the day started off normally. at some point in the afternoon, my mother called me from downstairs. it seemed odd at the time because she just called and said "come down here." not "what are you doing?" not "do you want to (eat) or (watch this tv show) or (go to this place)?" not "can you come help me with (something or other)?" just "come down here." my dad was acting all weird. by 'acting all weird' i mean he was disoriented, speaking very softly (we could hardly make out what he was saying), had no strength in his legs, etc. it was obvious something was wrong with him although he kept saying he was fine. my mother was pretty much panicking, and before i really started to as well i told her that we just needed to call the ambulance. my dad has diabetes, and he's already had two strokes. neither of us know enough about anything to really know what was going on with him. you know, was he going into a diabetic coma? was he having another stroke?

anyway, ambulance came. ambulance guys checked him out. blood pressure was fine. blood sugar was fine. heartbeat was fine. they didn't know what was going on, either, but said we should get him to a hospital. they suggested one in particular simply because if he was having a stroke, that's the place you wanna be. what a frigging nightmare. we beat the ambulance there, and when we were asking around (to find out if he was there or not) everyone was just like "what the hell are you talking about? what's the name? no, i don't think he's here. you need to go register first anyway." then my mom is trying to register and that's not possible because a) he's not there so they don't have all of whatever information they were needing and b) even after he did get there, they couldn't finish the registration without a diagnosis. so my dad is all on a stretcher in the hallway and i'm thinking "he's sure as hell not going to get a diagnosis there." i was going back & forth between where my mother was trying to register him and where the ambulance guys were trying to get him admitted. the one ambulance guy that was up at the counter thing with me was also quite irritated because they had called it in as a possible stroke - yet everyone around at the ER just seemed to be clueless. then some guy (who later turns out to be our ER doctor) is like "oh. maybe a stroke? you called it in? yeah. where is she?" and the ambulance guy is like "he is right here, behind me." then here comes some lady saying "he has to be registered first." i admit it, i lost my temper. i'm screaming "yes, we know that! my mother is over there trying to do that, but then they're telling her they can't register him because you people over here don't seem to even know if he's here or not. well he is here, but now the problem is that they can't register him without a diagnosis. do you think you could get to work on that?!" the ambulance guy was all apologizing to me and i told him that it wasn't his fault, but he was saying "well, yes it is, because we brought him here." i just kept thinking "if at least someone here seemed to have a brain cell working, we could get things moving." i felt bad for him because he was only trying to help us, and things were just all fucked up. i'm sure he felt horrible.

i was back with my mother and then the lady i had screamed at around the other side of the counter thing came over saying he was going to room 4. (ok. this really is going to end up being a novel. sorry.) we go to room 4. someone came and drew some blood. some guy is trying to do an EKG but that proves nearly impossible as my father won't lay still. i'm sure he was uncomfortable because he's like 6'4" and the stretchers just aren't made for tall people, so his feet are all hanging off. that plus all the other crap attached to him by this point - oxygen, etc. so the EKG guy is getting frustrated, understandably. at some point they take him away to do a CT. i think they did manage to get a readable EKG later, too, i don't really remember if they did or if they just gave up. then they wanted urine. the thing that was really sucking is that they'd come in and do one of these things and then leave. my mother and i are sitting in there with my dad, all out of it on the stretcher, for twenty to thirty minutes between each visit from anyone. it was just like "hello? what the fuck are we waiting on?" it would have been nice if someone could have given us some kind of info, you know? "here, we took this blood and now we're going to go run some tests. we will be back when they're done." or something. anything. i was getting more & more agitated and i'm sure i wasn't much comfort to my mom.

so the moron that was earlier saying "where is she?" turned out to be our ER doctor. he would wander through occasionally, not really telling us anything. so after we'd been in the ER for about 4 1/2 hours total, he comes in to say that they are going to admit my dad to the hospital, at least overnight. all they seem to think is wrong with him is that he got his medications screwed up and that he took too much of something. he asks if my dad has a regular doctor. my mom says that he does, but that she hasn't been happy with him lately. he's been very neglectful - not calling with test results, etc., and it seems every time my dad has a new complaint, all the dr. does is write another prescription. especially considering the fact that his stupid prescriptions are most likely what put him in the ER in the first place, i think most people would understand why my mom is hesitant to call him. ok, so the ER doctor says they will assign him a doctor from that hospital, and then he can be admitted. about another half an hour goes by and a young girl comes in to move us out of room 4 into some kind of waiting room thing. you know - pretty much where they just line you up with everyone else on stretchers. my mom asked the girl if she knew how long we'd be waiting in there, since we'd already been there for over 5 hours. she tells us that they are just cleaning his room, and as soon as it's ready, he'll go up. i'm pretty sure that's what they told the girl, but that was of course bullshit, too. after we'd been in there for an hour, i go ask the lady behind the counter in there if she knows what we're waiting on. "i have no idea, you're going to have to go ask the doctor." thanks, ms. no-fucking-help-at-all. oh, and a bit of compassion would have been a nice gesture, too. so i go wander around and find mr. moron ER doctor. "oh we're waiting on the doctor to get here. she has to see him before he can be admitted." "ok, so do you have any idea when this doctor might show up?" "no, she has many patients to see." really? wow. i would have never guessed that. fucker. eventually this doctor did show up and then we got to go through the whole question & answer session that we've already gone through with two nurses (the one who was on duty when we first got to the ER, and then the one who came on duty after the first one left) and the ER doctor. name, date of birth, health conditions, medications, etc. every single one of these people was writing this information down. even if they needed to keep it for their own personal records or whatever, has nobody there heard of a copy machine? jesus christ.

