Lamsonacare - Day 35 - Lamsonacare goes global.

Lamsonacare - day 34 Lamson lives, for now anyway

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Day 9 (Friday - April 4, 2014)

My mom brings me this very cool new Sony camcorder to make my Lamsonacare movie with. It is very cool. I like it. It takes me awhile to learn how to use it but I finally figure out at least how to record with it. I record my first little installment of Lamsonacare the movie.

A lady comes to my room. She is a representative of one of these long term care facilities the social worker tells me about yesterday. This lady represents a place called kindred and says they have a bed there for me if I am interested. I am. She says the name of this place is Kindred. She says it is is like a little hospital inside a hospital. Apparently they have their own little wing of a hospital called St. John’s. This is coincidental in two ways. First, the hospital is located almost right next door to Missouri Baptist, which is where I am at right now; Second, St. John’s is actually where I was born - where young baby Lamson came into the world.

So I am thinking for this Lamsonacare movie I am making about my stay in the hospital, this could be a whole full circle ironic twist kind of thing. So I tell her okay I will go to this place. I am supposed to be taken there tomorrow via ambulance since I am stuck in this bed until my ass wound is healed.

The therapists come by to get me out of bed again. Right about the same time another lady shows up just as I get up into my chair. She is very attractive. It turns out she is also a representative of one of these long term care type facilities - the place called Select. I ask her if she did not hear I am already going to that Kindred place at St. John’s, but she says it is my choice.

So we talk and it turns out this Select place is located inside St. Joseph’s hospital. St. Joseph’s is in St. Charles, right down the road from where I live. All my friends and family are from St. Charles. So I figure this is great - a lot more convenient. I can even just take the bus home when I am released. Plus I am already familiar with the staff and stuff. I have been to this place before. So I decide to go there. I go there tomorrow.

The therapists are waiting there the whole time while we have our little chat. The Select representative lady leaves. On with the fucking physical therapy! I take a stroll through the hallways again. It is very refreshing. I am feeling good about all this. I am in a good mood.

To make matters better, since I was hurting and so miserable yesterday, they adjust my medication. so not only am I feeling less pain now, but I also have a pleasant laid back buzz going on. I am not even that disturbed when I see Doctor Orville Buttfucker come into my room. He is actually being nice. He asks me if I am having a better day, because the day before I was miserable and grouchy and told him to leave me alone as soon as he enters my room.

He goes on to tell me they are sending me to a longer term care facility tomorrow and I tell him I know, that I have already talked to the social worker and the different reps about it already. I cannot believe how nice Doctor O.R. is being today. I find it is that way a lot of times with asshole bully types. If you act like a fucking asshole toward them, they tend to actually act nice.

I guess because he knows how I feel about going to a nursing home, he starts very nicely explaining to me the difference between going to a nursing home and one of these long term care facilities. I let him know I know the difference and that I am cool with going to this Select place. We are actually being civil to each other.

Doctor O keeps being pleasant as he goes on to explain how he viewed the CAT scans of my lower body. Suffice it to say, for a crippled guy, I have been around a lot and done a lot of stuff, put my body through a lot of shit - lived hard There is a lot of damage down there - broken legs, broken hip, steel rod in my right femur.

So he starts to lecture me, but in a nice way. He basically concludes the lecture by saying, “You can probably stick around a while longer (by this, I assume he means staying in the land of the living), but you have to make some changes. You’re not 25 anymore.”

He then tells me before I go to this new place, since I’m on antibiotics for an extended period of time, until April 23rd to be precise, I have to have a pick line put in, which is basically an industrial IV from hell. It is a whole surgical procedure where they take this catheter and insert it surgically under your clavicle and then thread it in up this huge vein in your neck.

I have had the process done before, and the assholes like to tell you it does not hurt at all. You do not even have to be put to sleep. All they need is local anaesthetic and you do not feel a thing. All of this is bullshit of course. It hurts like hell and you can feel the creepy sensation of this tube going up the main artery in your neck.

