As Life Slows, it speeds up
About two weeks ago I had to see my neurosurgeon (East of us) and my neurologist to the West. Every time I leave the house, I become exhausted and sick. Over the past few weeks, I have needed to visit my pulmonologist due to a diagnosis of hypercapnia (excess carbon dioxide in my blood), which had been made during a stay in the hospital the week before when I, my wife and the physician all expected me to die. She wrote me a prescription for a machine the US no longer manufactures. It will be months in order to get it done.
This was followed almost immediately by an ambulance trip to the same hospital, with symptoms of hypercapnia. The ambulance crew put me on supplemental oxygen at 10 liters per minute, the pressure mimicking the effect of the prescribed machine. On arrival, the ER physician noted there was no hypercapnia. At the same time, she diagnosed plaque psoriasis. Back to the dermatologist’s office, following a trip to the cardiologist’s office. Had two biopsies done, go back in two weeks or so. I need to see the actual dermatologist, a move that will piss off the NP but can’t be helped. The ER doc was right, I have plaque psoriasis, an autoimmune disorder, and the treatment for the misdiagnosis of eczema only addresses symptoms, not the disease.
The cardiologist thinks I’m fine; the EKG does show signs of ischemia, which causes strokes. Not his problem. I’ve had two ischemic strokes in my history and a shitload of Transient Ischemic Attacks, or mini-strokes. The myocardial infarction, or heart attack, that occurred eight years ago, was also likely ischemic. I was in an operating room still on a gurney awaiting a bypass surgery, and went into cardiac arrest (I died). The anesthesiologist immediately intubated me, destroying my vocal cords, while the \\\surgeon cracked my chest and got me back to life. I can live with the aftermath.
On to the optometrist to fix a problem with needing to close my left eye to focus. Not yet; It seems I need cataract surgery. That process begins later this week.
Back to the ER at my primary care physician’s order to check symptoms of kidney failure. Checked in, sent to triage, got blood drawn and a chest CT (that made no sense to me). Waited six hours, being moved randomly around in hallways waiting to get a urine sample, finally realized I had fallen thru the cracks. Checked out Against Medical Advice (AMA). Two visits to PCP’s office in the midst of all this.
The only positive was that our younger daughter was in the same hospital, one of her frequent hospitalizations for a laundry list of issues. Her mother got to visit her, swap out clean clothes.
I have an NP who visits regularly, palliative care.: Think hospice light. It’s a difficult thing to sort out – she can diagnose and write orders, but she should be checking in with my PCP or his PA. Everything takes forever to get accomplished.
Every time I go out, I get to the car on a walker, then stow the walker in the back seat. My transport lightweight wheelchair stays in the trunk, and I transfer to that when I get where I’m headed.
My wife is 71 and getting too old for this shit. Our younger daughter helps out when she’s home; it’s difficult to do it if she’s busy having a heart attack or surgery.
My wife’s sense is the same as mine. Something has to slow down. It will be forced to slow down when she goes in for her knee surgery shortly.
As I continue my slow dying, the effort to keep the process going speeds up. That’s life in the Gravy.
We are with you on this journey and the ups and downs are helpful for all of us on the same journey.
I offer my sympathies, Bill. As my dear dead mom liked to say, “Getting old is not for sissies.”
I heard Clint Eastwood not too long ago in an interview. He’s pushing 100; and in his earlier 90’s someone made a comment about the supposed tragedy of living too long. Clint baby said: “Yeah, well, the only man who wants to live to be a hundred is 99.”