I love a good non sequitur

What follows will appear to be a non sequitur but it ain’t (you can skip this first part if you want) …

My dad was a great guy. A lifeguard who, at 18, spotted my 15 year-old mother, fell in love and was with her for 62 years (and in some ways beyond); a college football player (proclaimed “fleet-footed” by the city’s newspaper); earned a degree in physical education; a fighter-bomber pilot and captain in the Strategic Air Command, and a long time drug pusher. Well, let me explain that last one. Dad joined Stuart Pharmaceuticals around the time I was born and he traveled around interfacing with doctors (a “detail man” now known as “pharmaceutical sales representatives,”  or simply “drug reps”). Stuart was a division of Atlas Chemical Industries which in turn was bought by ICI Americas Inc. (1971), which then partially de-merged into a new company, Zeneca (1992). That did not last long; Zeneca the merged with Astra AB to form AstraZeneca (1999). Dad stayed along for the ride, starting as a drug rep, ending up in charge of all domestic drug sales by his retirement. The eight-year mark of his ultimate retirement is coming up in November, I still miss him very much.

Dad was the first person to ever sell the antacid Mylanta. During the early 1960’s Dad was working a pharmaceutical convention. It was a Sunday, the last day of the trade show; Mylanta was to be introduced as a product the next day. Dad called his boss and got permission to talk about it that last day, and he did. Personally I think that’s kind of cool. It is not so great knowing that people’s ulcers, the primary drive for Mylanta sales, are what paid for my college, but it did work out well for me.

During his career, Dad was involved with many products including but not limited to Mylanta, Propofol (aka Diprivan a very common anesthetic), Tamoxifen (aka Nolvadex – breast cancer treatment),  and Hibiclens (skin cleanser and antiseptic). It is the last item, Hibiclens that makes all of this pertinent and not a non sequitur. Really.


Hospitals are doing all they can to prevent infections, especially when surgery is involved. One way to do this is to ensure as sterile a surgical field as possible. Many are asking patients to wash with Hibiclens, or a generic version, the night before surgery and the morning of. It is easy enough and is proven to be effective for at least 24 hours.

During college I found that many deodorants caused me rashes. I tried an experiment and found that using Hibiclens twice a week (I did have access to the occasional sample bottle) would actually be most effective. I had the sterile-est underarms on campus. I have used it over the years and it works extraordinarily well.


During the preparation talk, the nurse mentioned showering with Hibiclens the night before, and the morning of surgery. She indicated that there was a bottle in the blue plastic bag she brought with her. She then went on to explain how to use it …

Use this to wash between your neck and your hips only. Do not wash your head, groin or limbs with it. Shower with it the night before, and the morning of your surgery.

I asked specifically if I could use it on my underarms and upper arms and she responded …

No, that is not where your surgery is. Only from your neck to your hips, not your limbs.

I knew better than to argue or continue this conversation. It is, actually, important to not get it in your eyes or your ears, but that is about it.

Luckily this is all it says on my (her?) checklist:

Good thing I was listening carefully since the written information does not have the dire limb warnings.

At home I look in the blue bag she gave us and there is a piece of paper wrapped around the bottle of surgical soap. Here is what it says:

Now we have some real instructions we can work with.

Ok, I got this. Keep it away from open wounds. Don’t use if you are allergic to it, and do not use on your head, face or vaginal area. The head and face warnings are because of the danger of getting it in your eyes or ears (which is a serious concern with the primary ingredient CHG). The importance of keeping it away from your vaginal area is because Hibiclens will stain the sheets and the closest thing to “my” vaginal area is usually still in bed when I shower. (Using chlorine bleach on fabric that has a Hibiclens stain will cause it to turn brown and be permanent, just saying.)

Yet another warning about eyes, ears, and they add your mouth (note, the active incredient, CHG, is also in Peridex, the dental mouthwash). It is highlighted that if you get it in your eyes you should rinse thoroughly with warm water. If you get it in your ears, mouth or vaginal area I guess you are just shit out of luck and there is nothing to do.

And finally we have:

Right. Got it. “Gently wash your entire body … wash the rest of your body …” What about my limbs? Are they included in “entire body” or are they part of my out-of-body experience?

“What does the manufacturer say?” Glad you asked:

The “meninges” is the stuff that surrounds your brain and spinal cord, minimal chance of getting the soap in contact with it, but no one warns you for that! “If your brain or spinal cord are exposed, do not wash them with this product.”