So they take me down to another floor to do this procedure and I voice my concerns to the doctor. I ask him if there is any way I can get some sort of sedation for the procedure. He says yes but since I had already eaten and stuff that day, we reschedule for tomorrow, but I cannot eat or drink anything after midnight.

So I go back to my room. I eat dinner. I read. I watch the therapy channel. I get doped up. I go to sleep.

Day 10 (Saturday - April 5, 2014)

Bright and early, they take me down to get that pick line installed. They shoot me up full of really good dope. I do not fall asleep during the procedure but I am so high I do not really give a shit what is going on. I am so high, I am actually enjoying the procedure. I am almost a little disappointed when it is over.  

I go back to my room and wait for the ambulance to take me to Select at St. Joseph’s hospital in St. Charles, Missouri. I shoot my second little installment of Lamsonacare. I still learn how to work this new camera. I have lunch. I read. I watch the therapy channel. I wait. While I wait the wound people take off my wound vac because it is a whole system with an electric pump and everything. And St. Joseph’s has their own. So they put on a regular bandage in preparation for my trip over there.

About 3 PM the EMTs arrive. They load me up into the ambulance. We take a nice little trip to scenic St. Charles, Missouri - St. Joseph’s hospital. My new home. Yay!

We arrive at St. Joseph’s. They take me to my new room. The people here seem nice. The tech guy is named Greg. I forget the nurse’s name. Right away though, I like Greg. He seems like a pleasant guy.

After I get settled in, they start the intake process, which means they ask me millions of questions about my medical history which is extensive. However, aside from the obvious cripple guy issues and the infections, I do not have any health problems. So the monotonous part comes when they start asking me about diabetes, heart conditions,  allergies, blah blah blah - and I just have to keep answering, “No no no no no no no…” You get the picture.

So after that shit, I take out my camera to record another installment of Lamsonacare, but it is a very short one. it turns out I spend so much time learning how to use the camera, I already fill up the memory card and the only way to free up some memory unless I want to delete it is to import these files to a computer, which I do not have in the hospital with me.

So I call Mom and ask her to bring her laptop so I can keep this Lamsonacare money machine rolling. She comes up with a better idea. Since I am not blowing money while I am in the hospital, we decide to take some money out of my account and get the cheapest laptop we can find that I can play with while I am in the hospital. But I also need the computer to operate the editing software that comes with the camera. So it is looks like I have to put the filming of Lamsonacare on hiatus for a couple days.

I take time to scan the TV channels at this new place to see if they have that soothing therapy channel that they had at Missouri Baptist. They do not. The closest thing I can find as far as soothing quality goes is this channel where they show a live shot of the hospital chapel 24/7. This is a Catholic hospital so I guess the more devout patients like to turn on this channel while they pray. I guess this is the purpose of this channel, because the chapel is always empty. Aside from a few stragglers coming in to pray, there is never anyone in there. I guess that is why I find it soothing. The silence and all the religious symbols have a calming effect. Even though I am not a religious guy, I appreciate things that are soothing and calming, especially in times like this. Plus I figure the more soothed and calm I am, the more it aids the healing process.

Day 11 (Sunday - April 6)

Nothing happens today. I lay around. I relax. I read my sci fi book about detectives that solve crime on the moon. I order eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, cottage cheese, milk and an apple for breakfast - the same thing I order every morning. They say protein is good for the healing of the wound. I take drugs, a sweet xanax and vicodin cocktail.

My sister visits. She is busy with a new job, so this is the first time she visits me since I am hospitalized. It is a fun visit. We both have the same fucked up sense of humor so we both have a few laughs making fun of stuff. Then my mom shows up, surprising us both. We have a nice family visit.

I am annoyed that I cannot film my stupid movie for a few days while I wait to get a computer in here to work with my camera. Technical problems. What can you do? So I keep myself occupied going back and forth between dozing and reading all day.

I order a grilled ham and cheese sandwich, fries, cottage cheese, milk, an apple and a protein enriched nutritional supplement drink for lunch. I order the same for dinner. I kill the rest of the day lifting weights from bed, doing drugs, dozing and reading until I fall asleep for the night.

