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I could never get Turtle to use his computer skills to fill out the VA Hospital application for healthcare online, so on December 16th, I did so myself. He received a notice in the mail ten days later, saying that he had been scheduled for a doctor’s appointment on January 19, 2011. Four long weeks away. The pain was getting MUCH worse, so on Saturday January 1st, he agreed to let me take him to the VA emergency room. He was treated promptly, with kindness and respect. He was prescribed pain meds, muscle relaxers, and anti inflammatory. He commented that he was very impressed with the staff at the VA, and felt much more confident about dealing with them.
The meds gave him some pain relief, and he began to get some much needed rest. Each day was sleeping, going to the bathroom (only when necessary), eating (a little), drinking a few beers, and more sleep. He was not getting around well. His balance was not good, and his movements slow and deliberate.
Tuesday, January 4th, I got home from work at around 2:30pm. The condition of the house told me something was wrong. Trash was everywhere! Trash cans emptied, and strewn about, four packs of cigarettes were torn open and cigarettes were spread throughout the house. His meds were all opened and dumped out. Several house plants were overturned, and dirt and plants were now growing out of the living room carpet. I looked over to the recliner where Turtle was snuggled up under his wool blanket and asked, “Did you have an accident with an explosive in here?” His answer was a very slurred “No”. The effort it must have taken for a man in great pain to make this kind of mess must have been extraordinary. He often kept his lighter inside of his cigarette pack when room allowed, so I could only assume that he had lost his lighter and was looking for it. Four packs of cigarettes? Something was bad wrong. As I started to clean up the mess, he got up and was very unbalanced and disoriented. I got him to sit down and called his sister Bonnie (my Angel and best friend). She said that she would be there as soon as possible with her brother Stan, but she would need to pick up her car at the shop before they came. That gave me plenty of time to finish cleaning, and keep an eye on Turtle. Disoriented was an understatement. He was mumbling to himself, and reaching for imaginary floaties in the air. I thought, oh no he has taken an overdose of meds, but after a careful count of his recovered meds, the count was right. Even in his loopy state of mind, he had taken the right amount as prescribed.
Bonnie and Stan arrived at 7:00pm. He was still snuggled up under his blanket. He thought Bonnie was me, but knew something was different when he heard Stan’s voice. We all decided that it was time to go to the hospital. Thank goodness for Stan, because I never would have gotten him into the truck by myself. The VA is an hour drive from our house so with Bonnie and Stan following us we arrived there at 8:30 pm. An hour was just long enough for Turtle to take off his clothes, play with all of the controls in the truck that he could reach, and empty the glove box. (looking for his cigarettes and lighter no doubt, but gosh Turtle you don’t have to take off your clothes to look for cigarettes!) Yup, something was very wrong.
At our arrival, the VA personnel were quick, gentle and kind about getting him discretely into their care. Blood work started immediately, and a doctor admitted him within minutes. The triage unit gave him constant attention and made him as comfortable as they could while waiting for his room. Stan said he was staying the night at the hospital, so I left at around 11:00pm because I had to work for awhile the next morning. Bonnie and Stan told me that he was seen by five doctors before he even got to his room. Does your hospital do that in the middle of the night?
Wednesday I got to the hospital at around 10:30 am. He was receiving wonderful treatment, but the news was not good. His liver was not functioning properly, and all of the meds he had taken had turned into toxin in his blood. They were trying to flush his system with IV and could not give him any pain meds at the time, as they would only turn into more toxin. His pain was difficult to watch. Later that day a cat scan was performed. Results would be available tomorrow. Stan was staying the night again so about 2:00am on Thursday I went home for a little sleep (yeah, right).
Early Thursday Bonnie and I were in the waiting room watching the clock for visiting hours to start, and Stan had gone home. Cindy and Mom came in and we took turns spending time visiting two at a time. Bonnie and I were in his room when the doctors came in at 1:00pm to give us the results of the cat scan. Grim news indeed. There were lesions on the liver and lungs, and calcium levels that indicated cancer. The doctor was very kind, but direct. Treatment could be tried, but the result would be the same. He told us that Hospice was available with a private suite, and they could make him comfortable. Bonnie and I decided that this was best.
By 2:00pm Hospice had him set up in his suite. We could come and go as we pleased, any hours, and as many people as we wanted. Many of his treatment tubes were removed and pain meds were started. He passed away quietly in his sleep Friday morning at 5:45 am.
I guess the moral of this story could be that Turtle was right. He DID go to the VA Hospital to die. BUT what we observed there was wonderful caring people, and the best treatment in the world. So if you are a veteran and are not sure of signing up, GO! It may save your life and give your family peace of mind.
Gloria
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