I am making the same request I made yesterday: I fyou cannot be kind or supportive, please keep your opinions to yourself. I know people have found my comments about the local fundies and my concern because they also work at the hospital offensive. I've explained the reasons for my concern in gory detail in the first diaries. The reasoning is sound; when you have a terrible experiences a sufficient number of times, you learn to gang warily. Trust me, I've had a number of truly nasty run-ins as a WIccan in the Deep South. Being wary doesn't mean I hate Christians--I was raised Catholics, have a minor in theology and have great respect for Christians. But I have a hearty dislike for the Faux Christians who use their religion to bash others--gays, non-Christians, women who differentiate themselves from a doormat--and sadly, I've run into more than a few in the last 10 years.
I was also called hysterical and mean because I had a couple of moments of satisfying fantasy about wringing the enck of a particularly officious pudgy admin person who gave me a rather hard time especially because I had a different name from my husband. No, I don't wish harm to him, but he was a slightly thinner version of Rush Limbaugh (my MiL who is a fundy Christian but very kind except about our religion which she doesn't understand and doesn't want to understand, said< DOmn't you just know he's a deacon in his church?") and had all the kindness thereof. AN officious little pencil-pusher who oved the small amount of power he had there, and loved using it. Think the SNL Church Lady only male and dumpy in a suit one size too small, and you've got him.
Folks this is my Safe Place where I can vent about the crap I face as a witch in hostile territory. I odn't make this stuff up. It has happened. I wrote a diary years ago called Witch Hunts, and some of the war stories are there. SInce this hospital is in a very tight-assed conservative Christian area, I do encounter them on a daily basis--and I encountered an awful nurse there during one of Dad's hospitalization (she was so awful that we reported her because her nastiness was based upon seeing pur pentacles; until then she had been at least almost polite. After she did, all bets were off.). So I have strong reasons to have been concerned. She lost her job that day, by the way. We weren't the first family that had complained about her.
So if you feel I am hysterical, ask yourself how you would feel if you were a woman who was widowed at 34 and 30 years earlier lost a husband to undiagnosed heart condition--and now faces a husband undergoing open surgery, probably this Monday. I am scared to death. I am educated, did the homework, understand the procedure. But this is OPEN HEART SURGERY. It isn't an appendectomy or getting dermabrasion for acne scars. Someone is gonna split my husband's breast open, open his chest and hold his heart in his hands. They are going to graft veins to his damaged heart. Wouldn't you be more than a trifle upset about this if you were in my shoes? I think most people.
If you feel the need to lecture or call me names, please restrain yourself. I don't need any more stress. Aside from my husband facing open heart surgery, I am also dealing with my oldest cat being on death's door and trying to keep him alive so Ben can say good-bye to our wonderfully kind, gentle giant before he leaves us. And we had no choice but to file for bankruptcy this summer and are also in foreclosure. If I feel like I could use some Primal Scream Therapy, well, I think I've earned it.
SO the rule is, if you cant't be kind and supportive, don't comment. Because really, don't need to hear it right now. If you do, I will ask you politely to leave. You get three chances. If it's appalling enough I will file a complaint under the heading of "Don't Be a Dick." I don;t want anyone in timeout. I Just want people to ask themselves, "If I were the patient and this were my spouse, would I want someone to treat them this way, even the person sincerely believes they are right?" All too often what people call "Tough Love" is an excuse to be an arrogant know-it-all and msot of them have never faced the situation I am facing. SO, be kind or don't post.
Good news and bad news. The good news is first because I think I need to share it.
This IS,as Vetwife said, a very good hospital for cardiac surgery. It is indeed one of the top 5 in the country fopr it's cardiac surgery program. Unfortunately some of the other areas are mediocre, and my brother-in-law, whose son had open heart surgery as a baby, had some less pleasant stories to share about some of the other areas. So, no, I wasn't crazy to worry about it after the negative experiences I have had there when Dad was a patient. And yes, they DID notice his pentacle and his listing as pagan. He explained politely that it was the symbol of his faith, like the cross was there. They were puzzled than anything else, rather than bigoted like the now-employed-somewhere-else nurse. SO that's also good. Apparently the surgeons actually are very good even if some of the staff in other areas are less than helpful sometimes and in at least two cases, downright Fred Phelps bigots. I only want respect for our faith, not approval, nd so far it's what we've gotten,. which makes me feel a LOT better. Oh yeah, and my niece Thing 1 who works on the maternity ward is listed as "Don't Let In" and may get her spreading, sanctimonious derriere escorted out if she does show up (likely she won't; she loathes us and we're not too thrilled about her).
That's the good news: good cardiac cneter, excellent surgeons and , so far, staff who are at lest behaving nicely and respectfully.
The bad news is that my husband also has Type Two diabetes and is getting insulin. His blood sugar was insanely high--but he was never checked for it because he was utterly asymptomatic so the GP didn't have a clue. But they think that after the surgery and insulin to get thing under control, it may be controllable by diet, exercise, losing the extra weight (he had gained a LOT from the stress of our situation for the last 10 years here, caring for my father with Alzheimer's and Parkinson's, and 23 years in the military in some very high stress situation--let me say I know the REAL reason why Bill Clinton bombed Iraq in 93 for violations of the no-fly zone ; my husband saw the work of chemical warfare up close and persona. Not everything makes the papers and I only learned about it 12 years later).