Day 12 (Monday - April 7)

Once again, at this new place, thanks to my history as a dirty filthy disease carrier who has had MRSA in the past, I get my own private room with a bed right by the window. It is not the best view in the world. It is just a view of the roof of another building. But it is a window and the light shines in and I can stare out and look at the sky, which I often do.

Mom comes by with a big surprise. She got me a new laptop. It is pretty cool, but since it is a Google Chrome Book it cannot help me for my purposes. It will not let me download the stuff to import files and edit with this new camera. So mom says she will get a Windows operating system to install on this laptop. Another day of no filming of Lamsonacare. Oh well. I figure there will be plenty of time to get footage for this groundbreaking documentary.

Two therapists come by. One of them is this extremely cute little physical therapist. her name is Sarah. The other is this Vietnamese chick. Her name is Tin. They come to get me out of bed and into my chair for a limited amount of time.

My mom brings electric clippers from home the day before. I have a big huge ugly grey beard, but underneath my face is not unpleasant to look at. I just hate shaving sometimes. So the first thing I want to do upon sitting up is shave off my big huge ugly beard. Looking at it in the mirror before I start to shave, I cannot believe how out of control it is. I look like a cross between an old testament prophet, a homeless guy, and an insane Santa Claus.

Sarah is in there kind of helping me set up everything. I cannot get over how cute she is. She is also very nice and pleasant and funny. I like Sara.

So I start the big shave. I am a majority of the way through it and she tells me I look good shaved. She just stands behind me and watches - staring. Then she says, “Wow!” Then she keeps staring and I guess she realizes she is gawking and says, “Sorry,” then leaves like she embarrassed herself.

I think she might be into me. I hope so. But I do not know. I have always been horrible at reading women. So it all just might be in my head. it might just be wishful thinking. But after I finish, she tells me again, “You look good.”

I say, “Well thanks. I feel good.” Woman confuse me when it comes to this stuff, especially pretty ones that are nice. I can never tell when they are being flirty or being nice. I am an idiot in this realm. or maybe I have low self esteem. Maybe both. I do not know. But it is definitely something to explore. I figure I will have plenty of time in the next month or so to see what is what. Who knows? Maybe I have luckily stumbled on to something good here. It seems to happen to me from time to time. Every now and then this dog has his day.

So after I am done shaving, it is time for me to get back into bed, because I am only allowed to sit up for a half hour at a time.

Right after, St. Joseph’s wound doctor and her two nurse assistants come to check out my wound. The doctor is a sexy latina. Her name is Doctor DaValle. She is one of those fun naturally flirty types. You know, the kind who are not really coming on to you, but just because it is fun and kind of funny to be flirtatious . Regardless, I like her. She seems fun, maybe even a little wild, which is rare with the doctors I have come across who usually seem pretty stuffy and boring.

The two therapists are still there. They stay because they want to see what the doctor’s recommendation  will be regarding my physical and occupational therapy. They actually argue a little with her because standing orders from Missouri Baptist say I can get in my chair for a half hour at a time, but Doctor DaValle says, “No.” She wants me to completely stay off my ass wound, which I do not have a problem with because I actually was a little skeptical of letting therapy get me up on my ass wound so soon after surgery. In my experience the only way to heal these pressure sores is to completely stay off them until they heal.

My main attending physician who is overseeing my case comes in to see me. Her name is Doctor Latha Myla. She is a very nice, pretty little Indian lady. She is very pleasant. She is always smiling and always seems genuinely pleased to see me. I have met her before in a previous stay here. She is a nice lady and a good doctor. She seems to actually care. I am proud to have her as a member of the Lamsonacare team.

My infectious disease specialist doctor at this new place pays me a visit. Right away, I like this guy way better than Doctor Orville Assenfucker. This new guy is named Doctor Young. He is a very pleasant guy with twinkly eyes and a nice smile. He also seems to actually like and care about his patients, which is refreshing after some of the fucking self-righteous, snobby asshole doctors I have dealt with. I am pleased to also have Doctor Young as part of the Lamsonacare team of medical professionals.

