By the time Dr. Stevens shows up at about 8, I’m in a thoroughly surly mood, and I want my infection treated here and now.
He wants me back at HUP apparently. I have no idea what’s been going back and forth, if, indeed, anything is happening. Suddenly though I’m under pressure from just about everyone to head to HUP again.
Meanwhile I haven’t moved my bowels since coming to DCMH. This has been a cause of major concern among the doctor and nurses, and all sorts of inducements have been offered.
Today this issue also comes to a head. I’m going to move my bowels, and if I need an enema or chemical help, so be it. I fight some, but this time I give in. A commode is brought in and the enema inserted. A few minutes later I have one of the most horrible 15 minutes of my life. Everything comes out and it hurts and stinks and is just a mess. I’m empty at the end.
I still think that if I go see Dr. Marcotte in his office, which is the current idea, I may be stuck at home tonight and I’m nowhere near ready for that. For one thing there’s no way I can safely get up the stairs.
At 2 PM the unit head nurse comes in and says that if I see Marcotte soon, they’ll hold the bed. And by the way, there’s a transport ambulance down at the front door and I should hurry if I want to avail myself of it. Gee, that’s awfully convenient I think. They have nothing better to do than wait for me? Turns out that is exactly the case. They were waiting on me. It appears a deal had been struck and Dr. Marcotte, possibly at his insistence was about to see me.
I also hear a story a bit later on that I’m never able to fully confirm. Someone at HUP, maybe Dr. Marcotte has boiled over, and dispatched a HUP ambulance (actually a City of Philadelphia Fire Department ambulance) complete with a pair of HUP security guards who are, in fact, armed, HUP being where it is. They have been told to return with me. No ifs or buts. They are to remove me from DMCH and deliver me to Dr. Marcotte. The all too convenient DCMH transport with me in it leaves just as they arrive. I know there was a Philly FD ambulance at the door as we left.
In the extreme rush to leave I get to take nothing but a few personal items like my phone. The hospital people rush me on a gurney to the front door and we’re off to HUP. I call Hilary as I’m been loaded and she heads down also.
When we get to HUP I’m delivered to Dr. Marcotte’s waiting room at Silver 5. Hilary gets there within a few minutes of me, and we’re promptly taken to an examining room. We’re met there by Dr. Marcotte’s chief resident, Dr. Usma Samadini. I lay face down on an examining table and Dr. Samadini looks at the wound, which is hot but apparently not horrible looking on the surface.
Then she starts probing around the sutures or staples, whatever is there. And the pus the starts pouring out. She’s barely controlling her voice and when I glance back she has a look of horror on her face. Meanwhile Hilary is almost getting sick and has to move out of sight of my back. I’m not feeling any real pain, but I’m getting very concerned.
After 15 minutes or so (it felt like an hour or two) of cutting, probing, and moping up lots of yellow pus, she decides it’s time for Dr. Marcotte to see what has happened. He comes in and his voice goes hard as soon as he sees what’s going on.
He has me immediately admitted. The process is so fast that I keep my DCMH ID bracelet. No one takes the time to get me a new one. Indeed, it’s three days before I actually get a HUP bracelet.
I get hooked up to an IV and antibiotics are immediately started. The doctors have no idea what the exact bacteria is responsible for my infection so they start a wide-ranging drug aimed at the most likely targets. Blood is drawn and sent for cultures, but the results will take a few days at least.
Meanwhile, my back incision is going to have to be opened and the infected tissue debrided or removed. I ask if this can be done under some sort of local anesthesia, but the answer is that a general is required. I hate general anesthesia. For one thing I so dopey for a few days afterward, and for another, I feel the effects for at least 30 days.
I’ll be operated on at noon tomorrow. Noon is normally a lunch hour and rest period, but it’s the only time I can get in, and I have to get in quick.
The evening passes quickly and I fall asleep surprisingly easily.
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