Variety is the Spice of Life

It's never boring, that much I can tell you. Every hospital stay presents me with some new challenge, new information to process, more opportunities to say, "um....huh?" Like Wednesday night when I was given a shot in my stomach without much ceremony or fanfare.

That's probably a normal thing for some people, certainly for the nurses, but as I have never been stabbed in the stomach before, I felt that this was absolutely not a normal situation.

As much as we'd all like to believe that medicine is a highly refined, scientific process that can be depended on to yield the same results every time, it's just not. Doctors trained in the same place, working in the same group can hold wildly differing opinions about how to deal with the same problem.

I went toe-to-toe with atrial fibrillation for several months in 2011 and ended up on Amiodarone, an anti-arrhythmic that has kept me in a normal rhythm since. But that won't last forever - HCM eventually finds a way around it, which is how many HCMers end up with an implanted pacemaker or defibrillator. Because the medication can cause blood clots (previously referred to as Brain Clots of Death (tm)), I must also take a particular brand-name blood thinner called Pradaxa, created from the teeth of leprechauns and the blood of unicorns, laced with the finest threads of dwarfish gold and silver guarded by an angry dragon (this is seriously a more plausible explanation for the cost of the medication that the one given to me by the research department crony at Boehringer Ingelheim pharmaceutical, three time winners of my "Best Performance in Preying on the Sick and Old" award). But I can't take it while I'm here because it takes 48+ hours to flush from my system, and that's too long to wait when there's a viable organ that could go to the next person on the list who's ready now.

The problem with blood-thinners is that when I'm in the hospital, and therefore more likely to receive a heart than at home, blood thinners are not my friend. We have to walk a fine line between avoiding the Brain Clot of Death (tm) and getting passed over for a new organ because of too much blood thinner in my system.

Not surprisingly, all five of the docs in my cardiology group have a different philosophy about this. One gives no blood thinner, assuming (correctly, probably) that I am active enough when I'm here that I'm unlikely to form a Brain Clot of Death (tm). Why, between typing this I've been exercising my reflexes and agility through a rigorous workout regimen involving jumping jacks, short runs around the unit, and I don't mind telling you, a pretty sophisticated gymnastics routine I've been working up. Okay, actually I almost knocked over my urinal and caught it before it fell over and spilled. And I also played a Batman game last night for a few hours. Blood clots are terrified of me.

Two of the other docs believe in a Heparin drip that keeps my blood nice and silky the whole time I'm here. When asked why, their response also has to do with unicorns and fairy dust and such and under hard scrutiny must confess that it just seemed like a good idea at the time.

The doc who admitted me Wednesday actually tried to strike a balance between the two. Instead of nothing or everything, he went with a daily shot of Levaquin, which holds you over for a period of time in case I stumble into A-fib again.

The great thing about the docs in the Penn State Cardiology group is that they LISTEN. When I explained my rather vociferous aversion to daily shots *in the stomach,* he conferred with the other docs and agreed that I am active enough to go without anything for the week (I'm convinced it was the cat-like-reflexes demonstrated in my urinal catch that swayed him). So no more shots. And I got to the bottom of the blood-thinner mystery that has nagged at me since my second visit back in February. Not a life changing victory, but I'll take it.

Heart Problem? What Heart Problem?

HAY GUYS DID EYE MENTION WE HAVE A FUNDRAISER GOING ON?


I'm supposed to be moderately sedated right now with a swans cath sitting in my heart. But I'm at home typing this and listening to my parents teach Rich how to use a gas-powered lawn mower in the front yard. This is better by a mile.

I thought it suspicious yesterday that I'd not heard from my coordinator about my admission time this morning. When I called, I could immediately tell something was catty-wonkus because Fran (my coordinator) was using terms like "circle jerk" and "cluster....youknowwhat," and such. She is extremely professional and extremely frank about the short-comings of our current medical care system. And I trust her implicitly.

Apparently, my insurance company has decided that the frequency of my visits are, well...too frequent. They requested a "peer to peer review" which essentially means two of my doctors have to confer and agree that I absolutely need to be admitted every six weeks. Insurance will also ask to see my numbers - ejection fraction, cardiac output, etc.

