

I went to the shop--I like a little shop. It was me and the cashier. No background noises. No muzak playing. Just me....and her. Dead silence. She watched me intently, waiting to see what I would buy, and making sure I wasn't stealing.

As I had no intention of purchasing anything, I made sure to stop and touch at least one item on every shelf.

EVERY SHELF.

I spun racks, I flipped through magazines. I smelled candles. I hugged stuffed animals. I made her very, very, very uncomfortable. This went on for what was probably the longest 8 minutes of her life until finally some man came in to buy a candy bar or newspaper or something. I took my leave then. Slowly, suspiciously. Then just as I passed through the doorway I turned back to the cashier and her customer..."THANK YOU! HAVE A GREAT AFTERNOON, OKAY"

Someone is going to have me committed, I swear.

I think tomorrow I may gown up, hang a mask around my neck, and head down to the cafeteria. If I continue to talk to people like I know them could I pass for hospital staff? Maybe I'll go up to someone and strike up a conversation as though I already know them, try to see if I can get them to feign politeness by pretending they remember me.

I'm definitely going to stand on the sidewalk and stare up.

That'll do pig.

Day Three at MUSC 10/09

Woke up at 6:30 to a nurse on one side hanging an IV bag, and a nurse on the other side taking vitals and checking blood sugar. Someone finally put a sign on the door during Day Two that said "No Vitals between 11pm and 6am"--after this morning, someone wrote the number 7 over the number 6 in pen...and it wasn't me!!

Breakfast arrived. Only things edible were a so-so bowl of grits--definitely not a Jethro bowl from the Little Cafe--and a tiny banana nut muffin. Ahhh...banana. Managed a quick shower. Decided I had just enough time to hightail it down for a steaming cup of water to make my tea. Got back. Finished the muffin while it was steeping. Doctor arrived. And I'm not talking about David Tennant.

Doc asks, "Did you see the results of your PFT?"

"Yes, and I'm pretty pissed off about it."

"Why?" she asked. "Because the number was so low?"

"No. Because it was exactly the same as it was 48hrs before, but some idiot read the chart wrong and ordered another test anyway, and then the PFT department, who knew I'd just had the test, didn't bother to just print out the results or call someone and they ran the test again anyway."

Her eyes got wide. Her smile faded.

"I ordered that test."

Inside.....I laughed maniacally. Had I called her an idiot to her face?

At that moment, my CF doc walked in, following up on his promise from Day Two to fix things and check on me. First doc took responsibility for the PFT error, the one that I plan on making MUSC eat. CF doc and I visit for about an hour. All the while I know my cup of tea is growing cold. What a waste of a teabag.

CF doc explains typically they prefer to do a full 14 day course of antibiotics. I tell him "that ain't gonna happen." He offers up a repeat PFT on Wednesday to see if anything has changed, and then creating a new game plan at that point. I counter with, "what if the numbers don't improve? Then what? Do I stay longer to see if it will get any better? I can't stay here indefinitely. Or do we say that it must be where I'm at now, as far as lung function goes and just go home?" Cf doc and I go point for point, round and round, like haggling for a used car, or two lawyers working out a plea bargain. We sat in two chairs facing one another. Back and forth, calmly, intelligently. We agree to repeat the test on Wednesday, leaning towards a course of action I can do at home. I tell him, "take Sunday to think on it, and bring me your offer on Monday." He smiled. This is why I like this doctor. Communication, understanding, and willingness to compromise.

He leaves and I run for more hot water.

I steep the tea bag. Respiratory Therapist walks in. BAH!! Turns out she is originally from England, understands the importance of tea. Allows me time to chug what I've got.

We had a lovely time during therapy. I say "lovely" because it was a word she used frequently and it sounded...well...lovely. It makes me happy. I tell her of Rylie's affinity for using a British accent when saying the words banana or doctor. She is amused by my love of Doctor Who. We talk of fish n' chips and malt vinegar.

