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Deja vu all over again
Dec. 18th, 2011 08:02 pmI've been joking with my dad that his anniversary is coming up -- last year he fell a couple days before Christmas, and I spent the holidays in the worst hospital in the world, trying desperately to finish a book that I was behind on. Well, ha fuckin' ha -- here I am again. I got a call from the nursing facility and they were freaking out because he was all swollen up again and not breathing well and they sent him to the hospital. I hate this place with every fiber of my being, they are hands-down the worst hospital I've ever dealt with (and I've dealt with a lot).
So what did they do with the 87-year-old guy who can't breathe and has depleted kidney numbers and looks like he's been in a fight with Dolph Lundgren? They sent him home. Which I will have to pay for. And the staff called me from his residence and were all, OMG he's getting worse, we have to send him to the hospital and you have to tell them to keep him because if he codes we're not able to give him measures and DNR and blah blah. No one called me from the hospital to tell me they were sending him home, or why. Fuckers.
So now I'm sitting in the ER room again, desperately working on both my Yuletide fic and this fucking book, and hoping Tilda doesn't poop in the house, because she's living with me again for a few weeks while her new family goes on a trip. I keep thinking things can't get worse, and then they do! The thing is, I always liked Christmas, I love the lights and the sparkle and songs and such. But if this keeps up, I'm going to hate it.
So what did they do with the 87-year-old guy who can't breathe and has depleted kidney numbers and looks like he's been in a fight with Dolph Lundgren? They sent him home. Which I will have to pay for. And the staff called me from his residence and were all, OMG he's getting worse, we have to send him to the hospital and you have to tell them to keep him because if he codes we're not able to give him measures and DNR and blah blah. No one called me from the hospital to tell me they were sending him home, or why. Fuckers.
So now I'm sitting in the ER room again, desperately working on both my Yuletide fic and this fucking book, and hoping Tilda doesn't poop in the house, because she's living with me again for a few weeks while her new family goes on a trip. I keep thinking things can't get worse, and then they do! The thing is, I always liked Christmas, I love the lights and the sparkle and songs and such. But if this keeps up, I'm going to hate it.
