I wore my Feisty and Non-Compliant t-shirt to the hospital. The nurse asked when my husband was going home, I said, “Today.” She looked at me strangely. “We don’t have orders.” “He’s going home with doctor approval or Against Medical Advice.”
During the night, my husband had became feisty, too. He refused the Heparin shot. He refused to allow any more drip bags. By midnight, the last bag was empty, and he convinced the nurse to detach him from the IV pole. About 8 AM, a nurse removed one of his IVs. At 10, she removed the other one.
She showed us how to change and clean the catheter bags. She phoned my husband’s prescriptions to the pharmacy. She got us a tube of cream for his sore skin. Once you start refusing things, they suddenly become co-operative. They asked if he would accept pills with the same electrolytes he’d been getting in his drips. He agreed.
A doctor finally came by and told him the results of the sonogram of his arms. He does have one clot, but it is superficial and can be treated with aspirin.
His surgeon signed his exit papers and told him to go see a specific urologist on Friday for follow up on his urinary retention. My husband called. That doctor isn’t in on Friday, and the woman who answered the phone didn’t know who else to suggest, so my husband called his surgeon and left a message on her answering machine.
We walked out of the hospital where they almost killed him twice (surgical complications) in the past 2 weeks. We came home. He’s not well. His hernia repair (the reason he went in) is fine. His intestines are working again. He hasn’t had another atrial fibrillation. He’s puffed up from all the drugs they dripped into him. His bladder isn’t working. And to think that the main reason he went for the hernia repair was to improve our sex life. Now we have to wait until his bladder heals. He’s home! He’s alive! These are what counts. But I admit I’m disappointed that we can’t celebrate his return the way I had imagined.