Lunch arrives at 11:30 and I am already into my DW dvds and bananagrams. Once again, I dominate. My other self just can't hack a good word game.

What to do, what to do.

Day Three was completely boring. Well, not totally boring. Well, somewhat boring, save for the excitement of my other neighbor dying. Yes. That's 2 in less than 24 hours. I ask if I can change units as this one seems to be bad luck. They laugh at me. I close my door and back away s..l..o..w..l..y.

I watched many, many episodes of DW. I noticed my elbows are dry ("moisturize me!!") I read my book some more (The Art of Racing in the Rain) Watched more DW. Laughed at the fact that the doctors around here are basically invisible, they never show up, at least not like you'd expect. In fact, my other "visitor" came a week early just to spice up my visit. And it brought along cramps and cravings just to make it all comforting and homey like. I feel special!

Very nice Brit returns for afternoon treatment. She notices I'm watching DW. Informs me of some other specials that David Tennant has appeared on recently. Fills my head with googling ideas to get me through the weekend. We talk of the wonder that was Tennant and Patrick Stewart performing RSC Hamlet. We laugh about Gordon Ramsey, How Clean is My House, more tea and lovely chips. I like this woman. Further cementing our powerball winning plans.

Dinner arrives. At 4:30. Who eats at 4:30. Perhaps it was dinner time in jolly old London town? 4:30. You know that means I'll be starving by...wait...NOW. I trek down to the parking lot scary cafeteria tent for hot water and snacks. I exit the building and am greeted by a wall of hot humid air, it literally made my throat clamp shut. How do people live in Charleston? The traffic is ridiculous, the humidity is awful. I just don't like it at all. I digress...

The area you have to traverse to enter scary tent is the campus smoking area. It is full. I make my way through the cloud of cancer and humidity and enter the tent. Tent is nearing closing time. There is nothing to eat in there. I buy--what else--a banana, get my hot water, and suddenly am very happy to have found Ocean Spray Cran Grape! Am happy again.

Exit the tent to discover it is now raining. Crap. Well, not actually raining crap. That was earlier in the day when I walked through a raging flock of pigeons reminiscent of the Birds. The hot water was worth it. But it was indeed raining and I was in my favorite flannel jim jam bottoms, which are a tad bit too long to begin with and walking in flip flops meant I would occasionally step on the heels. Yuck.

I spray the room with Love's Baby Soft, cause why not? It dawns on me that I have not turned on the television all day. Not once. Not even for a minute. That hasn't happened in ages. Decide to get on the internet even though it's hours earlier than I usually get on here. That's how bored I am. Looking to speed up time. Not working really.

My sutures are beginning to itch around my PICC site. There is major bruising. My arm still aches and has a radiating pain down through my wrist from when she hit a nerve while doing the procedure. In all the years nearly 10 PICC lines I've had, I've never had that happen. Not a fun feeling. I would not recommend it. Well....truthfully, it hurt and it was scary, but in hindsight it was sort of exciting and definitely got the adrenaline going. Had I known it was going to have such a residual effect I wouldn't have laughed it off at the time.

Is my arm hair getting longer? Or maybe it's darker. No, I think it's longer. Could it be both? Maybe I'm pale, that combined with the lighting makes my arm hair seem odd. Nah. My arm hair is changing.

I feel like opening my door and yelling, "Seven O'Clock and alllllllll's weeeeeelll."

Have you seen what they use to take dead bodies out of hospital rooms now? It used to be they'd throw a sheet over the corpse and wheel it out. Sometimes you'd see a standard issue zip front body bag. Nope. This looks like the top to a giant shoe box and it is wrapped in this black material of sorts that resembles a body bag. They take the big box top and put it over the bed. It's nuts! I've been surrounded by all things zombie in the last six months. World War Z, the Zombie Survival Guide, Zombieland, Supernatural 2 episodes ago, Smallville's most recent episode, etc. I have neighboring patients dropping like flies and all they can do is put a box over them? Dude! Use the bag! Zip that thing up! I hate to be disrespectful, but I mean, really. I'd like to think when I'm gone someone will at least secure me lest I come back to bite my family.

