Monday

Some days are just that way. . .

I got up with a sense of just not feeling good.  And as I got Cecilia up and showered, I was aware that my Nettie girl wasn’t feeling a bit good either.  Except that what I had was most definitely bronchitis, and what she had was all about the Carpal Tunnel Surgery that she had almost four weeks ago.

Nettie is schizophrenic.  She has a healthy dose of hypochondria as well.  So it has been difficult to know just how badly this hand is hurting.  But from day one, she has said, “It hurts.  It hurts real bad!”  And then she would go ahead and do whatever she could possibly do to help.  (Make beds, dust, or whatever).

I would say, “Nettie, on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the worst possible pain, what number would you give it?”

“TEN!” Would always be the immediate reply.

But yesterday morning, she was standing around, holding it at an angle, looking like she could hardly keep back the tears.  “It hurts!  It hurts real bad!”  I looked at her face.  It was white.  “Mary Ann, I can’t make my bed!” she moaned.  “It just hurts too bad!”

I had just had it checked on Friday for the third time since surgery, and the doctor had given little more than a perfunctory glance at the steri strips holding the wound together and had announced, “It’s looking good.  Come back in five days and we’ll check it again.  But I think it looks great!”

So I called yesterday morning to his office, and was told that he wouldn’t be in until Tuesday afternoon, and no, nobody in the office could see her, and that I should just take her to the Emergency Room.  With my hacking cough and general unwell feeling, I really didn’t want to do that, so I appealed to them on several things that I felt had been done sloppily by their office during this whole affair, and they finally said that they would try to get ahold of Dr. Robinson.

I got off the phone and when I went to talk to Nettie, she was having trouble even communicating with me.  I said, “Nettie-girl, we are going to take off those steri strips and see what that incision looks like under there.”  (It didn’t look too bad around the dressing, so I thought maybe the nerve in there was just “waking up” or something.)  I carefully peeled back the strips and this fountain of liquid and pus came pouring out of the incision.

“It hurts!” Intoned Nettie again.  “It hurts real bad.  I can’t open my hand.  I can’t make a fist.  It just hurts!”

“We are going to the hospital, Nettie,”  I told her.  “I don’t like the looks of that.”

So I bundled myself and her into the trusty van and headed out to the hospital.  I told them at the front desk that I really hoped that things could move along as I was ill, too, and didn’t want to stick around there very long.

“Well, do you want to be seen, too?  We can see you as well,” said the clerk.

“No, I’ve already been in contact with my doctor,” I said.  “Besides.  Why should I spend 10 hours in this emergency room when I could only spend five?”  (I don’t think he liked that very much!)

We got to the hospital at 10:00 yesterday morning.  I got home last night around 5:30.  Nettie was admitted around 4:30 with a nasty case of cellulitis in her incision.  The treatment?  A minimum of 24-36 hours on IV antibiotics, and the a reevaluation to determine the treatment from there.  It DID hurt.  Really bad.

I picked up my antibiotics on the way home from the hospital.  It is my intention to get better as fast as I can.  Tomorrow night, we have meetings starting at our church with Simon Schrock from Choice Books as our speaker.  He is incredibly interesting, very thought-provoking and down-to-earth-fundamental.  I am so looking forward to him and his sweet wife, Polly, coming to be with our congregation for a few days.  And I want to be well.  At least somewhat BETTER.

And that is the news from Shady Acres!