Delighted you're home. I know it'll give your batteries a good recharge!

G'morning, Robby!

My husband has had the unenviable experience more than once of having serious problems that were difficult to diagnose. We've found that doctors like to keep people in hospitals because it's convenient for them, and they don't think of the hospital as being a stressful and draining place. They want patients who are stable but whose treatment is unclear to hang around, maybe have a lot of unnecessary tests, get poked prodded & bothered all night -- while they talk and decide what to do. Why can't you wait on that in a comfortable & healthy environment? Doctors just don't see it that way naturally, until they've been in the situation themselves from the other side.

I think it was a great decision to come home!
http://www.smiley-lol.com/smiley/sai...e/sunshine.gif

Give me an "R". Give me an "O" . . . .

:cheer

Give me an "M". Give me an "E" . . . .

:cheer

So happy for you two.

:nyy

I guess, when in ROME...

Good morning Robby and Melissa! Is there anything better than sleeping in your own bed after being away for a while? :)
Have a lovely day you two!

Glad your happy & that your home Robby

Robbie, it's great to hear that you're home!

I thought of when in Rome from SL post too. I went this way with it
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5HI_xFQWiYU

Have a good day all.

Hi Robby, Melissa.

Happy you're home and together.

A supervisor I had while in training and doing a geriatric rotation referred to hospitals as "housing for the sick." Her orientation was to get people back up on their feet and out of the hospital as soon as possible. "Hospitals are no place for people who are ill." She was, herself, nearly seventy years old at the time.

Your going AWOL also reminds me of an episode from my own life, within a very different context.

I had one night called my brother after drinking all day, which was what I did back then. He's a doctor, and I asked him what the most reliable method of suicide was. He responded that he was interested in helping people to go on living, rather than helping them to die.

Within an hour of the phone call, police and EMTs arrived at my apartment. They were prepared to break down the door, but I managed to open it on my own before that was necessary. They told me in no uncertain terms that they were taking me to the hospital, by force, if necessary. I reached for a desk drawer to get my wallet, and the cops converged on me. I imagine that this was part of their training, and that they needed to be prepared in the event that I was reaching for a weapon, whether to use against them or myself.

It was summertime, and I was dressed in shorts, T-shirt and sandals. I was given a great deal of attention after I was escorted to the hospital. Millions of questions about me wanting to kill myself, prior history, and everything else that I had previously trained people to talk about in such circumstances. Though I knew what to say in order to get released -- I just wanted to be left alone and get back to my bottle -- I was certain that they were going to hold me overnight.

A young woman, I think a nursing assistant, was assigned to me, to ensure that I wouldn't do anything crazy. I was sitting relatively close to the sliding doors of the ER, and timed it so that I could escape through the doors when the time was right. When the woman assigned to me stepped not that far away from me for a moment, I knew it was time, and made a break for the door. Here I am, drunk, wearing flip-flops, and at least superficially suicidal, running for my life. I could see the exit gate to the hospital moving nearer, and my only thoughts were getting through the gate, hailing a cab, making my getaway, and then drinking myself into oblivion when I got home.

Seemingly out of nowhere, this EMS truck is gunning its engine behind me, pulls up and then cuts me off. Out of the truck hops this guy who must've been about 6'4" tall and maybe 300 pounds. He had a huge grin on his face as he effortlessly lifted me up off the pavement, and said, "You ain't goin' anywhere."

I was then forced to trade in my getaway gear for a hospital gown which would ostensibly lower the odds that I'd make another mad dash for the exit. Besides, my wallet was in my shorts with all the money I had, so I wouldn't have been able to buy booze unless I returned to the ER to collect my belongings. I brought it with me in the first place so that I could immediately make my way to the liquor store and pick up some more booze after I was released.

So now they had no choice but to keep me overnight. I was pleading with them to let me go home, and their only response was that I'd have to be cleared by a psychiatrist first which, for ER personnel is code for "you're not going anywhere until tomorrow, at the earliest."

I was then "interviewed" by a very young social worker to assess suicidality in my stripped-bare room in a holding area in the psych department. I knew I wasn't going to sleep/pass out without more booze, so I decided to play the game about suicidal thoughts on my part. I had over twenty years of martial arts training at the time, and told her that even with the sparsely appointed room I was in, there were things in the room I could use as weapons to kill myself. I'm sure I scared the hell out of her, but I was otherwise resigned to my fate. During the early and later hours of that morning, I spent my time plotting to steal the unit nurse's purse while she was not looking. I was unemployment at the time, and money for booze was not always available. (I eventually stopped paying my rent to make up for the discrepancy.) The reason I didn't go for her purse was that the odds were stacked against me, and had I been caught, I may have been forced to stay longer and/or faced criminal charges.

So the psychiatrist evaluates me and makes a strong recommendation for inpatient detox which a immediately dismiss. I wasn't ready to stop. He pretty much has to let me go, and so I collect my things, make my way to the liquor store, and pick up where I left off prior to this impolite and untimely intrusion of my efforts to kill myself slowly. I also stopped at a McDonald's -- which I detest -- across from the ER and forced down some partly solid partly liquified mess that was being passed off as part of their "breakfast menu." So I was good to go.