To get serious, yes, I get it. This is just about soap and washing. It is very important for infection control yet a simple thing to do. What I find incredibly maddening is the inconsistency between written directions and oral directions, and even between two pieces of paper with what should be the same directions. The previous post is about the medication directions and how they are non-sensical and contradictory. We see the issue here as well. I do not understand this. Why would the nurse specifically tell me I cannot wash my limbs and underarms when in fact of course I can? Again, what or whose instructions do I follow?


Share or print this post ...
EMAIL this post to a friend:
Email
** end of post **

“Sometimes you have to look reality in the eye, and deny it.” ~Garrison Keillor

I was all set to write an uplifting, positive post … and then I got an email. “The clinic note from yesterday’s doctor visit is available in the patient portal.”

If you remember (and even if you don’t) I needed to change doctors, etc. because of a change in insurance. I have a new primary doctor and mainly interact with his fellow. For now this is fine, the fellow is a young guy, very nice, knowledgeable, etc. This was my second time seeing him and he obviously reviewed my record. And just to be prepared, I brought along some of the paperwork on the needed preparation for surgery.

To see his notes I needed to sign into the patient portal, so I braced for it, and yes, it is still there …

Whatever happens, do not let the patient forget that they have the NUMBER 2 KILLER growing in their butt!

I then find the clinical note (the instructions in the email on what to click on to see it are wrong; are you as shocked as I am?). Here is the first part of it I would like to share:

As stated at the end, I am taking duloxetine as it is effective for peripheral neuropathy and depression. I have managed any depression without meds but with the added stress of having rectal cancer, well, this helps.

During the visit I guess I may have mentioned my “frustration” with the hospital’s healthcare system. I may have shown him the paperwork I received. I may have been a bit cranky. But I did specifically ask him about this:

and this

And as he so eloquently documented for posterity in his note:

The prescription instructions have confusing instructions for each medication. We did our best to decipher them.

And he’s a doctor! Yes, we did our best … and failed. He promised to contact the surgeon’s office and ask “what the fuck?” … well, that is my interpretation.

Then I scrolled down to see what else is in my clinic note. Oooh, social history! Being the social animal that I am …

I realize that I am cranky, curmudgeonly, expect people to be competent in their jobs, and just an all around nice guy but that aside, some of these items are a tad problematic.

“Tobacco use: Never smoker”  That is absolutely correct. I was asked if I ever smoked and I said “never” and he notated “never.”

Yet, when asked “Do you have multiple sex partners?” I responded “no” yet the notation is “denies.”

When asked if I use “recreational drugs” and I said “never,” once again the notation is “denies.”

What does Google have to say about this?

And yes, I get it, deny can also mean declare untrue but its connotation, as shown by being the primary definition here, is more of refusing to admit.

“Sexual activity: Present”  I was not asked about “sexual activity” and am perplexed by the notation of “Present.” Does that mean I have sexual activity with the present I was given (a few years ago, there was this gag gift from a couple of women friends … but I digress)? Or does it mean that I was having sexual activity in the place where I was present? And / or having it at the present time, in the present place, with the present I happen to keep in the car?

By now some of you are screaming at the computer screen wondering why I am avoiding the “Sexual orientation: Female”  item. The best I can figure is that yes, I am sexually oriented towards females. Or yes, I prefer female orientals to males (don’t go all “inappropriate-wording” on me, they wrote it, not me). Maybe during the physical exam he noticed the pink lace man-thong I was wearing and got confused. And no, I was not wearing a pink lace man-thong.

It was in the wash.

Share or print this post ...
EMAIL this post to a friend:
Email
** end of post **

“In times of great stress or adversity, it’s always best to keep busy, to plow your anger and your energy into something positive.” ~Lee Iacocca

I woke up this morning thinking “Did I really end the last post by saying I had a ‘pink lace man-thong’?” and checked; yes I did say that. Then I wondered if there even is such an item. That’s why there is a thing called Google I guess. DO NOT CLICK ON THE FOLLOWING LINK if you are faint of heart … it is a link to Amazon (of course). THE LINK NOT TO CLICK because some things can not be unseen. Ever.


Anger is a tough issue. People tell me that I have a “right” to be angry now. Or that it is natural. I don’t think that I am particularly angry, at least not because of the cancer per se.

