I need help friends!!!

Dear Friends,
If ANYONE knows how to change the text and/or background color on the comments under your post PLEASE email with the answer. I have tried everything to fix my comments. For some reason they are set on white text with white background which of course makes them impossible to read. PLEASE HELP!!!
Thanks L.A.

My Story Chapter Ten Part 1

          Early that morning, Eric tried to wake and barely got a response from me being as overly medicated as I was but he noticed my cup was empty and thought perhaps I’d had a bad night. So he went ahead and rolled me onto my left side, inserted a suppository into my bum, and began my bowel routine. He left the room for a little while to give the Biscevac time to work. Upon Eric’s return, I was having what he described as massive diarrhea and also discovered to his dismay that I was not breathing well. Thank God we had Dale there to help out; he called the paramedics while Eric cleaned me up and used my cough assist machine to fill my lungs between jagged exhales. It must have been just enough first aid until the EMI’s arrived because Eric was able to change my catheter as well, with the help of our good friend, before the ambulance arrived.

         The first hospital I went to was Latrobe where they immediately put me on a ventilator for a collapsed lung. I was probably already having brain seizures but no one knew for sure because an MRI could not be taken with their machines since the vent had one tiny part made of metal. The staff at Latrobe wanted to life flight me back to Presbyterian but Eric refused to let them after what happened last time and feared I might go into shock if I woke there again. He’s absolutely correct; I would have lost my mind if I would have opened my eyes and the first thing I thing saw their ward or regained consciousness and to the sound of those eerie bells ringing all the time (or was that at Mercy?). All I’ve got to go on up to this point is how Eric’s recollection of events played out. According to him, they finally found an ambulance that would support a ventilator to take me to Pittsburgh. I was rushed to the South Side Hospital as per my wishes should this type of situation ever arise again. Once more, I could not have the MRI I so critically needed. The head neurologist there was vehement about getting me into a facility where I could have that test done IMMEDIATELY. Fortuitously, this doctor also practiced at another hospital nearby but all the rooms in the ICU unit were full.  Now, the problem was finding a hospital with an open bed AND a ventilator acceptable MRI. Finally Eric just threatened to take me out of the UPMC network and put me in Allegheny General. Of course, it was a hollow threat but it worked and a room in the ICU mysteriously and miraculously opened up at Mercy Hospital who’s intake people had said only hours earlier that there was a waiting list.

         Meanwhile, I was having the strangest dreams; they were different parts of the same story that seemed to go on for weeks … even months. First I was standing on a grassy plain and off in the distance I saw giant polygon shaped ball bouncing and rolling its way toward me. As it clumsily maneuvered ever closer I realized it was composed entirely of what resembled massive bubble wrap. It landed gently in front of me and a hidden door opened up, out and down almost forming a sort of ramp. Standing at the top was man who told me to climb up and take his hand. “I’m the head doctor of this hospital.”He said, tanned face smiling down at me and a high noon sun shining on his silver hair.”Don’t be afraid, we will take care of you.” I usually still dreamt that I was able bodied and I tried without much success to crawl up the slippery, bumpy, and squishy material the structure was made of. Eventually, I got close enough to grasp the doctor’s outstretched hand and he pulled me the rest of the way inside. I don’t remember much about the inside of rolling hospital because the dream sequence changed and I was seeing the bouncing, rolling, and flying hospital from the outside. The door closed perfectly and we started to roll, then bounce, then soar through the air over the grass, then sand, then water and eventually I could see continents and finally we landed with bounce and roll on an island. (To be continued)

To Kimberly with Love

          Today I was left an anonymous comment on my “Happy Holidays” blog. I’m still shaking with grief, rage, and dejection. After reading it I sat back in wheelchair pondering what could have made my niece Kim, whom I haven’t seen or spoken to in almost six years, spew such bile after reading what honestly is a toned downed version of my relationship with my family. I was accused with great animosity of not getting my facts straight and given a numbered list of reasons why she never came to see me after my accident. Several of which had nothing to do with her and I and one, if it had been true, would have occurred before the accident. At any rate, most of the information would have had to come from someone that has been in my house … which means my little sister Mary.

