Melinda Palacio
Summer Vacation was a long drive east to visit friends and family in New Orleans. Or at least, wave to them from six feet away, instead of two thousand miles away. The plan was a van visit, but things didn’t quite work out. If you tuned in last week, you’ll notice I had to pass on my post. Steve had a tree trimming accident that landed him on the operating table with open heart bypass surgery. Some call it a happy accident that led to the detection of blocked heart arteries. What would have been time for writing and surviving isolation and the pandemic, turned into hospital stays, hospital visits, isolation, and surviving a pandemic.
If I was a germaphobe before Covid, I’m even more of germ freak now. I walk around with lysol wipes, gloves, extra masks, sanitizing gel and spray and try not to touch any surface with my bare hands. The idea of going into a hospital sounded all my alerts. However, knowing that I had the opportunity to make sure Steve was going to be alright, made me face my germ fears. In some ways, I was lucky. Hospital patients in California aren’t allowed visitors. I was surprised by how casual some of the doctors, nurses and staff were, many of whom ate at their desk and spoke without their mask on.
I kept my mask on as I sat in the corner and saw a rotating circus of doctors, nurses, technicians and hospital staff enter and exit Steve’s room. What I didn’t realize is how important it is for a patient to have a personal advocate. Someone who can run outside the room and let staff know that at 4pm, lunch was never brought to the patient. I understand why nurses and staff are immune to a patient’s call button buzzing every few minutes. Some patients abuse this power, like the guy next door was throwing a baby tantrum over his lack of jello pudding. However, when I mentioned to friends in the medical field that I had to give Steve the lunch I had packed for myself, they told me this was unacceptable and that I should complain. My complained garnered apologies and a fruit basket for Steve’s last day in the hospital.
Discharge day was a whole other level of crazy. It seems as if doctors are bigger procrastinators than writers. Somehow, getting the doctor to sign a final discharge order, complete with prescriptions from the pharmacy, and an order for a wheel chair (hospitals apparently will not let you leave on your own two feet, even if you can walk), took six hours. Meanwhile, I was bothered by a clogged ear and started to pray and hope that I wasn’t getting sick. A week later, I had my ears flushed out by an ENT doctor.
Th is how our summer vacation turns into a self-imposed medical leave. Not fun, but at least, the surprising blocked arteries were surgically repaired and my hearing and balance are back to normal.
If you require urgent or emergency or wellness care, do not be afraid to seek medical attention for fear of hospital germs or Covid germs. It’s important to take care of your health and trust that you will receive professional care, even if the hospital’s lunch cart passes you by. Stay safe, healthy, and happy. Wash your hands, wear a mask, keep sanitizer handy, and vote.
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