Did you know that dead bodies release gases? They do. They will move and they will moan and they will burp and fart. It's fracked up.

Uh-oh.

This place is getting to me. It's only Day Three and I'm showing signs of going psycho.

But really...they actually fart, it's true.

I wonder if the nurses would be mad if I slept with the dresser in front of my door?

Day Two at MUSC 10/09

Day Two began around 12:30 AM, when the tech who came in was unaware that it's basically a standing order that CF patients are not to be disturbed from 11pm-7am. He was also unaware that vitals can be taken with just the light from the hallway...hence his use of the overhead lights all THREE times he visited me in my sleep.

By 6:45 AM I had given up and given in. Was dressed and even had makeup on by the time anyone came in to see me.

Breakfast tray arrives bright and early...and is the exact opposite of everything I had ordered. I ask for hardboiled egg, they give me powdery looking scrambled. Ask for a waffle, get an uncooked english muffin. Ask for tea, they give me coffee. Ask for orange juice, the give me apple. It's almost comical. I'm in opposite land. May use a different approach when I order for tomorrow. [sidenote: attempted to order breakfast a little while ago and get a recording that informs me dietary closes at 7pm. so tomorrow's food will be a crapshoot as well] I dined on contraband fruit loops and got some OJ from a nurse.

Respiratory comes in to do my morning treatments. We are interrupted by orders to have me rushed to the PFT lab for a test. Huh? Did I not just do this on Tuesday, hence the hospital stay? I go all the way over to that building. Take the test. The results are identical to what they had been less than 48 hrs before. Shocker. An undertaking that I'm certain the medicare people will love.

Lunch arrives around 11:30 and is not that bad, slightly identifiable. There is a salad and a banana that I stash for later--was glad to have had that foresight as dinner was nasty; enjoyed feast of warm salad and banana. The banana makes me smile.

Neighbor from last night finally passed. It was very sad. Entire...ENTIRE family was in hall crying. No...WAILING in pain and grief. Wailing began when patient stopped breathing and continued for about an hour until patient expired. Sat here with my lunch listening to last rites. Depression set in. Decided to go for a walk in search of tea. Got hot water from starbucks. Yay for tea.

Attempted after dinner to get more water from Starbucks only to learn that they close at 4:30 and are not open on weekends. Had to seek alternative means for hot water. Acquired it from scary food tent in parking lot.

At some point in late afternoon my CF doc stops in for a visit. I greet him with , "Wow! You DO exist!" He looks at me confused. I then explain to him that I had yet to see a physician. Actually, the doc who saw me last night for 8 minutes and at dawn for 3 had been nice, but no one else had been by. Not even when they were doing rounds on my floor. Doc and I had heart to heart. I rattled off my list of complaints and explained that if lines of communication aren't opened up soon I will take my suitcase and walk home. He said, "please don't do that." I wouldn't. I live nearly 4 hrs away by car and it was 92 degrees outside. My suitcase is heavy. It's full of cereal and Doctor Who dvds.

Have spent remainder of evening watching DW and playing bananagrams. I win every game. Have made a mental list of my favorite DW episodes from each season. Debated when to go for my next tattoo. Tried to determine how difficult working with fondant would be. Went to the gym and walked on treadmill for a bit. CF has its privileges. Cannot get a straight answer from anyone as to why I am here or how long I will have to stay. Would like to be home before the 14th. I have scouts that night and scene blocking on the 15th. Not to mention a family that I would like to go home to.