The timing of my admissions aren't necessarily based on my health at any given moment (though they will be before this is over), but rather on when someone can keep the boys, when Christie can get off work...ya know, LIFE. Six weeks seems about right for my health too because it's around that time that my fluid retention goes haywire and I benefit from the IV inotropic medications.

If the insurance company looks strictly at my numbers, they will see a 43 year old male who is the picture of health. HELLO, THIS IS HCM - EVERYTHING LOOKS GREAT UNTIL YOU DROP DEAD ON THE BASKETBALL COURT. But wait, I'm sure they learned that in medical school. What's that, you say? Insurance coordinators don't attend medical school and they may not understand the subtleties of non-obstructive diastolic hyper-tropic cardiomyopathy with low graidents as well as an actual, medical school educated cardiologist? I'm shocked. SHOCKED, I say. 

The only time my numbers freak out is when I exert myself  - like walking, or sitting up, or digesting food. Not that I do those things on a regular basis. That would be crazy! So as long as I stay away from things that humans do, I should be fine until the insurance company can afford for me to be admitted next time. I understand. Blue Cross/Blue Shield is strapped for cash these days - their CEO only "earned" $12.9 million (NOT a made-up number) in 2013. Just kidding. By "earned" I meant, "went to some meetings and had cocktails after." If I'm goofing around and having heart failure all the time, how is the poor guy going to afford to keep his labradoodle in fresh sweaters, or pay for his mistresses' hair removal treatments? SOMEONE PLEASE, THINK OF THE CEO'S!!

So while this assboat is out playing golf with his bad haircut, I'll just take more and more meds this week in a vain attempt to keep the fluid under control. No idea how that is going to play out - hopefully the docs go to bat for me justify the frequency of my admissions.

On top of that, the patient population at Penn State was ridiculous today, so I would have been more than 24 hours getting a room (likely). Since my parents are visiting this week and Christie's schedule is more flexible this week, we just let them bump it to next week.

Know this: if the hospital is overpopulated, the nurse to patient ratio is off-kilter, which runs them ragged and reduces the quality of care for the patient. Yet, despite the rip-roaring business the hospital is seeing this week (and many other weeks, because this is a common problem) - it will not result in pay raises or better perks for the nursing staff. And then they will moan and cry about the nursing shortage. While the CEO likely makes $12.9 million (TOTALLY a made up number) this year.

So I'll enjoy my freedom for one more week and get back to you all with my 5-point plan to end Blue Cross/Blue Shield's reign of opportunistic terror. It begins with a strongly worded letter writing campaign filled with pejoratives and words like "succubus" and "rat-vulture." Sharpen your pencils and meet me back here tomorrow.

Money Can't Buy Me Love

Hello relatively healthy people! Sorry I've been away for a while. The day after my last hospital stay I started feeling sick and have been that way ever since. The docs say it was a cold and allergies, I'm convinced it was a touch of Ebola.

Nevertheless.

A friend of ours (Ellen Gecker, whose husband Marc was actually the realtor who was instrumental in our move to Hershey last year) has been so gracious as to set up a FUNDRAISING WEBSITE. I won't spend much time explaining this since the details of *why* we need a fundraiser are detailed HERE. You can click the link above or check out the widget directly to your right.

So check it out and most of all, share it anywhere you can - Facebook, Twitter, Google +, Pony Express, etc. The more people see it, the better chance of it ending up in front of Bill Gates.

And HUGE thank-you's to everyone who has already contributed. I promise we'll use the money to pay for medical related expenses, no matter how much I'm dying to play the new Dark Souls game and buy a Fender Stratocaster. For those of you who can't give - I really, really appreciate your readership and time (comments are appreciated too!). Send us good vibes, prayers, or whatever it is you prefer to send. (TTLGers - please no inappropriate photographs or dead animal "art." You know who you are).

Thanks to Ellen and Katherine who set up the site, and also to Stacy who got the ball rolling. You guys (gals? that always sounds patronizing to me...) are awesome.