Overall, I am impressed with the  whole Lamsonacare team I have met today. They all seem to be caring, compassionate, conscientious and competent healthcare professionals. It has been a good day. I get doped up and drift off to sleep in a pleasant drug-induced haze.

Day 13 (Tuesday - April 8)

I wake up. I order breakfast. I read until it comes. I eat my eggs, bacon, sausage, toast and drink my milk. I read my sci fi novel.

My mom comes by with what she thinks is a Windows OS, but it is actually Microsoft Office, which even though I cannot use on my Chromebook because it does not have a Windows OS. but it is not a total loss. It is a good program to have for my purposes for my desktop at home. She says again she will bring by a Windows OS tomorrow. Once again, I need a Windows OS for my new Sony camcorder so I can download the proper editing software and so I can import files from the camera so I can free up memory because my memory card on the camera is full.

However, I am no computer genius but I am starting to suspect that this Chromebook is so simplistic that it is really not meant for this kind of thing. I am even starting to think from all the messing around I have done with this, that Chromebook is not even meant for a Windows OS, but once again it will not be wasted. I can use it on my desktop at home to upgrade my system.

But still I like the Chromebook. It is good for all the fun stuff like this word processing program for example and Facebook and Youtube and e-mail and browsing and stuff like that. You just cannot download and stuff except for their specially approved apps, a lot of which are actually pretty cool.

But anyway, this gives me the idea that even without the camera, I can still keep filming Lamsonacare, using Youtube. Then when my little journey is over, I can have a series of Lamsonacare episodes on Youtube and put all the footage together then edit it down into a 2 or 3 hour documentary.

So not much goes on for the rest of the day. I order the same thing for lunch and dinner. I order grilled ham and cheese sandwich, fries, cottage cheese, milk and my protein supplement drink. This stuff is called Juven. It is supposed to be great for healing wounds.

I spend the rest of the night reading and thinking up ideas for my Lamsonacare movie. I take a vicodin and xanax cocktail and fall asleep.

Lamsonacare - Day 29

Lamsonacare day 28 - view of the majestic Missouri River

Day 8 (Thursday - April 3, 2014)

I feel a lot better today than I did last Thursday which is when I am admitted into this hospital. The therapists come by. The doctor said it is okay for me to sit in my chair for a half hour at a time. So they help me transfer into my chair which goes pretty smooth this time because I feel a lot stronger and I am a lot more used to this bed. By this I mean I am now familiar with what rails and stuff to grab to help me sit up and transfer and the weird way this air cushion gives. My mattress at home is a lot harder. So I transfer pretty much unassisted today. The therapists are happy.

My ass hurts but it feels good to sit up and be out of bed and to take a stroll through the halls, just to get out of the room for awhile and get out of my head.

The social worker comes by and tells me they are trying to find a longer term care facility for me to go to. I raise concern about my contempt for state run nursing homes. She assures me these longer term facilities are basically like hospitals they are just for longer term patients. She says there are two such facilities in the St. Louis area and they may be all full so they might not even take me, but she says she will talk to them and we will see what happens. One of the places is called Kindred, the other is called Select. Great names.

The pain and spasms and muscle stiffness and tightness are making me very grouchy today. So I am already pretty irritable when Dr. Orville Shittenfucker comes in my room. He can see I am not in a good mood. I tell him to leave me alone. I need to be left alone. He leaves. When I suffer I hate people standing there watching me like it is some sort of fucked up show, Especially Doctor Asshole.

So after I kind of straighten myself out, I watch the therapy channel, I take some drugs. I fall asleep.

Day 9 (Friday - April 4, 2014)

My mom brings me this very cool new Sony camcorder to make my Lamsonacare movie with. It is very cool. I like it. It takes me awhile to learn how to use it but I finally figure out at least how to record with it. I record my first little installment of Lamsonacare the movie.

A lady comes to my room. She is a representative of one of these long term care facilities the social worker tells me about yesterday. This lady represents a place called kindred and says they have a bed there for me if I am interested. I am. She says the name of this place is Kindred. She says it is is like a little hospital inside a hospital. Apparently they have their own little wing of a hospital called St. John’s. This is coincidental in two ways. First, the hospital is located almost right next door to Missouri Baptist, which is where I am at right now; Second, St. John’s is actually where I was born - where young baby Lamson came into the world.