Heard a funny story. I was on the phone with Garrett while he was walking the dogs. He then goes to remove a package from the trunk of the car (he's new to multitasking and with dogs involved something was bound to happen). Just as he was slamming the trunk shut, Elphaba decided to jump in. Nothing like giving the man a heart attack. I had to laugh. You'd have to have spent time with Elfi to know the true humor of the situation.

Am hoping that none of my shows are being deleted from DVR. Am really worried about Kay. Curious as to how weekend will go seeing as how nothing will be open and most staff is off. Will have to find ways to occupy my mind for the weekend. Clicking my heels together isn't working and I left my broomstick at home. Am really, really worried about Kay.

Just got a call from Rylie. Now she is sick. Not sure if it is side effects from the flu shot she received on Wednesday morning, or perhaps she picked up something at the germ box they call middle school. I should be home being a proper mom.

Contemplating searching for roof access. Would be a nice place to hold private play rehearsal...loudly. Then again, singing in my room couldn't be any more disturbing than the wake in the hallway this morning. Perhaps a sing along amongst staff and patients? Any suggestions?

Day One at MUSC 10/09

I went to clinic on Tuesday (10/6). They tell me I should be admitted. I drive over 3 hours home to break news to family, pack, pay bills, so on and so forth. I get a call on Wednesday saying that a bed request was already put in for Thursday morning and an appointment was made to have PICC line put in. I should arrive at MUSC between 11-12pm.

I arrive at MUSC at 11:10am.

I go to admitting. They don't know why I'm here. They send me to the department where PICC line will be put in. I stop at their admit area. They don't know why I'm here. It takes nearly an hour to get me into surg. area to get PICC line, where staff is already gowned up and pacing and proclaims, "there you are!!" when I arrive. Apparently, they knew I was supposed to be there.

After line is inserted they call 8th floor to find out what room I'm to go to. 8th floor doesn't have a room for me. They claim "she's at home waiting for us to call and tell her when one is available." Ummm...no I'm not.

I end up back in original central admit area. No phone service. Cafeteria under construction. There is a sci-fi looking decontamination tent thing set up in the parking lot subbing as a cafeteria. I have mystery meat and mashed potatoes for lunch at 1pm. Back to admin waiting area.

Wait. Wait. Wait. They take this area seriously....

At 5pm I get assigned a room. I go upstairs. Miss the dinner tray by five minutes. No food for me. Thankfully, sweet nurse finds me a ham sandwich and some pretzels. Another brings me a pepsi. I love them.

Am in room with nothing going into my PICC line. No doctors orders. I am the mystery patient. Eventually around 7:30, during my Brady Bunch marathon and dinner of pop tarts (this was prior to the ham sandwich miracle) someone comes and takes me for an x-ray.

Come back to room. Finally have doctors orders. Someone mistakenly puts in chart that I'm trying to lose weight and am on diet. Doctor tries to tell me I can't have my pepsi. I snap at her, "your cafeteria is gone. I drink tea all day like others drink coffee. If I am in here hungry, with no caffeine or sugar we will have a problem. You will not want me here." She looks at me funny. I am NOT on a diet. Yes, I discussed my unhappiness with my recent prednisone induced weight gain with the dietician on Tuesday, but the prednisone is stopped now, it won't take long for my metabolism to drop some of the weight. I wasn't inferring that now, while in captivity, would be a good time to try out the act of dieting.

Have finally begun to receive IV meds. Have just finished my first respiratory treatment (though it made me miss my 9pm shows. Was watching Supernatural, but switched to Grays because I don't care if I can't hear Gray's...they've already jumped the shark). Will now eat contraband Fruit Loops and Sierra Mist for dessert. Brought all 4 seasons of Doctor Who with me, may throw in a disc and attempt to get some sleep later.

Am missing my Rylie and Garrett terribly. And Caitlyn. And my puppies. Ok, wait....people in next room are singing. Not happy birthday, something else. Why are people singing? It's 10pm. In a hospital. Am in the twilight zone.

Can't wait to see what Day Two brings.