Thursday, February 16, 2006
Now ya wanna hear how my day went? Ha.
We had to be at Dr Watts' office at 10am. At 9, we walk out the door and head for the gas station - the new van is a gas hog - slide the bank card in the pump, (the only money we have, $16.32) and the pump pre-authorizes the sale, which freezes the $16, and the gas station has it set to refuse to pump unless there's $50 on the card. "please see attendant" it says. OK, we do - and she wants to swipe the card inside. Well, now the damn card is frozen because it's pre-authorized at the pump. Yup, they managed to freeze the card, and refuse us service. So we have to go back home and borrow $10 from Mom for gas.
Back to the gas station we go, buy $10 in gas, and realize that now we have about 20 minutes to make a 45 minute trip. Yup, we were late. Luckily, so was Dr Watts, so it was no biggie really.
We arrived at The Sanger Clinic at 10:30 and basically sit and wait for the doctor arrive, at which time, we were sent to their X-ray lab for the first round of X-rays. Then we talked to Dr. Watts about the surgery. He suggests that since it's such a drive there, maybe we'd prefer to do the pre-op stuff while we were there, rather than come back Monday, then come back again Tuesday. "Excellent idea!" think we - and at 12:30 we finish up there and are told to come back at 2.
OK, no money, no extra gas, no way to buy lunch, one bottle left, no pump, and an hour and a half to kill. Ugh, what now?
So we go back to the van and on the way, my dumb ass, not watching what I'm doing, manage to twist/sprain/strain/something-or-other my ankle. Ouch - but who has time for pain? We scrape together enough to get a couple of those gas station 2-for-a-dollar hot dog deals and waste about 30 minutes in the parking lot, eating in silence, both sort of "pre-occupied" with our thoughts.
Back across the street and into the hospital parking lot to wait. It was a pretty day, Nova was sleeping, so we were cool. It gets to be time to go back in... did I mention that the new van is a conversion van and doesn't fit in any of the parking decks? Yeah, so we walk (me on a fucked up ankle) from one end of the damn hospital complex to the other. Go back to the Sanger Clinic to pick up his paper work, and then walk another thousand miles to the front lobby of the hospital.
They told us to go to the front desk, we do - front-desk-lady sends us across the lobby to pre-op registration, who tell us, "He's already pre-registered, go back to the front desk." Um, ok. Front desk lady says, "go back to pre-op registration" and we do. Pre-op registration lady says (with a WTF?! look on her face) "no... go back to the front desk." so we do. Front desk lady, obviously clueless and frustrated, says "OK, well go 'over there' (with a vague directional swish of the wrist) and when someone comes to relieve me, I'll escort you up. So, we go "over there" and sit to wait. and wait. and wait. 45 minutes later, front desk lady comes over and says, "aren't you the LeClairs?" Well, DUH! And she proceeds basically to bless us out for not being in some waiting room where we were supposed to be because the escort person had been looking for us. Never did the woman say "go sit in the waiting room." So she's trying to blame it on us that we've now waited for EVER. Fuck her, thank you very much.
Finally, we get on the way upstairs. Have I mentioned that CMC is farkin huge? It is.
Up the elevator, round the corner down the hall, another corner, down this hall, across here and over there... and we get to the pre-op care station. Here, we are weighed, measured, pee in a stick-on bag (that was amusing by the way) have an EKG, talk to the nurse, deal with the anesthesiologist, and get sent to have blood drawn. Blood drawing is NOT good, so says Nova, at the top of his lungs.
Then off to X-ray again. The x-ray waiting room is approximately 10,000 miles from where we were and the actual x-ray room, or at least, the way we go TO the room is really long. Back into the piggy-o-stat thing (screaming, omg was he screaming) oops, wait... these are the wrong clear-plastic parts, take him out and we'll switch them out. Switch them, then get him back in. 2 minutes and the x-rays are done, and the guy walks me back to the waiting room, which is right around the corner - apparently he took the scenic route TO the room, and the shortcut back. Stupid ass.
It is now 4:15 in the afternoon, my ankle hurts, my son is worn out, my emotions are all over the place, and all I can think at the moment of departure is, "Happy fucking birthday Scotty!" I've spent the day trying not to cry, I've also spent the day watching my cleavage grow deeper and deeper (and sorer and sorer) - my boobs hurt, my ankles hurt and I'm an emotional disaster, but we're on our way home (after another hike across the complex of course.)
We get loaded into the van and I'm obsessing about the possibilities - I'm on emotional overload, which in turn sparks a physical shut down, and I fall asleep in the car like 2 minutes after we get in. I woke up just before we got to the house, feeling emotionally better but my ankle is farkin KILLING me.
It's now swollen and turning colors, I can bear weight on it, but I don't want to because it hurts. I've fallen in love with my pump (lol ok, do you understand the meaning of the word relief? Oy!) and I'll never get to sleep tonight.
Ha! How's that for a marathon post for a marathon day?!
congenital heart defect,
birth defects
posted by Erin @
6:38 PM
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