©2007-2010 ~turkeza

Here’s another classic: you’re in the ER and the doctor finally saunters in after you’ve been there for hours, and one of the first things he asks you is, “how long have you had CF?”

I want another doctor. Now!

I’ve watched my doses from the home health pharmacy come in with a Tobra dose for a 75kg person. Who told them I was 75kg? I was 43 or so at the time.

I’ve left the pharmacy with one box of Pulmozyme when my Rx is for twice a day (60 vials/month) and had to go back to get my full amount, not once, but twice.

Growing up in a small town in Ohio, I’m sure we put the pharmacist’s kids into every one of their cars and through college with our own supplies. In a town of 40,000, I was likely the only person there who had CF – we had to drive an hour to our CF center in Toledo.

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©2008-2010 =manyetikbant

We’ve all been there: in the grocery store, at the mall, walking the shelves of the library, when, out of nowhere it hits you like a sniper bullet to the chest. You have to cough. There might not even be enough time to be conscious that it’s about to happen. Yes, your chest just went there! You’re just about to be publicly humiliated in one way or another.

There’s no time to make a decision! It’s time to duck, slide, glide, or shove your face into your elbow to muffle the 747 engines that just revved up. I’ve hidden behind produce islands to tie my shoe, ducked around shelves, put up newspapers, and slipped into empty rooms.

Your surrounding audience is going to perceive you one or more of the following ways:

• as someone about to die on the spot
• as someone suffering from the swine flu
• as someone who should have stopped smoking 512,478 packs of cigarettes ago
• as someone who is going to infect them with whatever made you cough like that

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Welcome to the first of many posts. Let’s see how far I can run with this. Suggestions are welcome, but anything I write as a result of suggestions become mine, okay? Cool – this should be fun!

I used to call the phlebotomists in the hospital “vampires” and “blood-suckers.” Let’s just say that I wasn’t very keen on those people because a lot of them suck at what they are supposed to do: draw blood. I still remember asking for one guy by name during one of my hospital stays because he did a good job.

Marcus.

I was 10.

Me and blood draws go a long way back. I’ve nearly kicked nurses out of my home for not doing a good job. I’ve called home healthcare management and asked them to not send so-and-so back out if I need a re-draw because they tried 3 times with the best veins on the planet. That gives them a big fat “F” in my book and I’d have them fired if I had my way.

I’ve even had the misfortune of having the nursing manager come over “to keep up her hours” to maintain her RN license. That woman should be banned from even looking at a hypodermic needle. Shoot, by now I could draw my own blood with a butterfly needle set-up.

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