I'm really sick of this place. It's so dysfunctional. There are so many disconnects. For example, today I'm getting my medication and I notice the concoction is the wrong color. I ask the question and am told the order was changed by "the doctor", meaning the facility oncall doctor who I doubt rivals my ALS doctor, the head of neurology at the University of Washington Medical Center. I've had my Deanna Protocol routine approved by this board-certified physician and taken it for over two years. There is no flamin' way anyone at this place is remotely qualified to overrule me and my ALS doctor. We know this disease. They do not. Anyway, they made the change and nobody bothered to tell me. Typical. Disconnect. The night nurse got the order and the day nurse never passed on the information. Yesterday, the dietician wanted to reduce my folate. I said she doesn't get a vote. The nurse couched my refusal in more diplomatic terms.
Oh, and they're so attentive. It only takes an hour and a half to get your call light answered. Only an hour and a half to sit in shitty diapers or to stop choking or to overcome shortness of breath. So reassuring! I wish I were joking but the second shift is seriously taking that long the past two days! Of course, they cite being short-handed. "we are only three! " they say. And usually there are four for the 100- and 200-halls. (do not bother asking the management about the shortage, they have the innocent look down to a science. )
Orange, gold, rust, burnt sienna, ochre, raw umber; the riot of fall colors, in the trees and at our booted feet; a drive in the countryside; the taste of hot apple cider on my lips; the satisfaction of a truckload of firewood we gathered and cut ourselves; elk herds on the move; hearty stews, savory soup, crusty whole-grain bread, pumpkin and gingerbread spice lattes; these are the memories I tap into the most this time of year. Cabela's fliers in the mailbox; Carhart's camo-clad hunters swarm outlying areas; mushroom garthering; huckleberry picking; logger burgers; forest service roads; cheese sandwiches on the woodstove; warm quilts, cool sheets, and flannel nightgowns; cold butt, warm heart. Immensely grateful to have the well of memories to draw upon.
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