K.M. Frontain's Blog, page 5
December 18, 2013
Seriously. You got to endure hospitals. As much as they m...
Seriously. You got to endure hospitals. As much as they may exist to save your life, they also exist to prod, poke, puncture and piss you off.
Xarelto: it can save your life while trying to kill it.
This is a very new drug. Its greatest plus point, unlike with warfarin or heparin, are that regular blood tests are not required in order to adjust medication, therefore patients the doctor conceives to be good risks can be sent home to recuperate from their near miss morgue visit. Down side, and possibly an issue many doctors are ignoring as not an issue at all: if someone is prone to bleeding, she will bleed more.
Why do I say that doctors are ignoring the bleeding issue? Because women bleed, don’t they? They bleed monthly, and if they bleed more than monthly for whatever reason, they bleed in floods on Xarelto.
Waves hand! Hello, Doctor! I did warn you! Here I am again. Almost dead.
Right now, during the early stages of this drug use on the general public, be warned, ladies. You’re part of the experiment and your particular monthly issues are going to be shunted off as ignorable because the doctors are hoping you won’t have a reaction. They will send you home in any case. So be very wise and read up on all the issues with this medication. The doctors are not going to discuss them nearly as fully as they should with you.
After toughing more than a week of copious bleeding that I shall not describe, I was in hospital again and had to have two blood transfusions before I keeled over permanently. To make the insult worse, I was left to sit in the waiting room for five hours after I showed up because I was not deemed to be in serious condition by the triage nurse, who was told I had pulmonary embolisms less than half a month earlier and that I had issues with menorrhagia prior to the pulmonary embolisms incident. I was not given a bed until I showed up before the nurse again and insisted they give me one before I passed out.
I was treated as a person who exaggerates. Up until they took the first blood test, two to three more hours after getting a cot to rest on, and they got the blood test results back, after two or three more hours again, I was still treated like an exaggerator. Of all things, they wanted to see my pad. This after I warned them that I stopped taking the Xarelto before arriving because it was making me bleed too much. So of course I had nothing to show them like I had prior to stopping the Xarelto on my own.
The blood test, which should have been done at once, was the test they should have used an indicator of my condition, not the stupid pads. I’m still pissed off about that. All during the stay, “Let us see your pad.” Stupid! The condition changed as soon as the Xarelto left my system.
However, the damage to my system was proved by the blood test, which showed a haemaglobin count down to 70. Normal range is 120 to 160 g/L. In less than two weeks, I bled out to almost half of the lower limit.
After this, I acquired punctures and bruises all over my arms, these from multiple blood tests and more than one IV drip. By the end of my stay, I had a haematoma four inches long and two inches wide on the transfusion arm (foreign blood can hurt you and it can also kill you if you get anaphylactic shock from any one of the transfusions received). And the nurses still wanted to see my pad. Heparin, ladies, doesn’t make you bleed as bad as Xarelto. Your pad won’t show anything but normal bleeding.
And despite warning every nurse that my veins in my elbow area don’t do well for blood tests (because they collapse very easily), more than half the nurses thought to perforate my skin there, thinking the vein looked and felt fine, but then they’d wiggle the needle around trying to puncture a non-cooperative vein. Each time, the pain shot down my arm to my fingers. If I wasn’t so weak, I’d have punched the nurses. Except I had this IV drip in the other arm at the time. Kinda hurt to move that arm. Every one of these non-listening nurses was surprised to discover that taking blood in my hands or wrists hardly bothered me at all. Well, duh. It didn’t hurt like shoving their torture devices into my elbow and wriggling the damned needle in a useless search for an already injured vein!
What is the inner side of the elbow area called anyhow? I’ve been wondering since, so I can say, “Don’t touch me there!” In French. Maudites infirmières. My French isn’t perfect, but that doesn’t mean everything I say should be placed in the ‘maybe not factual’ category.
It didn’t help that the old woman one bed over was actually not factual, I suppose. By the end of my stay, I couldn’t decide if she was somehow hedging her bets by not once giving the doctor a single straight answer to any question or if she was stupid. Or just stupid. Or very stupid.
The only thing that saved me from being irritated with all old women after my visit was that the doctors in charge were also women, women who obviously were able to state things in a factual and concise manner and probably would well into their nineties.
