It’s been over a year since I’ve added a chapter to the Emanon’s Journey blog. It’s been a very difficult story for me to relate, up until now. In my daily life, the events which happened to “Emanon” are very far behind me, out of mind, and a world apart from my current reality. Writing about those days means reliving them - tearing myself out of where I am now, and dropping myself into a place that is sometimes painful beyond telling.

Putting myself into the right frame of mind has to be possible for me at the time, or I simply can’t write about it all. Hence - the long pause between chapters.

The chapter that comes after this one will make a transition from the earlier Georgia/”running and hiding” days, to when I met Doug, my husband. It should be a considerably easier chapter to write, and should not take me nearly as long to complete.

Those of you who haven’t read anything over on Emanon’s Journey yet, please don’t begin with this newest chapter. Try to begin at the beginning, which explains what the blog is all about, or at least begin with the “story” itself: “Such a Rainy Night in Georgia - Part 1.” That will give you more of an idea of what the blog is all about. Jumping into this latest post cold and unprepared … will just make it hard for you to understand what’s going on.

Years ago, I began to write an autobiography, knowing that if I could set things down the way they all happened - the abuse, the kidnapping, etc., that I would make a fortune if I could get the completed telling into the right hands. In less than a week, I abandoned the project. It was too painful, too difficult to relive. The immensely abbreviated version on the Emanon blog is difficult enough in the telling, although decades have passed since my first effort, and the events seem almost unreal - like someone else’s memories - when I think of them. Writing about them in detail, however, is another story, and unfolding those details as would be necessary in a book - is impossible for me.

And so - here I am, stretching my boundaries. Much of this is stuff that my closest friends don’t have the details of. How much easier it is to share the most painful, devastating details which a person’s memories harbor when doing so through the written word - especially when launching that word onto a large, nameless, faceless sea … than it is to sit in front of one quiet,attentive listener. There can be an amazing amount of anonymity and privacy in such a public medium.

The picture at left is what I came back to tonight. The sad thing is - this was the last of the really nice, warm days. The weather’s been heavenly all week, with temperatures in the mid 80’s, and lovely sunshine. Tomorrow, it’s supposed to cool off and thunder. Well, still - I’m happy to be home again!

Right up until my little hospitalist came in to see me today, I didn’t know if they were going to keep me for “more invasive” tests, or let me go. I also didn’t know what the heck it was that had hit me like a ton of bricks on Saturday night, and was still harassing my poor, sore little gut.

We’d been playing with NPO and clear liquids for a couple of days, and the only time I was on top of things was when I was NPO. Clear liquids caused some rather lively and unpleasant problems. Yesterday, I was bemoaning my situation on Pownce, and Dr. Schwab sent me the following footnote from his book:

“We had another mystery patient: she’d undergone routine intestinal surgery, was making a normal recovery, but every time we’d start her on food, she’d vomit.

Back would go the stomach tube, things would proceed to the point of apparent readiness to eat, tube out, feed, vomit, tube in. . . . Finally we asked Dr. Dunphy what he thought was going on. “What are you feeding her?” he asked. Clear liquids. The routine first meal after surgery. Jello, broth. “Give her a steak!” he said.

Gotta be kidding, right? “How would you like to be looking at green jello when you feel crummy? Give her a steak.” We did. She gobbled it up, and went home. When I went into my own practice, I almost never ordered clear liquids post-op.”

Well, I mentioned that to one of the nurses when he said it, and then to another one today … both thought it would be an excellent idea. Someone mentioned it to the doctor, and she approved it! Yes! It wasn’t steak, and it wasn’t even the best tuna salad I’d ever had, but it sure was better than unsalted broth, jello, tea and cranberry juice. So … a resounding thank you to Dr. Schwab!!! He left Pownce abruptly last night, by the way, right after I said that if the doctors decided to fish around in my gut that I wanted him to come and do it! I must have scared him off! ;o)

This afternoon, my hospitalist came in and gave me the good news - it was, indeed, a bacterial infection, and I could go home to continue recovering! Had the cultures not grown any bacteria, they would have looked for inflammatory illnesses next. Since my poor daughter’s been in a hospital in Connecticut since July 1 for Crohn’s, it was a distinct possibility in my case, even at my age.