So I am thinking for this Lamsonacare movie I am making about my stay in the hospital, this could be a whole full circle ironic twist kind of thing. So I tell her okay I will go to this place. I am supposed to be taken there tomorrow via ambulance since I am stuck in this bed until my ass wound is healed.

The therapists come by to get me out of bed again. Right about the same time another lady shows up just as I get up into my chair. She is very attractive. It turns out she is also a representative of one of these long term care type facilities - the place called Select. I ask her if she did not hear I am already going to that Kindred place at St. John’s, but she says it is my choice.

So we talk and it turns out this Select place is located inside St. Joseph’s hospital. St. Joseph’s is in St. Charles, right down the road from where I live. All my friends and family are from St. Charles. So I figure this is great - a lot more convenient. I can even just take the bus home when I am released. Plus I am already familiar with the staff and stuff. I have been to this place before. So I decide to go there. I go there tomorrow.

The therapists are waiting there the whole time while we have our little chat. The Select representative lady leaves. On with the fucking physical therapy! I take a stroll through the hallways again. It is very refreshing. I am feeling good about all this. I am in a good mood.

To make matters better, since I was hurting and so miserable yesterday, they adjust my medication. so not only am I feeling less pain now, but I also have a pleasant laid back buzz going on. I am not even that disturbed when I see Doctor Orville Buttfucker come into my room. He is actually being nice. He asks me if I am having a better day, because the day before I was miserable and grouchy and told him to leave me alone as soon as he enters my room.

He goes on to tell me they are sending me to a longer term care facility tomorrow and I tell him I know, that I have already talked to the social worker and the different reps about it already. I cannot believe how nice Doctor O.R. is being today. I find it is that way a lot of times with asshole bully types. If you act like a fucking asshole toward them, they tend to actually act nice.

I guess because he knows how I feel about going to a nursing home, he starts very nicely explaining to me the difference between going to a nursing home and one of these long term care facilities. I let him know I know the difference and that I am cool with going to this Select place. We are actually being civil to each other.

Doctor O keeps being pleasant as he goes on to explain how he viewed the CAT scans of my lower body. Suffice it to say, for a crippled guy, I have been around a lot and done a lot of stuff, put my body through a lot of shit - lived hard There is a lot of damage down there - broken legs, broken hip, steel rod in my right femur.

So he starts to lecture me, but in a nice way. He basically concludes the lecture by saying, “You can probably stick around a while longer (by this, I assume he means staying in the land of the living), but you have to make some changes. You’re not 25 anymore.”

He then tells me before I go to this new place, since I’m on antibiotics for an extended period of time, until April 23rd to be precise, I have to have a pick line put in, which is basically an industrial IV from hell. It is a whole surgical procedure where they take this catheter and insert it surgically under your clavicle and then thread it in up this huge vein in your neck.

I have had the process done before, and the assholes like to tell you it does not hurt at all. You do not even have to be put to sleep. All they need is local anaesthetic and you do not feel a thing. All of this is bullshit of course. It hurts like hell and you can feel the creepy sensation of this tube going up the main artery in your neck.

So they take me down to another floor to do this procedure and I voice my concerns to the doctor. I ask him if there is any way I can get some sort of sedation for the procedure. He says yes but since I had already eaten and stuff that day, we reschedule for tomorrow, but I cannot eat or drink anything after midnight.

So I go back to my room. I eat dinner. I read. I watch the therapy channel. I get doped up. I go to sleep.

Lamsonacare - Day 25

Lamsonacare day 24

Day 7 (Wednesday - April 2, 2014)

Nothing eventful happens this day. I just lay around healing. I wake up. I have breakfast. I read some cheesy sci fi novel. The name of the book is The Retrieval Artist. The Retrieval Artist is a book about these detectives who solve crime and live in domes on the moon. It is good. I like it.

I spend a lot of time lifting weights in bed. I watch that therapy channel non stop with the oceans and rivers and mountains and soft jazz. I find it soothing.