And what is the use of making the doctor fumble around in the dark trying to figure what is wrong with you? Not that they were in the actual dark. I meant that figuratively. This old woman would take more than a minute to answer a question and each answer resulted in no answer at all. She was the second old woman I witnessed do this. What the hell? What do they hope to gain by not answering precisely? They think the doctor will give them better treatment if they don’t state the symptoms specifically?
At the end of a long drawn out conversation, because of this old woman not answering while pretending to answer, I was wide awake at 3 in the morning. The doctor was simply trying to discover why this old lady couldn’t urinate. At one point, the doctor gave a basic description of a prolapsed uterus to this old woman, just in case this old woman might recognize the symptoms. But no. The old woman, in a querulous voice asks, “You think my uterus prolapsed?” At which point the doctor hastily back tracks and says, “No, no, don’t worry about that.” Doctor then cuts short the useless interview and leaves to give instructions to the nurses. One minute later, old woman pushes the bell just to say to the two nurses who arrive at her bed, “The doctor says I have a prolapsed uterus.”
The nurses, one of them a man, were very patient, acknowledged her without committing to an agreement with this pronouncement, and left her to rest again. Meanwhile I’m staring at the ceiling saying “What the fuck, old woman!” in my head.
All this was occurring in French, by the way.
Meanwhile, here I was, stating exactly what hurts me and what works and what is happening, and I was disbelieved until the blood test that should have happened the hour I arrived. I had a monster headache by the end of the five hours sitting in a chair when I had no strength to sit upright for long spells. So on top of being very very weak, I was in a lot of pain too. Acetominophen did not help. Eventually a suppository did. Yay…. Ew! But it did work, whatever it was. Some eight hours after I originally told them the headache was there and not going away with acetominophen.
Right now, remembering all this, I’m feeling very irritated all over again. I do not exaggerate my pain. Ever. Obviously I under-report it, or I wouldn’t have showed up with a haemoglobin count that low.
What did I learn this time: to insist on a blood test within the hour because 1) history of menorrhagia and 2) Xarelto, and 3) had transfusions for same before.
What am I doing now because of how I was treated? I’m actually refusing to get a blood test too soon, because up until yesterday I was still on Xarelto twice a day. I also had to have a biopsy that started the bleeding worse (yes, I am still bleeding; even large progesterone doses are not stopping it). Now that I’m on Xarelto once a day, the bleeding has slowed. Now that it slowed, the iron supplements may finally have a chance to work, which means that I may have a blood test showing that I’m still at 90 g/L at the very least and the doctors won’t be impatient to shove me on a table for any other painful procedures caused by giving me Xarelto without also making sure my bleeding slowed sufficiently that first week of using it.
Every bad thing that happened to me since the pulmonary embolisms, including those, were the result of doctors making easy choices instead of the wiser and less dangerous choices that might take longer to have a result. Short cuts, ladies, can kill you. Doctors do not always give the best answers, and rushed doctors don’t always follow your progress properly. So get educated. You may, like me, have to save your own life by making your own decisions about a medication. I stopped the Xarelto prior to leaving for the hospital, weighing the risk of bleeding out or getting a clot in the heart or brain. Given the amount of bleeding, I seriously doubted I’d get a clot anywhere significant if I skipped my meds. I probably saved myself from dropping lower than 70 g/L and kept myself ambulatory, but unfortunately, that left me wide open to the “old women aren’t actually factual” syndrome, all because my pad wasn’t showing what I described happening over the last week.
Damn, but I feel like punching faces right now. Still pissed how I was doubted during my stay. I even said the bleeding isn’t the same because, hey, no Xarelto in the system! I stopped taking it! It was making me bleed!
So yeah, I sort of understand why that old woman didn’t want to answer one way or the other. Maybe, being eighty something instead of fifty something, she experienced thirty extra years of being treated as a thing with a ‘can’t be factual’ label tagged to her existence simply because she was a woman in a hospital complaining of an ailment.
I have to wonder, will those lady doctors get the same ‘can’t be factual’ label once they are old and infirm too? Is it endemic in the medical system to disbelieve a patient, even after a patient proved they say exactly what they mean?