By the way - for those who’ve been asking … my daughter is being moved to Hartford in the next day or so for surgery. I believe they’re going to do a colostomy. I should have more information on that later …

So I was sent home with instructions, several prescriptions, and lots of well wishes from the staff.

Which leads me to what I really want to write about the most: the staff.

I was on a wing named Dunaway South … which also houses pediatrics. There seemed to be many adults there, though, and so I didn’t feel out of place. It’s my second time on that ward. I want to tell you about the staff, because they were amazing. They went well beyond any call of duty whatsoever, and were so wonderful to be around, that I hated to leave them. In spite of my pain, I spent a disproportionate amount of time hanging onto my poor sore belly because, although it hurt so bad to laugh, I still couldn’t stop. Even with being really sick and in pain, I don’t think I’ve ever had as much sheer fun in a hospital - ever, even when I used to work in one.

There are so many of them that I’d like to name, but I’m terrible with names, and I can’t remember most of them. There are two, though - a nurse and an LNA, who spent a lot of time cracking me up: Lauren and Gail. I don’t know their last names, but I do know that they had wings underneath their scrubs. I wish I could remember the names of the two night nurses I had, because they were great. One of them in particular got me through a very bad episode two nights ago with so much patience and caring that I felt as if I were a little girl being cared for by her Mum. I really wish I could name them all. I feel badly that I can’t.

Another person I have to name …

Yesterday, my care was passed on to a new lady hospitalist, since the one I started with was enjoying some time off. Her name is Jayanthi Wheeler. I was bemused when I heard it - an Indian first name with an English last name. I wondered what she would be like. When she first came into my room, I could see that she definitely was Indian. When she spoke to me, I was delighted to realize that she sounded exactly like a female version of Vijay! She was very confident, and laid things out for me very well. She left me with no questions, no doubts, and with a feeling of confidence in her capabilities.

Once she was done, I asked her where she was from … “India,” she replied. Trying to remember the things which Vijay has taught me, I asked her: “So which is it? Should I greet you with namaste? Or maybe with vanakkum?” Her eyes lit up when she heard “vanakkum.” What a delight! She speaks Tamil, just like Vijay! What followed was an intensely interesting conversation … which could have continued for hours, as far as I was concerned!

As soon as she left, I got on GTalk and drummed up Vijay, and told him all about her. He informed me that her name, Jayanthi, means the same as his: Victory. He also told me that she went to the best medical school in southern India.

Today, my visit with Dr. Wheeler was briefer, but just as pleasant. She’s telling me that I should get into a program that sends people to India to help with English reading. Apparently, expenses are paid … and you stay for several months. People … I am going to look into that!!! It would rock to visit India, and I’m a frustrated teacher anyway! :o)

Although I really like my new primary care doc, I can’t help but wish that Dr. Wheeler was in private practice …

And so - here I am at camp! When I walked in, the sink was full of dishes, there were paper towels on the floor, my plants were withering, the stove top was covered with food, the table hadn’t been washed since I left … in short - the camp was an unmitigated disaster. Leave it to three men … !!! So, tomorrow morning, I take my final in Connectivity with Lab - a three and a half hour test, and then I get to … you guessed it … clean. *sigh*

Gee, I wonder if maybe I can work myself into a relapse … >;o) (just kidding!!!)

It feels so good to be loved. Ahhh yes. These kind people must have taken a liking to me, because I’m stillllllllll heeeeeeere … *rolls eyes*

Really hoping to get sprung today. As grateful I am to everyone - because this time I seriously did hit solid gold with each and every nurse and LNA … and hospitalist (and that one’s really saying something, coming from me!) … I still am yearning for a shower with soap that doesn’t make me look like I poured baby oil on my head, and FOOD that I can identify when my eyes are closed!

