Hey, guys.
I'm a bit (read: 300+) behind, since I spent a day and a half in bed in the dark, and a decent chunk of change at the ER.
Yes. Exactly.
What changed between my meltdown and today at 3? Not really sure. I got a call from a "case worker" with UCLA that got a bit heated when I told her I'd been instructed not to expect treatment, so never come back. She said she had a good track record of arranging outpatient treatment, and I said that was great, and I really hope she comes up with something reliable, efficient, and cheaper. Oh, and predictable, in a good way. I'm big on that. HOWEVER, I still needed a pain treatment ASAP, and her Monday meeting wasn't going to be in time, and I was in desperate straits. She suggested I try Cedar Sinai, and I pointed out that if UCLA considers anything over 1 as dicey, how are people who don't know my records or my doctor going to be comfortable with 4x that? She didn't know, and wished me luck.
I call pain management (and was told not to call them on Fridays--the receptionist didn't seem to care I had my problem on Friday, and I guess I was having fraught phone calls all over the place). My doctor had been alerted to what happened, and he had no immediate suggestion. Luckily the meds my neuro prescribed dialed it down from an "I can't leave the bed, 10 is too small a number" to "I can make it to the fridge for water" so I at least wasn't parching to death in the meanwhile. The pain fellow was solicitous, and he also wished me luck, but also stressed they were powerless, and maybe I should try Cedar Sinai.
Colin volunteered to help me with ERs today, so I suggested we go to UCLA and ask if they'd treat me--surely they'd be decent enough to say, right? I went in, and one of the super-nice nurses was at registration, and I told him I'd been told not to come back, and could he check if I was welcome? He looked perplexed and solicitous, and went off to find the attending. He came back in a couple minutes and said the attending didn't care what had happened on Thursday, and that I would be evaluated and treated with the same care as any other patient.
So, you know, worth a shot, right?
I didn't recognise my resident, but she recognised me. She said she'd heard that there had been drama, but not to worry about that, and then people commenced being super-nice, and I got precisely what I was supposed to, even if drawn out over more time--not because of me, but because of other demands on their times.
The roller-coaster is jarring, but I'm not going to not take a win where I can get it. For every raging asshole like Meredith Grey last week, there are great people like this Dick Van Dyke meets Peter Graves attending who was patient and helpful, and assured me I'd be treated. Like, me as a person would be treated, not a chip in hospital politics. And I had, amongst others, the great Jamaican nurse (I told her she'd treated Grace, Kat!) who was sweet beyond belief.
Colin was also irreplaceable, and a little shocked that this was what passed for a good visit, since it was looooooooooong as all hell, but there was no way I could have done even a successful visit by myself--if it had turned into wheedling or negotiating, I'd have crumpled completely--I hadn't eaten since Thursday breakfast, and...god, yesterday was one of the worst migraine days I've ever had. I'm usually minimally mobile, but I spent the day threatening my bladder with harsh reprisals if it forced me up again, because getting vertical was kicking the shit out of me. Never mind the call to cancel the ticket, the airplane shuttle, to tell my mother I wasn't dead, to tell cousin P it was fine, she doesn't need to come out...
So I'm treated, and I'm going to act totally fragile for the rest of the weekend, and do everything I vaguely can to tread gently until home, and gently there too, because it will be two weeks before my next treatment because of the shift in timing, and I've never done that before.
Day by day, that's all I got.
Well, that and friends, and I thank you very much for your (continued...)