          There was a time when Mary and I were so close it was if we were twins. Thinking the same thoughts, finishing each other’s sentences, and relating on an almost soul mate basis. I’m not sure exactly why we drifted apart; perhaps the shock of our older sister Cathy’s death or maybe my ever growing drug problem. Both happened around the same time so our relationship may have started to dissolve around that time. Regardless, it was never the same, even before I broke my neck, and I mourned it just like I mourned the death of Cathy. But now Mary cares so little about me that she would tell our niece that Eric tried to rape her in my bathroom. Kim made certain she put this gem in spiteful comment.

          What bothers me the most, besides missing seeing my great nephews grow up, is how easily Kim has forgotten all the things Eric has done for her and her husbands and children. He’s moved them from place to place and worked on their cars and houses. Of course there was no mention of this in her scathing comment. Shame on you, Kimberly, don’t you still love your Aunt Lori? What are you teaching you boys? Only hatred, mistrust, and resentment… I’ll pray for you.     

Happy Holidays and More...

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL

I WISH YOU HEALTH, WEALTH, STATURE, AND FAME,

I SEND YOU LOVE, PEACE, SERENITY, AND NO BLAME,

BUT MOST OF ALL MY PRAYER FOR YOU

FROM UP ABOVE…

IS ALL THE HAPPINESS YOU DESIRE AND UNCONDITIONAL LOVE!!!

My Story Chapter Nine

               Dale stayed with us that winter in the upstairs room before it became “Eric’s private sanctuary” and helped with my care in the evening. Since having so much trouble with my lungs while in the hospital and going so long without smoking already I didn’t pick up the dirty habit again for 8 months after leaving Presby. But I got the urge soon enough and Dale would sneak them to me out in the kitchen when Eric was playing guitar. He would also bring a couple to me in bed after Eric tucked me in for in the night.  So unbeknownst to Eric, I was smoking much sooner than he thought.

I also needed rolled on my side in the middle of the night to help prevent bed sores since I am unable to move myself around. Ii was during these late night visits from Eric that he would sometimes crawl in bed with me and “spoon” just like the old days. But unlike the days gone by I could no longer move. I couldn’t wiggle closer to his warm body or move the crushing weight of his arm when I needed to get a sip of water. Ever since becoming paralyzed my anxiety had increased threefold and I became claustrophobic easily and quickly. Even when alone I still felt trapped like the very first day of the crash as if I was buried in cement or captured in quicksand up to my chest; the sensation was positively maddening.

Even though I had Don once a week to take out me shopping, go for haircut, or perhaps get my nails done, I was still in such a profound depression, my anxiety was out of control and I’m convinced I was developing some form of obsessive compulsive disorder. I had been through intensive therapy before my injury for a physically, psychologically, and sexually abusive childhood as well as for alcoholism and addiction. I was on every type of antidepressant used, old and new. These medications either didn’t relieve my symptoms, left me feeling like a zombie, or had side effects that should that have been grounds to take them off the market. One antidepressant I was on called Zoloft caused electric type shocks. First, they would shoot through my body while I was walking around but the strange sensation slowly and steadily progressed until every time I turned my head it felt and sounded as if a fluorescent light was buzzing inside my brain. This side effect lasted for a year AFTER I quit taking it. That is why to this very day I will NOT take an antidepressant. I did have a psychiatrist at the time and I was being treated for my anxiety but it wasn’t enough. So I did the next logical thing…self medicate.

Eric would set my tray table up at night beside my bed before he went to his room and after tucking me in. On it he would put my cup of water, my bed remote, and pill cup with 3 pain pills in it, just in case I needed them during the night. What he didn’t know was that I normally slept through the night and didn’t take any pills until very early in the morning when I usually took all three in time span of an hour and a half. After which I’d catch nice little buzz, try to wake Dale upstairs for a smoke, (his room was right above mine) without waking Eric in the next room, and go right back to sleep for two hours or so. Well, my daily ritual eventually caught up with me especially considering I was on so many other pain meds I had to see a gastroenterologist to get my bowel program back on track and my neurologist would not prescribe me anymore medication and sent me instead to a pain clinic.