November 30, 2013
My tweets
November 29, 2013
The owl mouse and other nice stuff
Here we have an owl mouse discovered in the hills and valleys of my blanket last Tuesday evening. As you can see, it's a shadowy little thing. I grabbed my tablet when I saw it, and sketched it out as best I could.
I'm resting up. Most of my activity comprises lung exercises, small walks back forth to the kitchen, doing the dishes until I tire, a bit of laundry folding while seated. I avoid the stairs. I still get dizzy at the top.
I had some lovely reviews prior to my adventure last Monday, the 'lungs are brilliant little clot sponges that can save your life long enough to get to a doctor' adventure. Provided, of course, the clots aren't large enough to go ploof, straight into the main artery and plug it. Mine was a happier adventure. (Ooo, the understatement.)
Where was I? Reviews. Forgive me if I forget to mention any, I'm a bit out of it still.
On November 5th, fawne left a review on Redemption 2.
http://www.amazon.com/product-reviews/B0075HCX8S/
On November 11, Paul Squassoni left a wonderful review for Omos of the Ether, and on the 13th, another for The Pearl.
http://www.amazon.com/product-reviews/B00BFFDCX6/
http://www.amazon.com/product-reviews/B0098ASFRS/
Over on Amazon.UK, I was surprised to discover an absolutely beautiful review for Redemption 3 written by S. Hopwood. I had a review back in September I don't think I announced. The iron deficiency was doing in my concentration back then. It's by ryerye. It's on the same link.
Thank you, everyone, very very much. Your kindness has been my lighter moments during my 'what doesn't kill me pisses me off' adventure. I can't boot kick the ass of iron deficiency or a pulmonary embolism (or five of them), so I've been very zen despite the inconvenience. I think.
I'm off to look for more owl mice in my blanket. I know there are more. The cat is very concerned.
Oh! I've started the tie-in chapter where Ureil momentarily abandons Umer because Qirmiz visits him at last. The scene has gone very well. I'm on the 'Qirmiz is with Ureil' scene next. There may be a bit of boot kicking.
November 26, 2013
My tweets
November 25, 2013
A story of this weekend and Monday
Ok. So she got her iron. She took her everything-will-not-be-too-solid medicine. Then she was scheduled for another medical rendezvous. A biopsy was required. Torture. There wasn't enough tissue for the sample because, points finger, menorrhagia. Doctor tries again. Torture. And again. Torture. Doctor gives up.
After torture is done and shaky woman sits up, options are discussed to prevent menorrhagia. Option most prevalent: the birth control pill. Woman has avoided it like the plague. Yep, doesn't like the 1 in 10 000 kill odds. Doesn't like chemical Russian roulette. Doesn't like corporate fuck-wads who are satisfied with any mortality statistics for their products. Thinks fuck-wads should take their own medicine.
But she has menorrhagia. The iron deficiency was bad. She had most of the symptoms, except dead. She accepts a prescription for a low strength hormone pill.
Two months later. She notices a feeling like a pulled muscle in her right buttock. Twelve hours later, feels like someone kicked her in the ass (probably some corporate fuck-wad). Next morning, she can't breathe right. Feels like IBS is causing bloat. She doesn't eat for twelve hours. Gotta breathe.
But the mini-fast doesn't result in improved breathing. Feels like when she had pneumonia. Sort of. Not quite the same. Different lung. Maybe it's the cold everyone in the house is having. Maybe.
She looks suspiciously at the last two pills in her tiny pink envelope of chemical Russian roulette and she stops taking them. Just in case. Later, she takes acetylsalicylic acid instead of the usual ibuprofen. Because of the pain. And just in case. Ibuprofen doesn't thin the blood. But ASA does.
Not much later, she wakes up with pain in her left shoulder like she just broke it again. Except she did that four years ago. Hurts like hell. Can't sleep. Pain has moved down in the left kidney area too. She's now running a mild fever.
Off to hospital with her personal hero (husband).
Nurses discover woman with blood pressure 141/98. Heart beat is a speedy 122. ECG is a bit ragged until woman calms down from all the poking, prodding, exposure, and rectal temperature reading. Then it looks like any old ECG.
Doctor in lucky black medical outfit (way nicer than white) is suspicious. Has woman's chest X-rayed. Looks like pneumonia. Woman has the white blood cell count to support this diagnosis.
