10 October 2024
I had the third CT scan of my brain in two months today at noon in the same facility Joyce is in. So I went early to spend a few minutes with her on the sixth floor before popping down to the second floor for the scan.
She didn't eat much of her tuna salad sandwich lunch but she had some milk and grapes. She did get up for the first time to use the bathroom.
I saw that her wound dressing had been changed again this morning. And when the LVN helped her back into bed, I insisted she put a diaper on to avoid any accident infecting the wound. If you haven't seen the wound, you don't understand.
The RN made a couple of visits to update us on Joyce's "release." First he said he'd monitor the chart to see what the doctors decide after their rounds.
By the time he came back to give us the update I'd had the scan and my doctor had called to tell me the bad news. There's a third bleed, this one in the front like the last.
"Should I stay here in the hospital?" I asked her.
"Oh no," she said. "If the neurologist decides to intervene, it would be to drain the bleed and that happens in Redwood City, not on Geary. You'd have to be transported there."
She did check to make sure I didn't have any new issues (and I don't), so she cleared me to take the bus home.
So I said goodbye to Joyce and walked down the hall where the RN was talking to a white coat (sorry, with the double vision I miss a lot of things) about Joyce's situation. I stopped to see if I could help.
He told the white coat I'm the guy with the brain bleed who can't take care of her if they send her home today.
The white coat became alarmed, telling me the only place I should be going is to the ER. "Sir, you have a brain bleed. At least go back to the room and sit down. We don't want you dying on our ward."
I told them I had just talked to my primary doctor about the results and she had said it was perfectly safe for me to take the bus home.
"But with a brain bleed," the white coat said, "you could die in your sleep. You shouldn't be alone. Please, let me escort you to the ER."
"I refuse to go," I said, smiling. I was not going to spend the next 14 hours in the ER rehashing the last two months of my life only to once again be sent home because the only treatment is to wait.
The RN chimed in too, saying I was their patient now and they were concerned about me. At the same time a doctor joined our conversation and, after they explained to the doctor what the situation was, I repeated that the injury occurred two months ago, I'm stable and I'd just cleared things with my doctor. I just can't see very well, making it hard to take care of Joyce.
The doctor let me go at last.
As I rode down in the elevator I remembered the ward they put Joyce in is the post-partum ward. No wonder they had a hard time letting me go.