Four days after my fiancée was admitted, he was being prepped for what turned out to be brain surgery. (Part 4)

Posted: June 18, 2011 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , , ,

I sat there, holding his hand.  It was my life line. Eyes wide. Back straight. I sat there. With my cell phone dying, turned off, it was just me in a too quiet room with too loud beeps from the machines. Without a clock, I don’t know how long I sat there.

Sometimes Omar stirred and looked around vacantly. “Baby, I’m here.” I said and he’ll smile and settle back in. I lost count of the times I called his nurse, to untangle him from his countless wires and attachments. I don’t know how a person lying on his back could get tangled. But he did.

As the morning crew arrived, I sat there as the ward came alive. People. Patients. Noise. But most importantly doctors.

They assessed Omar and sent him off for tests and more tests.

I wasn’t equipped or prepared for the events that unfolded. While being by Omar’s side, I also was thrust into the administrative side of things. I can’t even tell you the things I signed. How many hours I spent with social workers and Medicaid offices. The doctors I’ve met. Tests Omar went too. He went to several CAT scans and several MRI’s and echo tests and tests I don’t even know their names.  One particular test they put about a million receptors on him all over his head, and they recorded the stimulations and transmissions his brain admitted.

I just know my fiancé would awake and seem aware and conscious. But, have no recollection of what happened to him. He would wake up and say “I’m in a hospital?” and I would have to explain to him of his seizure attacks and mass in his head.

I hope you haven’t, but if you’ve spent time in the hospital, you know doctors have a tendency to talk about your case without talking to you. I wasn’t having it. The first time the intensive care attending physician was taking the fresh-out-of-medical-school-with-a-license-to-practice-doctors around for training, they would stand in front of your room with their fancy equipment and talk about your case. I walked straight up to them and said “What. The. Hell. Talk. To. Me.” I was then informed it’s training to teach the new doctors, not intentional to be mean or rude.  I’m all for hands on training but I wasn’t having that. Matter of fact the first two days they did nothing but argue what was wrong with my fiancée. Inflammation . Stroke. Tumor.  They didn’t know. Each doctor had a different theory. They were treating my fiancée for meningitis for Christ’s sake. He even had a lumbar puncture. So I was fed up. Stop arguing and start fixing. That’s when my fiancée surgeon was called in, Doctor Chalif.

I remember meeting his surgeon for the first time. He seemed like a down to earth guy. He informed me of their intentions, to biopsy whatever it was in his head. They told me they wanted to go in for a biopsy and see what they were dealing with. When you hear biopsy you think incision right? My, my was I wrong. But you aren’t exactly thinking rationally during this time. I signed what needed to be signed. Four days after my fiancée was admitted, he was being prepped for what turned out to be brain surgery.

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Comments
  1. Crystal R. says:

    I think that it is awesome of you to stick to your guns – to make sure that they HEAR you and talk to YOU, not to each other. They can be such insensitive assholes!

    I know that writing all of this down may be tough to relive, but I am glad that you are getting it out there.

    Like

    • While docs are awesome, some of them need to go back to school for bedside manner. It is tough to relive it. I can close my eyes and picture everything vividly.Even the bits you wish to forget. But it’s therapeutic. It’ just sucks not having the time or energy to sit down and write and now my timeline is all mixed up and soooo many new crisis’s and illnesses and family emergencies keep arises it’s a struggling battle to write up to current events. But i hope to get there.

      Liked by 1 person

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