29 July 2013

Monday

Getting tired of this place,

but I can't leave yet

I am growing weary of the constant input from other people, especially with the silliness that often ensues. Earlier today one of the CENAs when he was attending to my call, told me about an earlier escapade where one of the more cantankerous of the residents here managed to get permission to leave the building under the care of a friend of his. The friend soon took off leaving said resident on his own. This is a large gentleman (probably above 250 pounds, well above) who has some limited standing ability but mostly moves his huge carcass in an electric scooter designed for duty of individuals who have difficulty walking.

I don't know what this man's problem is but he barely fits in the seat. He is often complaining about getting outside to smoke a cigarette, even though cigarette smoking is not allowed on the property or in the building. When challenged by the staff as to whether this is a wise idea or not, he often turns belligerent saying that his doctor knows he smokes so it's okay with him. This “gentleman” often goes about dressed in nothing but his hospital gown. He complains vigorously about everything and never seems to comply with anything. He is so large that when he sits in the seat of his scooter he cannot bring his legs together, thereby giving everybody downstream a visual glimpse that they care not to remember as hospital gowns are not designed for modesty, only easy access.

The CENA was tired as he got the duty of walking running outdoors looking for the errant resident he had walked over half-mile down toward the fairgrounds and could not find him there. The CENA then reversed direction and walked up to the party store on the corner asking for a large man wearing a hospital gown on electric scooter, possibly mumbling about the difficulty getting a cigarette. One of the patrons indicated that they saw that gentleman about quarter-mile up another street that was ninety degrees away from his original direction of travel. The CENA, our hero in this story, finally met the man and managed to “talk” him back to the facility, with the visual persuation of the local constabulary staying in the background.

This is why the doors are locked and we are not allowed out without someone to be responsible for us. The family or friends that some of us can produce as the most responsible of responsible characters in order to get out. Sheesh! You can rest assured that his leaving privileges will be sharply curtailed in the future, as will the rest of ours.

Oh boy! Thank you, Mr. Me first.

Later a pair of CENAs responded to looking into my room as a routine part of their shift taking care of me. During which they indicated that someone on the 2nd floor didn't bother to show up for their scheduled CENA duty this evening, so someone will have to be pulled from this floor. This place is run on such a thin coverage that the loss of one CENA was felt immediately. I had a headache coming on so I asked those 2 CENAs when they were in my room at 6:30 PM if I might have a couple of Excedrin's. By 8 o'clock PM no medicine had come yet, so I used my cellphone and called the main number to the facility. Since it was after business hours it rang right to the 3rd floor nursing station who covers the phones during off-hours. The very nurse that I was seeking answered the phone. I indicated that I felt 90 min. was more than enough to wait for some Excedrin, the nurse indicated that by coincidence she had just got the message and was about ready to bring my late day medication dose, including Excedrin down to me.

The problem with headaches is that if one does not get to them soon enough even though Excedrin is a good medicine it barely touches a headache with a head start. I indicated this to the nurse bringing Excedrin and although she is a nice person her response left no satisfaction. She indicated that she gets migraines too and she knows how it is. Now, two a half hours later this headache seems to have barely budged, but I do take great satisfaction in the fact that even though I still have the headache pain and it is continuing to get worse, I do have a nurse attending to me who understands what I'm going through.

Another old boy! That really helps me feel better, about having a splitting headache. Commiseration means so much, don't you know? A good headache seems so personal, makes one feel as if no one anywhere exists or understands. I'm feeling much better about that now. The sense of isolation is minimally reduced, I'm just waiting for the pain to diminish as well.

I discovered this evening that suddenly my e-mail does not fetch up any of the accumulated incoming mail since this morning. I keep trying to re-sign in and I keep getting a message that my account is not recognized. A quick call to the ISP and I find that they have changed their operating hours from 24 hours a day to usual business hours, please call back tomorrow. These folks used to run a twenty-four hour operation. They used to sound like the dedicated T-shirt, jeans and floppy athletic shoes crowd, willing to help sounding as if the can of Red Bull was always at the ready, for whom no problem ever fazed them. Now the phone is answered by a machine speaking of business hours, call again tomorrow. Tomorrow?!! This is email by the Internet – it operates 24 hours a day. Many people contact me at all hours, some from other time zones far away. Its aways Now somewhere. Business hours tomorrow is so last century. I hope a bunch of suits haven't bought out my old ISP.

I still have Internet access as far as the web browser is concerned. So I'm at a loss to decide what ever happened to my e-mail. On top of all this my next-door neighbor is in bed and has his television on to the most god-awful station, with full tilt volume, per usual. Hearing the high-pitched squeals of women and the pounding report of gunfights through the closed door does nothing to prove my mood or my headache. Looks like another sleepless night hiding under my headphones. Thank goodness for my iPods.