Tell me lies, tell me sweet little lies

At home again, for a few hours. At least they're letting me get out every now and then, cause I'm moments from plastering a few of them with boot prints. What has happened in the last few days??? Well, just a great realization of what kind of bullshit I should have come to expect from the medical community.

I had a fairly in depth conversation prior to being admitted to the hospital with the doctor who signed up the orders. I said I wanted to be assessed after the steriod shots would have taken affect to see if things are staying stable, because I can't afford, financially or emotionally, to be in the hospital for an extended period of time unless it was damned well necessary. And I told her my opinion and history of bedrest, and she agreed that I would be sent for an ultrasound on Saturday to ensure things are still where they were. So Saturday, I inquired as to when I would be sent for that test. "Whenever they call you down, and that's only if they figure its worth it." Excuse me? Who's "they"? The ultrasound technicians, who have no medical say in things??? Saturday came and went. Sunday came and went... And I found out that I was never even penciled in for an ultrasound, save for the one scheduled for me on Thursday (which was scheduled months ago).

Then there was the phone call to my OBGYN, who unfortunantly I'm currently not under the official care of while in this hospital. However, because he is my doctor and the one I'm currently under has no authority over him unless there is an emergency, if he says "Send her home", then I go home. Providing that when he calls me they let me know before his practice has been shut down for an hour! And part of the message he left, that I didn't find out about until I called his office this morning? That he wasn't going to be in today. So I'm going out and throwing some more money on my fucking VISA today and buying a cell phone. There's no bloody phone service in the ward I'm in! I can't get a phone there, but I can bring a cell. So that's fucking it, I'm getting one.

Still not a fucking test or assessment or even a minor check to see if things are changing. They ask me the typical questions. "Any cramping, contractions, leaking fluids?" No, no, no. But do they ask anything else? "Have your stress levels increased or decreased since being admitted? How would you rate the empathy or compassion of any of the health care workers you have encountered during your stay? Do you feel your questions and concerns are being addressed?" Increased 10 fold, poor and not in the bloody least.

I think what angers me the most is that if I'm so fucking high risk, then DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!!! Making me stay away from my family, worry about reneging on my mortgage, and prodding me in the middle of the night to ask me how I'm doing isn't going to help at all. I'm not stupid. I know my options, I know what to do in the event something goes wrong, I'm not intending to come home and spend the next however long doing jumping jacks and straight leg lunges while carrying a load of 50 pounds on my back. I intend on working while sitting at my desk (which is acceptable according to the doctors), sleeping in my comfortable bed (which doesn't make me sweat the moment I lie down as it's not one of those stinking rubber covered hopsital jobbies), and doing as little as possible. And I'm bloody lucky that Gunther is the kind of man he is because no one could ask for better right now. If he needed to, that man would carry me from my chair to the bed, all of 2 steps in its current setup. I live 5 minutes away from a hospital that would be able to rush me back to the RAH if necessary, and has already agreed that if they see me pop into the emergency room, they'd be doing just that for me. I live the same distance away from my OBGYN and my family doctor, both of whom know my history and have been extremely helpful. And I've got a good network here of people who are all willing and able to help if necessary. I wouldn't be homesick. I wouldn't be sad when Gunther Jr. says "Mommy, I want you to come home. I miss you." I wouldn't be fretting about how I'm going to pay my mortgage. I would be able to sleep without staring at the celing for hours until the twit in the bed next to me stopped snoring. Or being woken up by babies crying because they're so full up in the L&D ward that they've been rooming new mothers in the high risk ward... SMART fucking idea, like I need that. And I wouldn't be spending hours sitting in a wheelchair on the sidewalk by the edge of the properity because I just can't stand being surrounded by people. I am a social creature, yes, but damnit, I want to be alone right now. Phone conversations, email, maybe a visit, sure, but right now? All I want to do is curl up in my bed with my husband and my son and watch them sleep.

Tomorrow the shit's going to hit the fan... This morning I didn't get the chance, but if I have to stay up all night tonight in order to prepare then I will. Give me a good fucking reason to keep me or send me home.