so another hour goes by after the doctor has seen him. i see her (the doctor) sitting behind the counter, so i go ask her if she knows what we're waiting on now. "no, you will have to ask the nurse." "who is the nurse?" "whoever was around here..." i point down the hall to ms. no-fucking-help-at-all who is on social hour - "her? the one in the purple?" the doctor leans over the counter - "yes, she is the person you need to ask." oh fucking great. so as much as i don't want to, i go ask her, again, if she knows what we're waiting on now that the doctor has actually seen my father. "well, he has to be admitted first before he can get a room." i swear to god, i wanted to kill someone at this point. "do you have any idea when he might get admitted?!" then she tells me, in her so far typical bitchy fashion, that there are no beds, so we will have to wait for someone to get discharged first. i seriously felt like i was going to completely lose control, so i just turned around and walked away.

on one of my trips outside to walk around & smoke, and to calm down so that i didn't kill someone, i noticed a sign on the wall about "we're here to help!" and all that bullshit and it had instructions for you to follow if you had any complaints. the first thing it says to do is 'contact the unit director'. i had gone back and told my mother what ms. purple bitch told me and we're both just like "so now what? it's already after 11pm. they're going to discharge someone at midnight?" my mother worked in a hospital for like 17 years and she knows that it's not usual for people to get discharged at those kind of hours. sure, they do it, especially if there truly is a bed crisis, but i'm just saying that hearing that wasn't much comfort to us. after i sat there & stewed for another half hour or so, i told my mom that i was going to go make a ruckus. heh, it sounds so stupid now, but those were my actual words. i went and found stupid ER doctor and asked him who the 'unit director' was. apparently this question boggled his mind. i asked several other of the people milling about "does nobody here know who the unit director is?" ms. purple bitch chimes in with "unit director? what do you mean?" "i mean the DIRECTOR of this UNIT." i still just got blank stares. then mr. moron ER doctor says "well, basically i am running this unit." again i felt like i was going to explode, so i just said "well, you sure aren't running it very well." and walked away.

as is typical of me when i get that worked up emotionally and then feel completely defeated - you know, like i can't possibly do anything else - i just start crying. i told my mom what had been said, etc., and then mr. ER doctor comes along saying "it's out of our hands now." "ok, so if it's out of your hands, whose hands have it now?" "what?" ARGH. "if you have no control over this situation now, can you please direct me to the person who does?" i was trying my best not to yell at him. lord knows i wouldn't want to work in an ER. i know he had other sick people to deal with. but come on, couldn't he at least try to be helpful? "nobody has control of it now." "what?!" "well you know, we send to admitting and then we can't control it." "i understand what you're trying to say. i am not trying to accuse you of anything. i realize that maybe you personally cannot solve this problem. my point is, someone can. can you tell me where admitting is so that i could maybe go explain the situation to them?" the he mouths off with something about not trying to upset me, and he knows it's late and that tempers get flared, but that i could talk to the CEO of the hospital and still not get anything resolved. looking back, i really should have fucking yelled at him then and told him to go get the goddamned CEO. i was so frazzled i don't really know what i said, but something like "ok. so you just throw it up into the air and hope that someone fixes it? that's a pretty fucked up way to run a business."

then guess what happens? not more than five minutes later, mr. ER doctor comes in and says "he's been admitted and has a room. someone will be here in a few minutes to take you up." can you believe that? miraculously, within that five minute time frame someone got discharged, my dad got admitted, and got a room assigned for him that was clean and ready for him to go to. shortly thereafter, a nice lady came and took us up to the room. the room was not clean. i mean, it wasn't like gross dirty, but there was stuff on the floor, the bed hadn't even been made yet, and there was still stuff on the little white board thing that was probably from the patient who'd been in there prior to him. i guarantee you that they were just so fucking sick of me that they were probably like "just give him a room! any room! just get her the fuck out of here!" assholes. as much as i hate being that person, i just have to say - hey, whatever works. then we had to wait for the nurse that works that ward or whatever to come, and thankfully she showed up pretty quickly. we had to do the whole question & answer thing again with her, but she was very understanding and patient with us. it was just like she knew that we'd been up there worrying ourselves to death for half the day, and it was ok that we were frustrated. she was really nice to both me & my mom. my dad was already passed out - he had been for a while, so once we got done with all the paperwork crap, we left. we got to the hospital that day around 5pm, and it was after 1am when we left. we were also both very hungry, so we stopped off on the way home & got some breakfast tacos. we came home, ate, and pretty much promptly passed out.

considering how long this frigging entry is, and that i've only covered one day ... ugh. i think several entries may be in order. i'm still wide awake, too, even though i have important things to do tomorrow. i don't think i've ever written this much in here. i just c&p'ed this into ms word (removed all the tags - i love you bbedit) and it's way over 2500 words. i wonder if dland will say "bollocks to you and your freaking book!" we'll see.