I’d also like to motivate around my environment without a little pole following me everyplace …

Anyway … I thought I would take the opportunity to share a few things that I would like to say to people - but am too chicken. I’m thankful that none of my own caregivers or hospitalists deserved to hear any of this, but there were so many people in and out of here who did need to hear it …

1) Do you have any idea what “Eau de Bête Puante” will do for a queasy stomach? What I wrote actually means: “Skunk Water” … believe me, that’s what even the most expensive perfume or after shave can smell like to someone who’s sick.

And don’t think you can “get away” with just a little dab … it’s like thinking you can be “just a little pregnant.”

I had people walk past my door who were so odorous that I could literally taste them long after they’d passed.

While I’m at it - those of you in food service should think about this advice too. If you have a habit of taking French Showers before work, or are a bit too fond of your current perfume, you could be causing your diners to wonder what the heck was put in the food … *cough*

2) Bursting into a room and shouting “Good morning!” before your patient is awake is not, I repeat: NOT, conducive to lowering blood pressures!

3) Long, loud cell phone conversations outside of patient’s rooms are not only TMI, they’re also unnecessarily disturbing if a patient is trying to rest.

4) Along the same lines … shouted socializations across a ward’s hallway are probably the biggest offenders when it comes to patients not being able to nap. When I was a student nurse, (many moons ago) we were taught silence in the hallways, and lowered voices at the nurse’s station. I don’t think they’re teaching people that anymore.

I’ve heard shouted “how are ya’s” as early as 5 AM, and as late as 11 PM, and I’ve heard dinner arrangements being made by people at opposite ends of the hallway. At this moment, I’m listening (unintentionally, but unavoidably) to a conversation about hospital policy just a few feet away from my door.

And so … that’s my contribution to the blogheap of posts across the medical blogosphere for today. Right from the horse’s mouth, if you will.

Hopefully, my next post will tie up my experiences here for this time around, and put the matter to rest permanently. Then I want to deal with the awards and meme’s I have lined up and waiting for me …

So … I’m going to stand beside my bed in my little skid-proof footies, and start clicking my heels together as I repeat: “There’s no place like home …”

Guess where the Moof is writing from now … !

Home? No …

Camp? No …

Waikiki? No … (but don’t I wish! ;o)

From my window, I can see … a brick wall, and a higher level of another wing of the building I’m in. The service is great here … but the food is terrible! Actually, I haven’t had any during this visit yet, so things might have improved, but I doubt it.

I’m in that same spot I was in back at the end of March … again.

Actually, I’m relieved to have been able to get here. There are two other hospitals between camp and here, and one of them, I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but the other one is OK, and it seems to be improving all the time. They even have my old nephrologist as a hospitalist there. It was a long ride from camp, though, and I considered going to one of the other hospitals, but I’m glad I came all the way here, instead.

On Saturday, late in the day, we had a tremendous storm blow through - just a hair north of us. We were told that it had nickle sized hail, winds of 70 miles an hour, and was capable of popping tornadoes without warning. Now that’s saying something, up here in Maine. Tornadoes are rare in these parts.

I was sitting on the camp porch, doing a blog run, and watching the unbelievable lightning just over the mountains on the other side of the lake. The storm was just missing us. We got the wind and the lightshow, but none of the rain or lightning strikes. The color in the sky in that direction was unreal, and I wanted to take photos, so I set out to find the camera. However I noticed with growing consternation that my gut was beginning to develop some serious cramping, and I cut my search short … since the sudden onset was rapidly becoming a bit more than allowed me to remain upright and mobile.

I’m not a lightweight with pain. I never take pain meds, with the exception of sneaking an Advil now and again when the going gets really rough. Even so, I knew that this was beyond anything I could deal with for very long. I told Doug that if it didn’t ease up, I would have to get a ride to the hospital … which is about an hour from camp.