Another asshole doctor comes by today. He pisses me off. He is a motherfucker. They are starting to consider a more long-term place to send me. So this asshole doctor, an infectious disease guy, tells me, “You’re going to a nursing home.” He is a grade A asshole. Motherfucker looks like fucking Orville Reddenbacher - stupid fucking bow tie, glasses, fucked up curly hair and all.

He asks me, “Have you ever been to a nursing home?” Now I am pissed because I have let cocksuckers like him talk me into going to one of those shithole nursing homes in the past. I am on Medicaid so of course it was some shithole state run nursing home. Those places are two notches below prison. They take in the shittiest of the shit as their “patients.” It is basically a refuge for elderly hobos and fucking degenerates. The name of this shithole they sent me to in the past is Rancho Manor. It is located in Hazlewood Missouri - a suburb of St. Louis.

I get a absolutely no physical therapy at this place. A lot of days they do not even get me out of bed. So I have to yell at the administration to even get help out of bed so I can do therapy on my own. Because it turns out being on Medicaid, I am not even allowed in their therapy room for legal insurance-type reasons. Only people with Medicare get therapy, and this was the only reason I went there in the first place, to get therapy and build up my strength after a long illness so I could go back home. They totally fuckin lied to me to get me in there.

At the hospital I was at they did treat my infection and closed up my wound but they did not want to keep me there any longer so that I could actually get physical therapy and build up my strength enough so I could get in and out of bed on my own so I could go back home. So they totally fuckin lied to me and sold me on the fact that this Rancho Manor place was some sort of physical therapy Shangri La where their staff of happy hardworking physical therapists were going to whip me into shape and help me build up my strength so I could go back home, which once again was total bullshit.

On the days they actually did help me get out of bed. I had to do all my own therapy which was not that big of a deal because even though I am a gimp in a wheelchair, I have always been kind of religious about lifting weights. So I knew what I had to do to build up strength, but I was lucky. Many people do not have that knowledge.

I did not see a fuckin therapist the whole time I was there. Mom brought weights from home. So I basically worked out every day and did laps around that place in my wheelchair. And when my mom showed up she would assist me doing transfers in and out of bed over and over again just to get the form down.

So after about five weeks, no thanks at all to those cocksuckers, I was strong enough to go back home. And this is where shit gets even weirder. I live by myself so the agreement with these assholes was I would stay there long enough to get strong enough to be able to do my own transfers in and out of bed without assistance which like I said after five weeks, this goal was achieved.

The first roommate I had there was okay. He was a stroke victim so he basically spent all day and night in bed. Needless to say, he also got absolutely no fuckin therapy whatsoever. But when I got stronger and more active they decided it was time for me to go to the wing where the more high functioning people were.

So they roomed me up with this fuckin pervy asshole with a head injury. The guy wanted to fuck me. The last night he got really pervy and gave it a pretty good try. Thankfully I got through that night with my asshole intact but I sure as fuck slept with one eye open that night. And to top things off people were stealing shit from me the whole time left and right. Stupid shit. My clothes, hats, socks, whatever wasn’t nailed down.

Fortunately, by that point, I had built up my strength to transfer in and out of bed by myself unassisted. So I told myself, “This is my last night I spend here.” So I ran it by the doctor. He was cool with it. I ran it by the head nurse and she was cool with it. I ran it by the administration, the people who actually ran the business, and they were complete utter fucking dicks.

I remember that fucking cunt lady laughing at me condescendingly and telling me “Oh no! You can’t just leave. There’s a process we go through. All this paperwork.” or some shit like that. The fact was they just wanted me to stay in there so they could keep collecting my disability check. That is how those assholes make money off their Medicaid patients. They take your disability check every month so you can live in squalor in their state run chunk of shit village for degenerate hobos.

And I was like “Bulllshit! The doctor said I could go. The head nurse said I could go. I’m not staying here another night.” All my stuff was already packed and my ride was already there.

She just laughed some more in her cunty smarmy way, like she was dealing with just another brain damaged mental defective or dementia patient she was used to dealing with. That cunt. When she tried to protest some more in her cunty haughty arrogant way, I just said “I’m not staying here another night. People are stealing from me. Its not safe and the guy you roomed me up with is wanting to make me his bitch.”

