HotSpittals

This is one of those odd times when I find myself at a loss for words. Well, I have words. I could talk/write about any number of things that I find fun today. Of course, with the death of the previously demonized/currently sainted Michael Jackson (and that description isn't there to judge the man one way or another; no, it's the fickle fucker that is public sentiment and the way the news just hangs with one big story to the point that you have to search for news of the new variety), we hillbillies in general find ourselves back in the news. Really, I'd thought I'd run out of things that could be blamed on hillbillies that could shock me. The fickle fucker of public sentiment showed me I was wrong.

Why, you might ask? WTF does the death of a man who likely never stepped foot in a single hillbilly wood have to do with hillbillies? Two words: Hillbilly heroin. It's even covered in The Sunday Gazette-Mail. While hillbilly heroin used to refer to OxyContin (which, by the way, is produced by Purdue Pharma, which is based in Stamford, Connecticut, and last I checked there's nothing hillbilly about that), "hillbilly heroin" is shown on different sites also include other painkillers that are abused. I'm not knocking Purdue Pharma, either. When the medicine is used as intended, it takes care of a legitimate problem in a legitimate way. It's that people all over the country (but, a higher concentration in Appalachia) abuse OxyContin and other painkillers. Hell, people abuse all kinds of other things. I just resent like hell having hillbilly anything associated with a problem in a way that bypasses the real problem: the real doctors who over-prescribe such medications. I'm pretty sure that's a low number because I do see stories in the paper every now and then about a doctor facing prosecution for allowing his (or her) practice become a pill-pushery.

Perhaps our aging population increases the likelihood that someone can start swiping meds from Mawmaw's medicine cabinet. I do know of one young man who drove hopped up like he'd been in one of those 60's experimental traveling drug buses from a neighboring northern state all the way into rural southern West Virginia because he knew someone in the family was sick enough to need his favorite drug. He came intending to take what the doctor had given the relative back home with him. He almost took an ass full of buckshot with him instead. I hear you'd be surprised how fast a pillhead can run when they hear the cock of a hunting rifle, but it's not something I've witnessed myself.

There. I guess that's what I want to write about tonight. It was a bad day with Mama Buzzardbilly. The doctor wants to meet with us tomorrow. They assured us it wasn't the "call in the entire family" call, so I assume we'll be talking about the fact that Mama isn't doing well and she probably won't be able to live alone anymore. I'm sure she'll have to go to a skilled facility to do rehab, physical therapy, and get breathing treatments. It's like they find something new wrong every day. On top of that, today we walked in to find her forehead all bruised with a little raised spot from it.

I knew something was up. I kept calling her room and getting no answer. Finally, I called the nurses' desk and they said she was downstairs for an x-ray. They did not say what for. I kept calling later and still got no answer. I was already getting ready to go over there to find out just WTF was going on because the last time I went hours without being able to reach Mama in a hospital it was because she'd had her heart attack and was on a vent in ICU. No one called us. So, I was keyed up going in. Grasshopper called just as I was starting that way to say she was too. Apparently, Mama B got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night. She didn't call for assistance because she didn't feel like she needed assistance. She made it into the bathroom and she said it was like her knees just gave out on her. She hit her head and her newest robo-knee. And, no one called us. I did some fine communicating with them about that, so hopefully, they'll call if something happens again.

Her knee looks much worse than her forehead. We asked the nurse if her knee doctor (the one who put those knees in) had been called for a consult. Uh, no. We requested a consult, but considering how the request for the renal consult was handled last visit and this, we'll be calling the knee man on Monday ourselves.

Mom will not even hear of someone spending the night in the hospital with her. We had to do the 24/7 shift with Dad when he was out of his mind with infection and could not make decisions for himself. That is what she believes lead to her heart attack in Florida. It would stress her out more to have us there than to not. I don't know, though. It's 3:30 a.m., as I finish this and I honestly think I'd rest easier being there than trusting them to call me if something happens.

And all of this because hospitals are trying to figure every way to shave a dollar from actual care because they're scared to death that Obama is going to make medicine affordable (and hospital executives less rich). Doubt my word there? Ask anyone who works in a hospital, especially if they work around administration or middle management.