It was Saturday night - everything always happens on a week end! I didn’t want to call my new doctor, and I really didn’t want to go to the ER on a Saturday night, either. I decided to try to hold off for the night - to see if it would pass by morning; however, after a very long and sleepless night, I was worse in the morning, and new related problems had also surfaced, one of which really scared me.

When I saw (with great relief) that the sky was beginning to lighten, I braced myself and took a quick shower. I would have to be completely unconscious to ever go to the ER without showering! *LOL* When I got out of the shower, Doug was awake, and he agreed to take me to the ER. We got there at 6:50 AM.

Here, I won’t go into as much detail, because I got there just in time to have a bit of a medical meltdown. For once, I was actually grateful to be in the ER. My only regret was that it was early Sunday morning, and I figured that I would end up with one of the new, young ER docs. It always makes me a little paranoid when the docs look younger than my kids … *blink*

To my absolute astonishment, in walked Dr. MacCauseland! He’s the same one I saw in the emergency room back in March. In spite of being in some pretty engaging pain, I started to laugh when I saw him, and commented on how I always end up with him, and how he always admits me when I do. He smiled a little sheepishly, and asked me when he had admitted me before, and I told him about the other two times; then he wanted to know why he had admitted me on those occasions, and I told him, including the fact that the time back in March had been “for nothing at all!”

Frankly, I was really relieved to see him, even if I was teasing him, and giving him a hard time. I said it back in March when I wrote about him, and I’ll say it again - he’s one of the kindest, gentlest and most attentive doctors I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell you how often I’ve wished he had gone into primary care. I have a serious issue with speaking up to medical professionals, but for some reason, it’s almost completely absent with him.

I was in the ER from about 7 AM until after 3 PM. It was a long, uncomfortable stay. At the end, Dr. MacCauseland came in and said: “Were going to send you upstairs.” I protested, although I knew he was right, and on more than one level, I was actually grateful. It was just actually hearing him say it, and experiencing that “trapped” feeling that comes with the realization. My husband joked later on and said: “What were you hoping for, anyway? A cork and some super glue?” *LOL* But seriously … three times now … my only three times in the ER since my first admission for renal failure, and each time I saw the same person, and each time he admitted me. See a pattern there, anyone? ;o)

Anyway, they admitted me, and I ended up with a little hospitalist lady from Algeria. I was placed on “strict NPO.” I was grateful, however to still be given my meds at about 2 PM … because I hadn’t been able to hold them down the night before, and had missed them that morning. I could feel my blood pressure rising, and I was a bit nervous that no would realize how important it was for me to get those meds. I was also concerned that even if I did get them, that they wouldn’t stay put. We finally did get on top of that situation though … in fact, we got on top of it so well that it’s been wayyyy too low today, and my sweet little hospitalist lady cut my Clonidine dosage down. She and I both agreed that my new PCP and I need to discuss replacing it with something else. It gives me horrendous side effects, and of the possible dosages, the lowest isn’t enough, and the next dosage up takes me off my feet. I must just be really sensitive to that particular drug - or type of drug. My other hypertension meds don’t do that to me.

Yesterday was a bit rough … and overnight was tough, although I did get some sleep - probably thanks to the Clonidine. It did make maneuvering the path between my bed and the restroom a bit challenging, though.

Today, I’ve been on clear liquids since about noon, and am doing well enough with them. Since the inception of the clear liquids, they’ve stopped my IV, so I was even able to take a quick shower! ( YES!!! ) I feel more like people now. I had a “bed head” with a really bad cockatiel crest which I was more than relieved to get rid of!

My hospitalist came in as I was writing the above paragraph, and she’s letting me go home tomorrow. I can finish recovering at camp. w00t! I have finals this week, and I wrote to my professor, asking him what to do if I were still in the hospital past the finals cut-off time, and he was kind enough to tell me that he could extend the time for a short while under the circumstances. I won’t need him to do that, now.