So while I am feeling somewhat calmer and am holding it together because I don't have a choice, this is my Safe Place to vent and to cry without bothering the in-laws. They m,ean well, even if they regard us as Satanists or something equally idiotic. MiL is doing her damnedest but I suspect she cries when she goes home too.
Last night, after the stress of learning it was open heart surgery, and then getting lectured by two people who seem to lack the ability to empathize with my situation and calale me some pretty unpleasant names, I had something I haven't had simce 92 when I was prescribed Elavil: I had a night terror. Night terrors are like normal nightmares on crystal meth and steroids. Most people who have them are children and outgrow them. But some of s, usually intelligent, highly creative people, continue to have them in adulthood. Apparently I would wake my hsuband up screaming, and not even wake up (one of the characteristics of them). Last night was a beaut, becaus eI did something I had never done before: I sleepwalked. I was trying to escape in my dream and couldn't--I was blocked by furniture which had all been shoved in room in which I awoke, naked--and saw strange men in the yard (foreclosure nightmare). I tried to get out of my room , knocked over and broke one of Mom's lamps, broke the glass in a picture frame, fell and banged up my knee--mind you, I knew this was happening but my brain translated it into a can't escape horror story I think Quentin Tarentino would probably have loved. My nightmares have a logical plot, strong characterization, and make sense in Fright Night B Movie ways. I think the writer in me even functions in my sleep. I would really like to have the normal ones when you walk into your job and realize you're naked. But after years of being mostly nightmare free--except for a couple of months earlier when I had a reocurrence of dreams I've had since I was 20 and did a protection ritual (Christians consider it a prayer tot he equivalent of angels) and used a blessed talisman tied to my wrought iron bed, they finally ceased and desisted before I had to get spiritual TRO on my subconscious. I made it out okay, winding up in the hall, turning on the light. Aside from a scraped knee I am fine. And I think I will ahve the night terror beaten again. If not, time to sic and Irish Warrior Queen Goddess and Lugh of the Long Arm on them again. I don't think even night terrors can withstand a pissed-off Battle Crow and the greatest warrior of the Tuatha de Dannan (think of them as extremely militant angels if that's more comfy for you).
Other than that things remain as they were. The surgery won't be until Monday at the earliest because they need the Plavix, a blood thinner, out of his system before they cut. My old cat is still with us, but I am just hoping he survives till Ben comes home and can say goodbye--he loves him dearly, and he deserves the chance. Torachan is still sleeping with me, and so is my familiar ( a small black cat with a whit thong). The other cats came out of hiding--Pookie/Gardeen, my panther who shrank in the wash, a 25 pound solid black cat with the silliest, sweetest personality (he's Ben's kitty) and D'Artagnan the Maine Coon mix tuxedo came out to let me pet them, and Annie was feeling good enough to be a bully and chase Cleo, the other Maine Coon.
Excuse the typos, please. I am very tired. Tomorrow I am not going to the hospital mostly because Ben told me to stay home and get some sleep and watch a stupid movie (I think Kick Ass 2 qualified admirably). So I m gonna eat my third meal of the day, take my meds, reread a book and go to sleep. Hopefully only half the dose of the muscle relaxant (I have back issue sI was born with, and under stress my back can and does go into spasms which are Not Fun) plus half of the sandwich will help. I realized that as someone borderline hypoglycemic, part og how bad I've been feeling is due to not having eaten breakfast two days in a row and eating no dinner. I am now taking care ofmyself because I need to be strong for him. I'll domy crying quietly at home.
I also want to tell you that I told Ben about the support I've gotten here. I call it "The Ecumenical Prayer Squad" and I suspect that Father Guido Sarducci heads it (loved Don Novello, as an ex-Catholic, he got it right and showed the good stuff that kept me Catholic for the first 20 years of my life). He wants me to thank you, especially those of you who stood up for me last night. Some of you will likely get kosmails when he is able to thank you himself. Prayers and god thoughts and just virtual hugs, DO help. You are my support network. The in-laws try but I and Ben bewilder them utterly. We're like alien beings and completely incomprehensible; they literally don't know how to respond. His brother came today and Bill is a good sweet kind man who just has some ignorant notions about Goths and Wiccans because we are the only ones he's ever met. He has a big heart and he is genuinely a good man so I take the goodness and ignore the rest. At least his baby sister will visit over the weekend. And I asked Faye, my MiL, to make it clear that Ben does not need the stress of a visits from the Twin Horrors who are my nieces. He really doesn't want to see Things 1 and 2, and they are Harper Valley Hypocrites who are really nasty creatures who consider themselves good Christians. I don't think they've spent too much time reading the NT, just the parts that allow them to feel superior over others.
I am off to eat my dinner. Know you guys have made a difference for me and I will be eternally grateful, and so is Ben. May the Deity of Choice or just the Universe bless and keep you, and hold you in the palm of His/Her/Their/Its hands as the old Irish blessing says. You guys rock.