Patient X is being released into my care this evening after major surgery at the beginning of the month. Discharge was repeatedly delayed by post-op illness and absolute idiocy on the part of doctors arguing over proper procedure. It took them nearly a week to discover that he had not one, but two separate infections. Thank G-d for Infectious Disease Specialists who put their foot down. #Respect Of course, the fact that I called the head of the hospital and informed them that discharging a cardiac patient with an infection is grounds for a lawsuit might very well have secured his bed for an additional three days. For the record, I try never to use the word “lawsuit”, except when it pertains to protecting my family’s health, their rights, or rights in general that may be in a violation type of situation. I know people who throw the word around way too often for no reason. It shouldn’t be used lightly.

I’m nervous about taking care of him for eight weeks (twelve if there are any setbacks) while he isn’t allowed to drive or do much, except the most basic things. For the next two months, the heaviest thing he can lift is a gallon of milk. In 4-6 weeks, longer if insurance delays it, he is supposed to have a second procedure done to ensure that his heart returns to 100% in terms of function. It’s a procedure that should only take a few days. The surgeon informed me that one or more procedures may need to be re-done in 25 years. However, this surgery has given my brother a new lease on life. Never before this absolute wake-up call would he have agreed to quit smoking or make healthier choices in regard to his health. It is sad that it had to come to something so severe, but I am determined to do what I can to make sure he heals properly and adheres to this new “heart healthy” lifestyle. It’s a serious change, but if he wants to live longer than either of our parents did (the situations were, obviously, quite different), then he is going to have to do his level best to commit.

Open heart surgery is rough. I would not wish this on my worst enemy. Hearing him struggle to breathe, cough, and move makes me ill. Knowing that his vocal cords need additional time to heal, along with his heart and wounds, just plain saddens me. That a single soul would tell me to leave for my move and let him recover alone pisses me off. I thank G-d this happened when I was physically in a position to do something to help and was not hundreds or thousands of miles away. In a situation like this, you do not want to get the dreaded phone call. Every time the phone rings and it’s the hospital, I get ill. Once he is released to me as a “patient”, he probably won’t be too thrilled, but he has already said he’s just so happy to be alive that he doesn’t care what I say or do. We’ll see how long that lasts.

I am sure I will utterly lose my head when I find out the total of the roughly fifteen prescriptions he’s going to have to take, only some of which are for the next six months. His surgeon assured him that nearly everything was cheap because they’re generics, but someone ought to clue the doctor in that even Walmart has a list of medications that are on their list of drugs they’ll cover for $4-$10, based on the number of pills and how long it’s prescribed for, but that the others are nowhere near the word “cheap”. The cost of medication in this country is utterly insane, but it’s right up there with the cost of healthcare, one of the biggest rackets on the planet. There is no possible way not to get a headache dealing with the drama.

Over the weekend I received the first bill for two separate tests they ran when he was admitted last month. The physicians who billed will have to whistle Dixie while dead before they see a penny from me. Process that shit to the insurance company, don’t send it to a third-party who isn’t a legal guardian. I am not allowed to stress out Patient X, lest he tear something inside his chest, so I haven’t told him about the bill. I won’t be telling him about any that come. I’m just going to get on the phone quietly and handle what needs to be handled. If you hear about me on the news, don’t be surprised.

As of this evening I will start accepting all gifts of alcohol (or dark chocolate) because I am almost certain my new “water bottle” is going to have vodka in it the second he whines or complains about anything I do. He texted me this morning to make sure his ginger ale would be “ice cold” for his arrival. Tomorrow I get to make Jello and pudding, like a proper little Real Housewife from Hell. 😛 If I get hit by a vehicle this week, it may or may not have been of my own volition. On a good day, there’s only so much bullshit I can take. On a bad day, well, you don’t want to know what I’m like on a bad day.

In preparation for all the fun I’m about to have tonight, and in the weeks to follow, I may or may not attempt to drown myself in the shower. But first, I need to find Cat and Kitten and get some unconditional love. I open their cans; they know where their bread is buttered. LOL. Is it too late for a straitjacket?

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