Drug Stores

SPEAK UP — IT JUST MIGHT SAVE YOUR LIFE

In early February I wrote a blog titled “This’ll either cure ya or kill ya”, http://annromick.wordpress.com/2010/02/15/thisll-either-cure-ya-or-killya-or/ about the importance of doing research regarding your own and your family’s medications. My husband started displaying psychotic behavior following a long period of taking and combining certain o.t.c. remedies and prescription medications.   I ended up weaning him on my own, which did temper the bad behavior.  He now takes only one pill for high blood pressure.   However, it is so easy to trust, believing that medical people are always right, but that assumption is so wrong.  Not only is it wise to be alert with what cures you take at home, it is even more prudent to challenge medical people if you end up in the hospital.  And most important — if you are unable to speak up for yourself, ask a friend or a family member to monitor your medications and progress.  A good watch dog may save you extra days in the hospital and just might save your life.

A week after the automobile accident of February 15, I was transferred from ICU and the trauma unit of one hospital to the CCU of my own HMO hospital.  While my family continued to hover over me, I was improving, which was the good news.  The bad news seemed to be the attitude from some of my HMO’s medical people.

The disadvantage of my HMO (I don’t know about others) is that your own doctor — your primary care physician — is not part of your hospital stay.  He/she sees you only in the office, and while the doctor and patient may become very well acquainted, the doctor has very little, if any, say in your health care while you are confined to a hospital bed — nor does he/she ever come to see how you’re doing.  I suppose I’ve been spoiled by my former medical plans where my doctor’s daily visits were so beneficial.

The HMO doctors assigned to me were, no doubt, skilled in their profession, but appeared to be lacking in sincere concern as to my physical and mental well being.  It seemed the main focus was how quickly they could eliminate my need for being there, and how long would I have to remain before they were allowed to discharge me and ship me off to a convalescent/rehab facility.   They often made me feel as if my expenses were taken directly from their salaries.

Several days after being admitted, one of the doctors said to my daughter-in-law, Sabina, “We are going to send her to rehab this afternoon.  I find no medical reason for her to remain here.”  Surprised by the declaration, and checking through a chart which she personally kept on my condition, Sabina listed all of my medical problems which had not been resolved, insisting they be addressed before I left.  ‘Do you want me to commit fraud?” questioned the doctor, annoyed at being challenged, but still not motivated to look into my remaining health issues.

That same afternoon I developed a terrible ache which seemed concentrated in the left side of my back.  With each breath, I felt stabbing pains.  Sabina discussed the new condition with Dr. Stubborn, insisting that the pain be checked, forcing the doctor into action.  I was sent for further examinations resulting in treatment.   Apparently, my left lung had been collecting fluid and needed to be drained with a tube inserted through the chest wall and attached to a drainage bag, plus another round of antibiodics.   Without Sabina speaking up for me, I would have been transferred to rehab with at least one serious medical condition.  Speaking up for myself was difficult because I wasn’t sure of my own medical needs making it easy for a medical professional to convince me I was perfectly all right and ready for the moved.  I remained in the hospital for another week.

It was the same with medication.  One doctor would remove a drug, and if it wasn’t so noted on my charts, another medical person would want to continue the dosage.  “I know you aren’t familiar with the names of your medicines, so count the pills,” suggested Sabina.  “If there are more than seven, ask the nurse what each pill is supposed to do.”  That I could do, and I began my own questioning, even spitting out pills which had been discontinued.  I used the same system while at rehab, and many a time, the prescribed meds offered were no longer needed.

Fortunately, during those occasions when I was unable to speak for myself, I had an excellent watch dog.  Without Sabina’s voice challenging doctor’s decisions and being so vigilant in overseeing my medications, I could have slipped into a serious decline, and, at other times, would have been way over medicated.  None of the above is good for any patient.

Personally, I find it difficult to move on from the days when your doctor knew you and your family’s medical conditions as well as his own, and was sympathetic to your needs.  However, reality tells us that with medical people being pulled in so many directions in today’s world, and dictated to by the profit portion of  HMO’s insurance policy makers, those memorable days of yesteryear are gone forever.  It’s now up to us and our loved ones to be responsible for taking charge of our medical needs.  If something doesn’t sound right, speak up or have someone do it for you — it just might save your life.

Originally posted 2010-06-21 06:42:00.

A WINTER’S EVE — FEBRUARY 15, 2010

A WINTER’S EVE — FEBRUARY 15, 2010

It was still daylight when Ken and I left our house to do a bit of shopping on that brisk Monday.  Daylight, yes, but darkness comes quickly in winter.  I had hardly parked the car in front of Radio Shack as dusk fell.  I needed only two small items: a new cord for one phone and an extension line for another, and then we were off to enjoy dinner with our friend, Jayne, at 6:30.

Getting Ken ready and out of the house to go anywhere was becoming more and more difficult as he slipped further into Alzheimer’s.  Nevertheless, he always liked getting out once he was dressed.  I believe winter is often a problem with dementia and related illnesses, the season having so much gloom — so few blue skies and sunshine.  The world had been very gray this season with lots of rain, which California has so badly needed, but the storms came one following another, often without a break.  Ken does better when the days are long, light and bright.  Each year, it has become more of a struggle getting through the dark months.  I’ve often said December 21, is my favorite day of the year because the sun begins its return journey “home” to our house.

I looked at the time — a little before six — time enough to stop a few doors from Radio Shack and pick up a few more items at CVS Drugs.  While we were out, we might as well get everything on my list, I thought to myself, and no crowds.  I’ve always liked to shop during the dinner hour; it seems that everyone is either at home cooking or eating.  With no one in line, we moved along quickly, and then headed back to the car.

Inside our older 1995 Ford Explorer I buckled my seat belt.  “Do you have your seat belt on?” I asked Ken.  “Yes,” he answered, pointing to the belt around his waist.  When his focus is on the belt holding his pants in place, I know I can’t change his thinking.  I don’t even try.  Unbuckling my own seat belt, I leaned over with one arm around his back and the other in front of him, I handed my left hand his seat belt, guiding the locking piece into its slot.  Then, I rebuckled my own seat belt.

I made ready to exit the parking lot, waiting until traffic from both directions had cleared, and then began my left turn, crossing the clear west-bound lane, flowing easily into the medium strip, and then turning and merging into the inner east-bound lane.

Glancing to my left I noticed the solid double line of cars coming from the direction of the freeway.  How odd they looked in the blackness — almost surreal.  Blending together, the moving vehicles appeared to be a horde of great prowling beasts with enormous yellow eyes, appearing almost liquid in their pack-like movement.  Suddenly one of the automobiles — a maverick of sorts — pulled out from the mass of cars, crossing into the medium lane.  I wondered if the fool planned to pass the unyielding line of west-bound vehicles using what was an illegal passing lane for him, but also noted he hadn’t made the necessary hard-right turn which would have placed him parallel with that line of traffic.  Rather, he was pointed in a diagonal path toward me.  I was not concerned as he was a distance from me, with time and space to correct his direction.  Convinced he would make the adjustment, I turned my eyes to my own traffic lane.  Within mere moments my world went black.

Originally posted 2010-05-06 20:15:29.

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