But Doctor (a woman) is still suspicious. Ships patient off to another hospital with an MRI. But Doctor gives woman a strong blood thinner and Naproxen to reduce inflammation prior to departure.
Woman has her first ambulance ride. She's wrapped in a blanket like a papoose, strapped down and gets a floaty space ride on a gurney through hospital corridors. Ambulance ride is kinda comforting (because of the papoose treatment) and interesting (because of the world receding away from her--she's facing the rear ambulance windows). She's a little zoned out from sleep deprivation.
MRI is endured despite breathlessness. While waiting for the results, the Naproxen at last soothes the inflammation and woman can get a full lungful of air at last. MRI doctor arrives and says she has five pulmonary embolisms. Two in one lung, three in the other.
Woman is thinking, "Thank you for not dying today, tough old body."
Woman has second ever ambulance ride back to first hospital. But it's dark and she can't see much. Ride sucks a little. Ambulances are better in daylight.
The current outcome of taking corporate fuck-wads' chemical Russian roulette, the short cut to solving menorrhagia? Almost being one of their acceptable mortality statistics.
And now woman must take a blood thinner that could make her spontaneously bleed from anywhere in her body. This on top of having menorrhagia.
Okay. She's got five telephones around the house, and she doesn't mind ambulance rides (especially in sunlight). She'll take the blood thinner, the Naproxen, the heartburn medication for the Naproxen and the antibiotic for the opportunistic pneumonia.
Woman is sent home with her personal hero (who has kept her company and chatted with medical workers all day and made them laugh). Doctor in lucky black medical suit tells woman no more birth control pills ever again. Well, of course.
And now she's home. With circles all over her chest from the ECG electrodes. Because she's allergic to the glue. If anyone is unfortunate enough to see them, she'll say a land octopus attacked her. She killed it after a momentous battle involving Christmas tinsel.
And that's the story of this woman's worrisome weekend and hospital Monday.
Personal hero is making her a grilled cheese sandwich. Will update later.
November 23, 2013
My tweets
November 19, 2013
My tweets
November 18, 2013
After many days fiddling with paragraphs
Kehfrey/Herfod/Qirmiz Ylf, fanart by Ambra based on one of my characters in The Soulstone Chronicles.
I think finally I have the opening scene of Redemption 4 smoothed out and showing what it needs to show. It was a very fiddly scene. I have in one storage room ( a big closet, ha ha) about fourteen or so people having a group/family meeting with Qirmiz. This scene directly follows the end of book three in the set. Lots of characters want to talk and say their piece before Qirmiz up and disappears on them, which he does.
It’s a relief to have this scene finalized, because I am one step closer to meshing the former end of Redemption 3 with the new beginning of Redemption 4 and making the final book in this set. And hopefully I won’t need to do another big family meeting scene anytime soon, though I can foresee a few, not to mention Divine Council meetings and what not.
October 14, 2013
Oh, yeah! I wrote that... heh, heh... um...
This is funny. I had a comment on an earlier blog post that included a joke about an ogre in an outhouse. I did not recognise it as a phrase from my own work. But today, while doing cross checks for Redemption 4, I came across the ogre joke in Gryphon 2. I laughed. At me in particular.
This is not the first time I have done this. I always have to reread at least the previous novel in a set to get the feel of the story again, and I often have to find references in much earlier books in the series to keep ‘facts’ straight. For me, the sensation is similar to reading a book a second or third time. I don’t remember exact quotes, and that resulted in a little surprise, where my own words were quoted for humour and I didn’t recognise them. The same forgetfulness has the bonus benefit of letting me laugh at or delight in my own prose when I come across something I did well.
I think this mechanism is at work when we reread favourite books in our collections. Unless we have absolutely perfect memories, we travel through a familiar story with a sense of deja vu, but do so appreciating the prose anew. And stuff we may not have focused on the first time pops out better on second and third readings.
The crosschecking is very much necessary for this last reason. I don’t expect readers to pick up on my little hints the first time through a novel, but darn, I like to give a person an ‘Oh, that’s right!’ moment on the next trip through my series.
I love books like that, books that make you perk up and notice the twisted little details.
But it also means a lot of rereading for me when I set up subsequent novels in the series.
Yes. I have been working on my series. (:
