If you've read this blog for any given period of time, you probably already know that I don't like surprises, the unknown, liars and spiders. Change also isn't high on my list, especially if it is of the Hopey Changey variety.
Things went from Crazy Town to Amityville in a 24-hour period following my last post.
Wednesday, I had to leave Brian at home with M2 so I could take M3 (M1 came along for moral support) to an intake appointment at the Children's Hospital that will conduct the educational testing necessary to corroborate our other evidence that this kid is nowhere near seven years old, as her paperwork indicates. The verdict? She has impulse control issues and tries to run the show within a matter of minutes of meeting her. Really? Wow. I think I've been saying that since Day Three of knowing her and the professionals are finally willing to agree that she is not Little Merry Sunshine. Fabulous. Welcome aboard!
Wednesday night, Hubs came down with a horrible headache. I called the eye doctor who has been treating him this week and he called in a pain killer. The kind of pain killer that druggies knock over pharmacies for and yet, after two, no change. (Imagine my thrill of going to the 24-hour pharmacy to pick up said prescription and standing in line with the druggies, hoping no one would knock me over the head on the way to the truck).
He slept for a bit during the night, but by 5:30, he said his headache was coming back and I made him get dressed and drove to the ER we'd gone to Sunday night. His right eye's iris are was completely black. An "eight ball" hyphema was the conclusion of the ER staff and the eye doctor we'd been seeing asked them to stabilize my husband and then release him to be brought to the doctor's office. Hubs had two doses of morphine and his headache still raged--probably had something to do with the pressure reading of 38 (normal is somewhere under 20).
I had my mom come to watch the girls and took him to the eye doctor's office. The eye doctor was incredulous that this was occurring given that he'd been doing so well and I had the strange feeling that he was trying to figure out if he'd missed something, rather than figuring out what we should do next. Keep in mind during all this, my husband is overwhelmed with pain. Pale and green, sweaty and chilling, writhing and moaning and not even able to sit up straight in a chair. The doctor told us we needed to see a subspecialist and that her office was nearly 40 minutes away, on the other side of the city and in a completely different county than the one we were in then.
[Let me interject here that my biggest fear was that I'd be in an accident and the airbag would smack my husband in the face, blinding him. Or that my car would break down or we'd get stuck in a traffic jam and no ambulance would be able to reach us. It was horrible.]
Based on the promise of helpful drugs when we arrived at the next stop, I loaded him in the car and took off driving. When we arrived, no one was waiting to whisk him into an exam room, there were no drugs and the lack of a sense of urgency put me right over the edge. I had explained no less than a dozen times what had happened to him and how we arrived at this juncture. Having to do it one last time made me want to jack someone in the face. I also yelled at the glaucoma specialist who I now find to be completely lovely and competent. But, at that moment, she was one more person between my husband's unbearable pain and his relief.
The glaucoma specialist ruled that if my husband wanted to keep his eye, we needed to do emergency surgery. This surgery would take place at the eye surgery center affiliated with her practice which was nearly 30 minutes away and about 10 minutes from where we'd been when we were at the original doctor's office. I wanted to stab the entire staff in the eye. No kidding. I could not believe this. AND WHY AM I STILL DRIVING MY HUSBAND AROUND?! I am not a trained medical person and I have an emergency case in my passenger car hurtling down the highway...I wonder if I had flat out told someone I'm an attorney if we would have thought about liability a little more closely?
We were told that at the surgery center, a bed, IV with pressure reducing drugs, and a team of professionals would be waiting for us. Um. Sound familiar?
When we walked in, no one was at the front desk. It was only 11:30 a.m.--hardly lunch time. I sat my husband in a seat and stood, insurance cards in hand, waiting. When I'd seen three of four different office workers pass by the office doorway, look at me and keep moving, I'd had enough. I phoned the office number on the card I'd been given and told whomever answered that yes, indeed, she could help us--by getting herself to the window and my husband to a bed.
She came to the window, tight smile on her face and told me they were waiting on his paperwork to come from the other office.
:: This is not going to end well for her. ::
I told her I had just driven like a bat out of hell from the other office and that I could have brought it with me. She informed me it took a bit to put the paperwork together. I asked her if it took more than 40 minutes because that's how long it had taken me to drive there. She said that's what we were waiting on and I asked her if her office had a fax machine or if they employed carrier pigeons or little Flintstone-era birds that pecked the information onto stone tablets. She wasn't amused, but I also think she knew her California girl good looks depended on her keeping her side of the sass to a minimum.
After minutes, that seemed like hours, that paperwork arrived. The Holy Grail paperwork had Hubs listed as an 87-year-old man--how many geriatric UPS drivers have you met? They also had his LEFT eye as the one needing the work. Mind you, he is sitting across the table from the woman when she says, "And it's your left eye that will be operated on today?" To which Hubs growls, "NO. RIGHT."
You know, the one he has covered with his hand trying desperately to keep it in his damned head?
"Well, it says 'left' on this paperwork."
AGAIN WITH THE PAPERWORK?!
"Um...is that the SAME paperwork that has him listed as an 87-year-old man?! I think we've established this long awaited paperwork was completed in a pretty shitty manner, so can we just check the boxes and get this show on the road?"
Finally, boxes checked and he was taken back to the surgical area where, finally, he puked. Twice. God love him. He didn't puke in my car. Nor did he throw up when I encouraged him to in the inner office where we went over that super duper paperwork. I suppose an eye pressure near 60 would make anyone do that.
Super long story shorter:
Hubs had surgery on his eye. It is the worst hyphema this surgeon has ever seen. His eye was still bleeding when she closed the case. He spent the night in the hospital for observation and I brought him home Friday afternoon. He is on complete bedrest and is not allowed to have his BP raised in any way--so no loud, startling noises, exciting television or watching CNN. The kids have been shipped off to various places because they are prone to making noise...lots and lots of noise.
We have been seeing the doctor every day since the surgery and will continue to do so for the next couple of days. Every three hours, I'm inserting drops, administering pills, etc. and trying to let him rest as much as he can.
Prognosis? While he has had no new bleeding since the surgery, he is still in a precarious state. We have no idea if his retina is attached. And, until this is over, we will not know what level of vision, if any, he will have in his right eye.
His right eye that is his 'shooting eye' for the Guard. His right eye that helps his left eye when he drives his UPS truck.
You see where I'm going with this. While losing sight in one eye would be a devastating loss for anyone, for someone whose livelihood depends on eyesight, it will be doubly so.
Please pray for us. Hubs burned up his paid leave on behalf of M3--because we couldn't leave her with just anyone given the unexpected level of behavior issues she totes around. The same behavior that kept him home from M1's recital and instead, had him the backyard weed whacking on Father's Day.
So, no pay and if this ends badly, no insurance either.
Trying to go one day at a time, but not able to do so without worrying ahead.