Before I quit, I’ve got to give all of you nurses and LNA’s out there a HUGE cheer. I swear that the sun and the moon rise and set on my nurses! They’ve been great! I want to take them all home with me. More than anything, it’s the nurses and LNA’s that make a hospital stay bearable … and they seem able to create pleasant moments for their patients, even through the roughest times. The girls I’ve had since I got here have been angels … real live angels. Although I’m going to be glad to go home, I’m going to miss my nurses!

Now, when I get back to camp, besides taking my final, I’ve a few awards I need to blog about, and a “sort of” meme from Vijay … wouldn’t ya know it! Vijay doesn’t even have to get meme’d but that he meme’s me! Would you get the idea that he’s relishing some sweet revenge? ;o)

Oh … one final thing. When I realized that I had an internet connection here, I got online and proceeded to have the following conversation over Pownce with Dr. Rob:

Dr. Rob: Dang, moof. Take care of yourself!

Moof: Well, I gave in and actually came to the ER, so I’m trying to. *LOL* What a person will go through for a blog post, eh? ;o)

Dr. Rob: Well, I say you are passionate about your work.

See what I go through for some decent Patient Blog material? ;o)

Bad Moofie … that was a trick question!

Actually, Tunisians aren’t usually ever Afghans, since Tunisia is on the African continent between Algeria and Libya, while Afghanistan is in Central Asia, somewhere between Iran and Pakistan.

I guess a Tunisian could become an Afghan if he wanted to … but that wouldn’t really have a lot to do with this post. What? You think I’m spinning a yarn? If you do, then you’re getting warm ….

… I’m crocheting some yarn … Tunisian Crocheting, to be precise. Tunisian Crochet, otherwise known as Afghan Crochet, isn’t quite the same the thing as either knitting, or regular crochet. I’ve been a knit-wit for most of my life, and picked up regular crochet as a teen. I was almost 40 before I found Tunisian Crochet and taught it to myself … and I’ve barely touched either knitting or regular crochet since.

Tunisian Crochet is a tight, sturdy weave, which lends itself well to Afghans (hence the name!) and other items which call for a dense material, like coats, purses, scarves … etc.

It’s done on a single needle, which has a hook at one end. The hooks come in different lengths and sizes, as do crochet hooks and knitting needles. You can also get needles that have hooks at both ends … which are used for creating double sided patterns, and fancy color changes.

I’ve been designing and creating Tunisian Afghans for years. I’ve made one for each of my kids, and I make one to give each grandbaby before he/she turns 1. I’ve just started on my new granddaughter’s afghan … and hope it will be done before her first birthday, next July.

I started a project in 2004 while I was here at camp. I’d never made one of those afghans for myself, and I really wanted one. I knew that I was about to have some surgery that was going to lay me up for a while, and I felt that it was a good time to begin a project. I designed the afghan, got the yarn, and got the first panel done. About then, a dear friend asked if I would make one for her Mom, so I set my project aside, and worked on hers instead. I started it when I was in the hospital having surgery, and finished it when she was in the hospital having surgery. With that one done, I’ve worked on mine some more, but now I’m going to put it aside again to make one for my new grandbaby.

I’ve included some photos of it below. It’s wrinkled, because it’s been in storage. Once it’s done, I’ll block it, and it will look a lot nicer.

Tunisian Crochet uses an elongated crochet hook, which sizes in the same way as regular crochet hooks. Unlike regular hooks, most Tunisian hooks are quite long - like 12 to 14 inches, however you can get shorter ones. All but the double ended needles which I mentioned above have a cap on the hookless end. See the photo below.

One row of Tunisian Crochet takes two passes, first from right to left as stitches are picked up, and then from left to right, as the newly picked-up stitches are crocheted. See the link below for some excellent instructions, complete with graphics.

I’ll take some shots of my grandbaby’s afghan when I get more of it done, and post about it. If anyone’s interested in information and tips on Tunisian Crochet, just drop me an email!

To see the description of each photo, click on the photos, and navigate with the “Previous” and “Next” options …