Things inevitably got much worse for me, as I started scoping about buildings near where I lived from which I could take my final leap. ER personnel referred me to a counseling facility at discharge that I discovered no longer existed -- I was interested in getting a script for benzos by complying with therapy sessions, and not getting help to get sober. The only buildings that had windows that you could open and to which I could gain access were either not tall enough, or only granted access to the lower floors. I was convinced that had I jumped from these buildings that I would be paralyzed for the rest of my life. Instead, I finally got some help to get sober, not because I wanted to stop drinking, but because I could no longer function on my own.

The moral of the story? Look before you leap. :faint

So glad you are home Robby :) I hope you are having a great first day back.

Good evening, Rob! I hope your first day home was a peaceful. Is it good to be back amid your familiar comforts? I honestly can't imagine how you must be feeling -- I'd guess there must be new waves of internally responding to all the recent changes in your expectations for life -- for you and Melissa. Cognitive dissonance to the maximum, rinse-and-repeat.

How are you eating? A hamburger today?

Wow. Thanks guys. I'm still catching up on some real sleep. No place like your own bed thing happening. I'm really doing so much better. I'll be back to posting late tonight I'm thinking.

You guys. So caring and loving. I'm really soaking it up and it's all so helpful. :hug:

:)

You deserve nothing but the best, Rob.

Evening Rob,
Yeah, being home in your own bed is in itself therapeutic - modern techno hospitals are such draining places to be for any length of time. Even if one can't be at home for treatment, I'd always fancied the old notion of lounging about in one of those sanitaria set in the mountains or by a lake or something, with gardens and such. (Sigh...often feel I've been born into entirely the wrong era.)

And now you're home, sounds as if your place can be your lovely sanitarium.
xx Vic

Ja, Rob and Melissa,
hahaHA
you deserve all of us :)


must be the association of 'home is where the heart is' that makes me keep thinking of this: "where your treasure is there will your heart be also."

Hi friends. :)

Okay. I made the choice Thursday morning for leaving the hospital in the wee hours after midnight same day. I was just so heart broken with myself, and for myself, and for my Melissa. After my upper left side being disconnected from the drainage box on the previous weekend, the only reason to be still in the hospital thereafter was to initiate chemo and see how I handled it. As it turns out, they still had no consensus of starting chemo this past week, and even into next week. It was also decided to not inform me unless I demanded such information, as they felt I had enough on my plate.

Since I had not received any updates, I kind of knew nothing had really changed, and that they were still being cautious about my infection. The only way to shake things up was to demand discharge, which put the consequences of such action on my shoulders. So when the resident visited for his normal morning rounds I confronted him with my choice for discharge. He resisted at first, even wanting to go thru the weekend into next week, again hanging the chemotherapy carrot for my wonderment if I would only be patient.

This time I refused to play and said to hell with whatever they were promising, I officially registered my complaint against my medical oncologist (the doctor who actually specifies the chemotherapy for me) for not being forthcoming with me about any action plan for chemo therapy since my PET scan results, known to me on April 27th indicated my cancer was incurable. My oncologist simply decided it was best to just let me deal with my chest infection well into the month of May, and set up a meeting in early June to discuss chemotherapy. It *appears* my oncologist is "old school trained" and decided the best place for me was in hospital so they could best monitor my progress and proceed with chemo at the best earliest opportunity. The problem with their strategy was it amounted to a plan of care which I had not actually been consulted with, and so, not actually had received my agreement.

So when I demanded to be released it really made it obvious they had not duly informed me, and so this is what has created the special meeting for Tuesday May 19th. The direct consequences of their carelessness is they have violated their responsibility to being transparent and to respect the assumed trust relationship between patient and doctor. It is now their responsibility to restore that relationship and to nurture my trust in their ability to manage my health. My feelings at this point is my medical oncologist has her work cut out for her to regain my trust. And so of course, I don't have to be under the care of a doctor I don't trust, and I now have their full attention.

We shall see what happens on Tuesday. There is a pool of medical oncologists. I was simply assigned the one I now have. So, I've already assured the cancer center I will have an open mind, but what has happened will not be ignored. Anyways, I'm much more interested in my better health than in winning an intellectual position in a useless argument. If she is "old school" however, I will be requesting a more approachable oncologist. Old school here means of course back in the day when cancer patients simply waited on their doctors orders.

So there it is. The thing that had angered me is the unprofessional assumption by the hospital that my being home is not the better choice, when in fact it is entirely the better choice, since I'm now getting exactly the same antibiotics at home, administrated by a computerized pump, into my PICC line as I was in hospital. In fact the pump is of a better design and quality. A nurse comes out every 24hrs and changes out the fluid bags and checks my dressings and connections etc. It seems the majority of terminal patients prefer the supervision of medical environments over what their own home offers. Well, not me, lol.

I've already moved on over the whole craziness of last week, since of course my being home has already proven itself to be far better. :)

I hope they do you right and gain your trust back. I'm sure if it's better for you mentally to be home it can only be better for you overall.

Robby,
Gosh, sounds like a lot of NO communication. Not sure of your location and what cancer centers are available. Is this the best place in your area? And forgive me, if you mentioned it earlier but have you received any second opinions on your treatment. I just hate to see you get the run around at this point.

At least your home,
Puffy

Sounds absolutely the right decision to me.

Have a restful weekend together, lots of love and light from me to you ❤️❤️❤️

I'm very glad you're home, and glad that you made the doctors stand up and take notice.