Hello, Dedicated Reader Base!
I was discharged from the hospital yesterday afternoon, to the great relief of everyone involved, particularly the hospitalists and nurses. When I am a little stronger, a post on hospitalists and certain types of RN will be forthcoming. I am pretty sure that the three hospitalists (one an intensive care hospitalist, one a pulmonologist, one a whiz-girl at internal medicine) were not "Happy." And I am positive that Happy the Hospitalist (The Happy Hospitalist) would not recognize himself in the performance of these particular three colleagues.
Anyway, the short version:
Surgery went well, although we failed in our goal of putting in a full shoulder prosthesis because the orthopedic surgeon found more infection... that continues to *not* grow in petri dishes. Later that night, I twice went into what we will call respiratory distress -- O2 sats dropped from the low 90s to the 30s within 5 seconds. I learned the meaning of gratitude at that moment, because my nurse happened to have just walked in the room. I mean, being on continuous monitoring doesn't do a whole heck of a lot of good if no one is watching! She stuck to me like glue until a Super-Duper Respiratory Therapist arrived, who then rescued me a second time. We were on our way to Intensive Care before the third episode even had a chance. I don't remember the third go 'round, anyway, as I was, if you can believe these medical types, "obtunded," and they proceeded to tube and then attach moi to a vent.
Yadda yadda -- I'll spare 'ya. [EEGs, CT scans, MRIs, echos, blood sugars and more!]
After some mis / management -- that wasn't all that big a deal, so long as you weren't the patient -- and a few days time, I am home. With the infection still blooming, and the explanations still lacking. We're doing i.v. vancomycin through the PICC line again.
The Poor Fredster. He is sleeping in this morning, and I am so glad. He is lovely, have I told you?
