No pictures on Blogger since the weekend. At least none for me, it would appear. Sad thing that, because I've got progress pics and lovely secret pal stuff to show off.
This is one of those days where chatting about knitting is not the first thing on my mind anyway. I'm mad.
My mom was taken to the hospital on Friday, with cramps and dangerously low pulse and blood pressure. It turns out that she was severly dehydrated, a condition her brain tumors didn't take too well. The doctors sort of blamed my dad for this, saying that Mom needs to DRINK MORE in this weather. Well, we know this. But how do you make a person drink two liters of water every day, when she is too weak to even lift her head most of the day? In the hospital, they gave her a water IV. We can't do that. When my dad came to escort her home in the ambulance today, he asked again what he is supposed to do from now on. The answer: she needs to drink more. Get her to drink more. Am I so totally biased to be the only one who thinks that this is not an adequate response? Upon seeing my mother all weak and sluggish and confused most of the time (her brain is seriously going now), all the doctors can think of is putting the blame and responsibility on my father's shoulders. Because, you know, he really doesn't have to carry enough as it is.
This is only one incident. There are more. Many, many more. I've never dealt with someone who needed palliative care before. And I can tell you now, once a person is no longer in a condition where anything can be cured, they and their caregivers are shit out of luck where medical experts are concerned. All the information and help we are getting these days are from hospice service. My mom's doctor, the one who has gone through nine years of fighting cancer with her, the one who has invited her to lead a new self-help group, because he was so impressed with her attitude and personality, doesn't give a damn anymore. He goes on vacation, gives her case over to another doctor, finds out that this substitute will go on vacation three days after him, and leaves it at that. My dad found out about this when he went to the office to get a prescription and a signature for a new care application (Mom's care has to be intensified and we need a nurse for that). And my parents live in a small town, it's not like Mom's oncologist has a thousand dramatic cases at once and loses sight of them all. But that's all right, I hope he is enjoying his substitute-free vacation. Mom can certainly wait three weeks for her pain medication. Crying out in pain might even elevate blood pressure, so it's all good.
Sorry about this less than cheerful post, but I'm overdue with an update and this is all I got right now. I don't even want to knit. What I want is hit someone, preferably someone wearing a white lab coat.
ETA: Yes, I know that there are plenty of fantastic doctors out there, who will do everything for their patients. And good for them. We just don't have one of those available, so the knowledge that it does get better than this isn't really helping.
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