In 1989 I was lying on my bed watching TV and my then-wife came into the room. We had a “discussion” about something and I did get angry. I had the remote control in my hand and I threw it. Not at her, actually in a very different direction and it hit the ceiling near the wall across the room. That was just about 30 years ago, I remember it well. And I know the exact spot the remote hit.

and zoomed in …

These pictures were taken today. You may notice in the zoomed-in image on the right a faint outline around the marks … that is from painter’s tape placed over them because I will not allow them to be removed or covered. And the ceiling is actually white, so much for cell phone cameras.

The marks have lasted longer than the marriage did (and longer than the remote) but it was a good marriage (went on for 10 more years). That day was the last day I truly got angry. I look at the marks every so often to remind myself that anger is ugly, there are better ways.


I blogged about the cerberus II meeting of 16 days ago. Here is some other background that I don’t believe I have shared.

At the original cerberus meeting I asked if there was a chance that the surgeon would open me up, see that the cancer had spread and just close me up. He said:

No. Once you are on the table this tumor is coming out.

For whatever reason that made me feel ok. But, at a later date, when I was told I would get an MRI in August (the one from three weeks ago) I asked “why?” I was told that those results would tell us more about the tumor and if surgery was still a viable option. I don’t believe I shared that with anyone but it really fucked me up. This was before the start of chemo-radiation. I had the six weeks of chemo-radiation ahead of me, several weeks of “healing” and then that MRI to see if the cancer spread to the point of determining that surgery would not be an affective action. Every time that popped into my head was hell. I was very nervous about the CT and MRI scans and the results. I did not share my feelings with anyone, there was no point. I would not have felt better and they would most likely feel worse.

You can re-read the post about the cerberus II meeting but now you are aware that I was very tense about it. I was going to learn the result of the MRI and knew that there was a chance of hearing some very bad news. I arrived on time and they told me to sit and do nothing, the instructions for that day were bizarre and logistically impossible, etc. When they realized I was not happy, as I wrote, a nurse practitioner (NP) came in with someone else. It appeared that she was in some supervisory role but in my state I did not catch her name. Neither did Inanna who was sitting with me. The NP asked about some of the screwy things (my words) and photocopied the instructions I brought with me. She then asked me what else she could tell me.

I was angry. So much was screwed up and here I am, desperate to know results of my scans, it is past the time of the actual appointment to start, and I feel myself losing it. I glanced over at Inanna a couple of times and she was looking down. She has never seen me like this. Don’t get me wrong, I did not raise my voice, nor did I say anything inappropriate. Every filter in my brain was on DEFCON 1. Yet my anger was palpable, probably from 20 paces. I looked right in her eyes and all I could come up with as to what else she could tell me was the truth … “Did my cancer spread? Did the tumor shrink? Are we still having surgery?” I knew she would not answer any of these. She said she would go get the doctor.

I was livid. I was literally scared for my life. I knew NOTHING but I am sure she did. I know the doctors did. And there I sat.

As we waited I asked Inanna if I was out of line. She assured me I was not but that my anger was obvious.

It’s been thirty years since I was in that state. I wanted to throw something. I wanted to rip into the staff. I wanted to know how close I was to dying. All I wanted to know was what they knew.

A couple of days later I wanted to reach out to that nurse practitioner, but I did not know her name or even if that was really her position. I would have apologized or explained, I felt bad that I was in that state. Again, I was sure that I did nothing “wrong” yet I hoped to connect.

It didn’t happen. Until two days ago.

Share or print this post ...
EMAIL this post to a friend:
Email
** end of post **

“If I’m not back in five minutes… just wait longer.” ~Ace Ventura

Before I get to the actual post, I want to make something clear. This blog is anonymous because I don’t want to hesitate to say things and, it turns out, I don’t want to besmirch others. I have been very outspoken here about the hospital and its faults. I am a true believer in not bitching about something if you don’t do anything about it. For instance, don’t complain about a headache until you discover the aspirin or Tylenol does not work. To be clear, the hospital has been told about this blog and notified that it is their hospital. Patient relations has read the blog, several doctors know about it, and I found out today several members of the board have been told about it. So if I repeat a complaint, it is not that I am just complaining, inherent in the mention of the issues is the fact that the issue is known to the hospital and yet it persists.


I got a call last week from the hospital, a nurse asking to speak to “Jessica” someone. I said “There is no Jessica here, but I am a patient.” She checked her computer and mumbled something about the screen scrolling after she dialed, found my name and then continued (after a mumbled apology).