She just laughed some more like I was fucked in the head and it was all some funny joke. But that was it. I was out of there. If there is one good thing I could say about that hellhole it is that it was so fuckin horrible, it definitely inspired me to train and get strong so that I could get the fuck out of there as soon as fucking possible.

So this is why I start working out with weights from bed on my own almost since day one in this hospital stay, because in my experience if you are going to spend a prolonged period of time in bed in a long hospital stay and you are waiting on therapists to come by and build up your strength or maintain your strength while you are laying in bed, you just might end up in a state run nursing home getting fucked in the ass by your pervy brain-damaged roommate.

So this brings us back to Dr. Orville Reddenbacher Shitfuck Asshole. First off, when he says I will probably go to a nursing home. It is totally not even his decision. He does not make that call. He is just saying this to fuck with me - to fuck up my day just to be an asshole. In my experience some people are just like this. They enjoy saying ignorant shit to people just to be mean.

So then when Doctor Orville Reddenfucker follows this up with, “Have you ever been to a nursing home Mr. Lamson?” I am pissed.

I say “Yeah I have. I let assholes like you talk me into going into Rancho Manor. It was a fuckin shithole. Those places are unsafe. They don’t make you better. I know you’re going to try to sell it like its some great place but the fact is I’m on Medcaid, so it’ll be some state run shithole that’s two notches below below prison and three notches below a fuckin nut ward.”

When he tries to say something else. I cut him off. “I’m not going to a fucking nursing home! I’ll go home first and take my chances.”

So he says, “You may not be able to get a wound vac at home.”

So I say, “I don’t give a shit! I’ll rip this fucking thing off right now and go home and take my chances before I go to one of those shitholes. Its not worth getting raped.”

Doctor Orville Shitfuck leaves.

Lamsonacare - Day 22 - I get busted for filming in the hospital.

Day 4 (Sunday - March 30, 2014)

Now I am depressed. I should know by now not to believe fuckin doctors. Doctor Tadjalli, the plastic surgeon comes by today. She changes her mind. She says she is still doing the first part of the surgery. She is going to cut out all the infected stuff out but she is not doing the second part. She is not closing iit up with a skin flap.

She tells me its basically because I smoke and with my crazy wacky lifestyle it is not conducive the success of the surgery. This is bullshit because just yesterday she says she is doing it.

The best I can tell she does not want to do it because I am on Medicaid or higher ups give her the orders. I have run into this before with doctors and surgeons. They tell me all these great medical procedures they are going to do for me and then never do it. They just keep setting up appointments and literally make you wait for years waiting for me to die or just keep putting it off until I end up half dead somewhere and another more charitable minded surgeon takes up the case.

What bothers me the most is the dishonesty. If you are not going to do the procedure do not tell me you are going to do it or make up bullshit reasons why you are not doing it. Do not blow smoke up my ass.

At least she stillthe first part tomorrow. She says she cuts all the infected stuff out of there then puts a wound vac on it which speeds up the healing process of the open wound.

As the day goes on I am less depressed, because I hear good things about this wound vac. It really does speed up healing, almost like a mini barometric chamber. And I know from past experience that even if I do get the skin flap, I still have to lay in bed for six to eight weeks while the new skin heals and takes hold before I can actually sit on it. But with the wound vac its basically the same time frame. I still have to stay in bed for six to eight weeks. So its about the same basically.

At least she goes right to work tomorrow and they put a wound vac on it. I went through this process before where they literally left me hanging for a year and a half. They kept promising they would do surgery or put a wound vac on it but never did.

So I basically stay in bed and have an open wound for a year and a half until it gets infected and I end up almost dead from infection and by matter of necessity I go to a different hospital close to home.

The name of this hospital is Saint Joseph’s. They take pity on me. They treat the infection. Here I meet a more philanthropic compassionate plastic surgeon who without hesitation closes up the wound for me. To this day it holds just fine. No problems there whatsoever. The sore I have now is on a different part of my ass.

