The Ears, Nose and Throat clinic is in Glen’s Falls which involves crossing a different bridge.
A small one with a big name:
Northumberland Bridge.
Two cars can just about pass on it.
.
When we first moved here, we used to come this way a lot and this tiny island had a For Sale sign which always intrigued me.
It could be a bit damp living there.
The sign has been replaced by a flag.
.
In fact it’s a bit damp all along the Hudson at the moment.
Currently, hail is chucking down.
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My previous visit to ENT having been futile, I had low expectations.
As the clinic had been re-located, I was asked to arrive 20 minutes early. I had been told parking could be a problem.
.
Adding our own cushion, we arrived in front of the building and drove straight into a parking space finding ourselves some 35 minutes early.
Neither of us can abide being late, so this is not unusual.
Occasionally, I have been seen straight away and been on my way home before the appointed time.
.
Not something one counts on, so I loitered in the car for 15 minutes and presented myself at 9 o’clock, the appointment being for 9.20.
A nice nurse did all the usual and said that as I was the first appointment, the PA would be “right in”.
.
At 9.45 I began to wonder if I had been forgotten. This has happened to me in the past, I should point out.
Soon after, the tardy PA arrived without apology. In the course of conversation it transpired that she had had a busy Easter weekend.
And it was Monday.
One must allow for such things.
.
A previous occasion when I had been forgotten, was in a hospital where I was having tests prior to spine surgery. I had had to hold medication for a number of days and was consequently not in a congenial state of mind.
Although not sedated, I was trundled off on a stretcher, got the test and was then rolled out into a corridor to await transport back to my room.
.
It gets very chilly in hospital corridors and my only covering was a thin gown and thinner sheet.
Time drags in such situations and I allowed for this, listening to truncated conversations as people passed by, their footsteps disappearing off…
.
But after a while it was clear I had been forgotten and my state of mind by then took me to a dark place where I remembered too many times in the past when such things had happened.
So then anger kicked in.
Generally, I have a lot of patience.
.
But being deprived of essential medication is a sure way of trying it. Once it runs out it’s a bit like a spool of tape coming unravelled and much more untidy.
If I’d been clad in something less revealing than a hospital gown or even if I had had some idea whereabouts in the perishing hospital I was, I would have got up and walked, but I wasn’t and I didn’t.
So I couldn’t.
.
Maybe if it hadn’t been so cold I could have taken a nap, but those stretchers are also damnably uncomfortable, especially if you’ve got a ruined spine.
The next unfortunate person who happened by was suddenly confronted by a seemingly crazed woman who rose up on her stretcher.
“I need to be taken upstairs! I’ve been abandoned!“
.
In due course, someone came to get me and rolled me back through the network of corridors and upstairs to where my friend Denise was waiting.
My anger was still unravelling. I don’t remember who was my target, only that Denise heard me coming.
Back in the room, I had to await release. The television was on, broadcasting news of devastating floods nearby. A herd of cattle were stranded on a bit of land that was shrinking rapidly.
At this, my mood shifted into grief and I could not stop crying. Denise was very patient but I’m afraid my behaviour embarrassed her.
.
But this is what happens when someone is deprived of medication to which they have been habituated.
It seems incredibly naïve, but I had not realised how devastating the effect would be.
Without the anti-depressants I had expected to be a little sad, a little down. I didn’t recognise the person I turned into.
Looking back to that time, I realise how unprepared I was for it all.
.
A physiotherapist who was paying attention had recommended an MRI and when my PCP saw the result he actually apologised as he had not taken my complaints seriously.
The specialist I then consulted told me coldly that I had the body of a very much older woman and that nothing could be done.
Surgery would rob me of my mobility.
.
At the age of 59, I was not ready to accept this, so I sought a second opinion and was happy to find a surgeon who could help. I am still grateful, but spinal surgery of that sort is a serious mental adjustment.
After the initial surgery I was in hospital for 13 days. My friend Tim flew out to help me. The day after he left I was re-admitted because a part of the metal structure in my spine had become unseated.
.
Because I’d had a bad reaction to morphine after the first surgery, I had to make do with less effective pain control and I couldn’t make the nurses understand that while my back was hurting a great deal, it was my right foot that was making me scream.
It was as if I was being shredded by burning razor blades. I had nerve damage and became dependent on oxycodone which doctors prescribed for 13 years until: the “oxy-crisis”…
.
Following surgery, I had a short course of physiotherapy and that was that.
I was now disabled and retired.
Being the cussed person I am, I decided only months later to move to a 3 story house so I could foster cats.
In the meantime, I had also had bunion surgery on both feet. I figured that while laid up recovering from spine surgery, I might as well get the feet done too.
.
If anyone thought it was a bad idea to move less than a year after a spinal fusion, no-one said so.
It seemed I had barely unpacked after my previous move, so it wasn’t as bad as it may seem.
With the big house came an unmanageable garden with a treacherous hill.
This kept me entertained for the next decade.
.
After which I decided to move coast to coast with thirteen cats.
I’ve always wished I’d had the nerve to go back to doctor Livewithit and demonstrated how I can still lay my hands flat on the floor.
Without bending my knees.
You have had, Carolyn, a very bad time, and it is very commendable that you can do so much for the creatures around you!
Joanna
It would have been very satisfying to see Dr Livewithit again although I don’t suppose he would have been apologetic!
Your reflection photos are exceptional – I especially like the first one where one can hardly see where the water ends and the trees start! Oh, and the dog – love those! You can lay your hands flat on the ground without bending your knees? Oh my, you’re miles ahead of me Carolyn!
I also had some experience of a GP I called ‘Doctor Makethebestofit’. Fortunately, it didn’t involve any surgery. A few years after moving to Norfolk, I developed a terribly itchy and ‘stingy’ rash on my legs, back, and upper chest. Thinking it might be Shingles, I went to the GP. She diagnosed the condition in seconds after looking at my back. Pityriasis Rosea. It has no known cause, and no effective treatment or cure. While not permanent, it can flare up unexpectedly, and last for many weeks at a time. The GP told me I could take a daily antihistamine to help, and apply creams bought from pharmacies. Then she concluded, “Other than that, I am afraid you have to make the best of it”.
Best wishes, Pete.
I really think itching is worse than being in pain. When I spent those two years in boarding school, those awful cold winters, I got bad chillblains and was told they would go away in the Spring which was not much comfort!
Ah Carolyn!
I’m very surprised that doctors forgot about you so many times. I’ve always believed that US healthcare is excellent, and the staff is friendly and helpful, especially when you’re receiving paid care.
The photo of the goose is beautiful. Spring is coming 🙂
Take care of yourself 🙋
We have good doctors but medical care has become big business. I can’t imagine the frustration of having to work within it.
Of course you have great doctors, it’s just the system…
Take care of yourself Carolyn ❤️
That is so impressive. I can just about lay my hands flat on my knees!
🙂