This is about your pre-admission appointment next week. If we go through some questions it will shorten the appointment, do you have some time now?

I said yes and she went through a standard questionare about history, medications, etc. Then she “confirmed” my appointment for next week.

I was told that the pre-admission appointment would be only by telephone.

No. We don’t do that.

I was told at the cerberus II appointment that the pre-admission stuff would be via telephone only. I can prove it, I have it in writing:

This morning I got an email telling me to check the patient portal about an upcoming appointment. Oh joy, my favorite web site. So today, August 26, 2018 I bring it up.

WHOA … wait a freaking minute. What is that on the upper right? I have the “#2 killer” … oh my god, I forgot that I may die. Thank you patient portal!

And my nurse practitioner is out until August 12. Good to know even if that was over a week ago and she is back. But then Dr. Pye is out until 2027. Still. Why is there not a canned “vacation notice” that the computer automatically keeps track of the end date, verifies it, and removes the message as appropriate? Nah, too easy.

The portal says I have a 10 AM appointment with the “wound/ostomy nurse” … a scary title. I am told that she will work with me to find a spot for the ostomy … I pick her belly, not mine. They say the appointment will be 45 – 60 minutes. I then do nothing for over an hour and have the “pat-preadmission testing” appointment.

The portal also tells me this:

If, in fact, I did not have the nurse appointment at 10 AM, I would be driving into the big city for a five minute appointment? Parking alone will cost me $10 no matter what. This is insane.

All I can say is that this better be a very well-used, important five minutes and not a waste of my time, or theirs. And if the nurse hands me an enema, I am not sure that colorectal cancer will still be the number 2 killer …

Share or print this post ...
EMAIL this post to a friend:
Email
** end of post **

Don’t f–k up with Mr. Smith’s son

When my son David went to live in a residential facility he had a rough few months. There were many errors in his care, one or two of them were major. All this, and he was at one of the best facilities available. Needless to say I was rather vocal and dealing with the top level administration there.

Things were then quiet for a few months and on a visit I was talking with one of those administrators. I asked what changed … with a wink he said:

We put a sign over his bed that said ‘Don’t fuck up with Mr. Smith’s son’


As I am sure you remember, a bit ago I got an email addressed to “Mary” and I assured you my name is not Mary. Maybe there is something about the letter ‘M’ but my name is also not Michael. Really. My name is neither Mary nor Michael.

Today, September 5, 2018, I received an email. Here is a screen shot, simply redacting identifying information. I did not need to redact my name because, alas, it is not there.

All good information. I hope Michael knows that he has appointments on August 28, eight days ago.

I then got another email about 5 minutes later, identical other than it had the correct salutation, and this was followed by a phone apology about 90 minutes later.

Oh, the surgery prep instructions that were attached, simply a photocopy of these.

Share or print this post ...
EMAIL this post to a friend:
Email
** end of post **

Best sleep I have had in a while

I went into surgery Thursday morning. It was around 7:30 AM when they wheeled me away. I don’t remember much after that (actually nothing), maybe because I was sedated immediately.

The surgeon called Inanna 7 hours later. Surgery went very well from his point of view but the extended time was due to the radiation damage to some of the tissues. The reason for the 8 weeks of nothing between chemo-radiation and surgery is for the tissues to heal otherwise the surgeon is dealing with somewhat withered problematic tissue. For whatever reason, mine was not as healed as expected so it complicated the procedure somewhat. That aside, overall the surgeon was very happy. Me? I was asleep.

Around 5 o’clock in my room the nurse came with my Lopressor, a heart medication. I asked her why and she double checked the order in the computer. She said it was one of the meds I take at home.

No, I don’t take Lopressor, I have no idea what it is, and I am refusing the medication.

She returned about 20 minutes later and said it was ordered “in error.” That made me feel better.

At some point that evening I was sleeping. A young guy came in and woke me by saying “blood pressure!” I lifted my arm a bit and felt the cuff go on. With my eyes still closed, the cuff tightening, there is a scraping at my teeth. What the fuck? I knocked it away and opened my eyes. He then said “temperature.” Right, asshole.

I quickly learned that they take vitals every four hours, round the clock. That’s fine. I also learned that every other staff member says “Vitals!” when they come in, except one, the aspiring Christian Szell, DDS. And this is not my foggy memory or my then drug induced state, it is how he did it every time.

Share or print this post ...
EMAIL this post to a friend:
Email
** end of post **