But this is why I know Tadjalli is blowing smoke up my ass about her reasons for not closing it up. I suspect it is insurance reasons. Missouri Baptist is more of a high end type hospital. I suspect the administration does not want to pay for some Medicaid loser to lay around there for six to eight weeks to heal when they can just patch me up, stabilize me and send me to a more long term type place that is more non for profit and conducive to people on Medicaid. Like St. Joseph’s Hospital.

But like I say, at least they are go right to work and do something. They are actually planning for my next place to go to - the more long term place, which is a lot more than they do in the past. Where they basically just treat the infection and let me go home with an open wound not using a wound vac just so I end up half dead with infection.

Day 5 (Monday - March 31, 2014)

Today is surgery day. I know I have a long period of bed rest ahead of me. so to keep my upper body strength while laying in bed, on Friday mom brings weights from home. I work out with these from bed throughout the weekend. This helps not only my physical strength. It also helps my mood a lot. Because even working out from bed it feels like I do something. It feels good to work my muscles. It feels good to get my blood pumping. It feels good to get my mind off all the bullshit and just focus on the rhythmic motion of the pumping of the weight. It feels good to release the endorphins whilst working out, even from bed. Endorphins released by physical exertion - nature’s antidepressants.

I have a long wait. surgery is scheduled for 2 PM, which sucks because I cannot eat or drink anything since 12 AM in the morning up until the surgery. It is something to do with the anesthesia. I guess they do not want you to puke or whatever while you have that weird tube down your throat.

There is unsuspected good news. They are calling me down to surgery at 10:30 AM which is good because I do not have to wait around all day to get it done.

They take me down to pre-op. Tadjalli pops her head in to say hi before surgery. I am rather shocked by how different her personality is in the operating area. She is happy and excited and animated - almost jubilant. I guess she really loves her job. She is in her realm.

I find a lot of surgeons are like that. They are kind of mellow and subdued outside the operating room, but in the OR they are like giddy school girls. They cannot wait to start cutting on people. To each his own I guess.

They come into pre-op and shoot me up with some nice relaxing dope then wheel me into the OR and put me to sleep. I wake up an hour or so later and they shoot me up with more good dope for the pain, then wheel me up to my room in my bed. Viola! Surgery complete.

To my surprise, my aunt Kay, my mom’s sister is there in my room waiting with my mom. They are very close. I think she came more to support my mom, but that is cool. I like my aunt Kay. it is good to see her.

They tell me tomorrow, the GI guy is consulting me to see about giving me a colostomy bag. Everyone seems to think this is a good idea since I have problems with skin breakdown on my ass the last four or five years, and being incontinent, sitting in shit is very bad for skin breakdown.

By the way I feel the difference immediately from the surgery. Its like she cut a huge chunk of evil matter out of my ass. Right away I notice there is less pain even after surgery and I even physically feel better.

Day 6 (Tuesday - April 1, 2014)

I meet another full of shit dick doctor guy today. He is an asshole. He is the dickhead GI doctor who is supposed to give me the colostomy bag but he says he cannot do it for some bullshit reason. He says it is more trouble than it is worth which is bullshit. Even the other doctors try to talk him into it. Its a simple procedure.

Once again he just does not want to do it because I am on Medicaid and he knows I am not there long. So he stalls until I am shipped off to the other place and then it becomes somebody else’s problem.

I cope with the stress of dealing with these lying assholes with the aid of this cool therapy channel I discover on the hospital TV in my room. It is very soothing. It is nothing but ocean vistas, mountains and streams and nature and stuff. It is cool. This channel is all I watch the whole time I am there. It helps take my mind off the shit storm going on around me.

I have an idea to make a movie of my whole hospital stay while I am laid up. I figure this will keep me busy and may even be kind of fun and therapeutic for me while I am healing up. So my mom says she will pick up a camera for me. The idea of Lamsonacare the movie is born.

The therapists come by today to get me out of bed, which seems kind of dumb to me because I just have surgery the day before and I have a wound vac on my ass. So I tell them I do not think it is a very good idea, but check with my doctors. If they say it is ok I do it.