I tried the new laxative the stomach doctor gave me and Eric was going to help me with my b.m. program in the morning. Spring had sprung and it was getting close to planting season. That was one thing Eric still had … his gardening. This is what I lay daydreaming about when I took morning pills. However, on this particular day I woke about 4:00am and I must have taken them too soon after my middle of the night dose of meds because I didn’t fully regain consciousness again until my third hospital transfer. By the time it was all said and done I’d spent my second summer in a row (2008) in a hospital bed.    

Merry Christmas Happy Holidays AND May All Your Dreams Come True

Dear friends,

Sorry I haven't posted for sooooo long but things have been CRAZY!!! Messed up, codependent, psychotic, greedy, self-centered, family, employees calling off or needing off, and holiday commercialism...UGH!!!

But to all of you...

Health, wealth, stature, and fame...

Love,  friendship, a legacy, a name...

But most of all now and this new coming year...

HAPPINESS for you and someone with which to share!!!

Unhappy Holidays and an Unfamiliar Family

        Tonight my mother called me for the first time in six months. During that time my son Bill, who is a recovering heroin addict, relapsed and committed a series of crimes. Not one person in my "family" bothered to pick up the phone and call me to inform me that my only child had been charged with theft, DWI and a felony forgery.
          My birthday came and went no calls, no cards, no visits...that was November 6th. Eric went out of his way to make it special...his Mom and Dad came out as well as all of my friends but it still hurt that my own blood forgot me including my son.
         The family Thanksgiving meal was planned for the fifth year in row inaccessible to me and my wheelchair. This was AFTER I made a phone call to my "loving, nurturing, caring" mother the day before and asked where the dinner was to be held this year and when she told me I wept.
        The next day I didn't even get ONE phone call from any member of my family...not one. Once again my adopted parents came through. They brought Thanksgiving dinner to us. I've known Eric's parents so long now it is as if they are my own and  I love them just like they were.
         Tonight I was graced by a phone call from Mom announcing that she and my younger sister Mary were stopping out this week because SHE wanted to see me and had a gift for me. Oh, is that right, Mom? Does your busy schedule have an opening to squeeze me into? And MARY has the time to bring you out? Well let's just hold on one second shall we? I will let you know what day and time is convenient for ME, okay? That's when I found out my Billy was back rehab awaiting his court date.
            So forgive me for not yet being in the holiday spirit. Eric brought in a six foot fresh tree last evening and tells me Santa is bringing lots of special gifts. So who knows...

                                                                                                                                             This is my sister Linda, my  younger sister Mary             

My Story Chapter Eight

            I guess this brings us to the fall of 2007 and as happy I was to see to the familiar sites of my hometown, it also brought a certain sadness to see the leaves on the trees already falling and knowing that I had to wait through a long and frigid winter before seeing summer again. Eric had a surprise waiting for me at home though, so I brightened up the minute I came in house. While I was hospitalized he remodeled the downstairs middle room into a temporary bedroom for me. When we first bought the 110 year old house back in ’97 the large room was a dining area with original chair rails, hanging chandelier, and sitting porch off the side. Tragically, previous homeowners had painted over the original wood many, many, many times making it was completely unsalvageable, the light fixture was reduced to a center piece of glass with one lonesome bulb and the porch was falling down like much of the house.

            Our original plan had been to remodel the 12 room 2 story house ourselves and make it our own little palace. We had been renting small apartments and tiny houses for years and were thrilled to finally have all that space. Being able to actually buy it was like a dream come true for us. It didn’t even have the proper electricity hookups when we started. But Eric had a knack for knowing how to do a little of everything and what he didn’t know he learned by reading it in a book. The only help we ever hired was an electrician to put in the service entrance and breaker box. We did everything together little by little, always excited about the next project, usually waiting for one us to get paid to start on it. We even tore off the dilapidated front porch which ran the entire length of the house shingle by shingle and board and board. Eric climbed a ladder, used a crowbar, and tossed the pieces down to me where I waited with the wheel barrel to load it up and make the long trek up to the back of the yard to burn the old building materials. We even built two additions. Both were made where the old porches were. Today one is my walk-in closet the other a full bathroom downstairs.

            Of course, all of our dreams came to halt after I broke my neck. Luckily, we did most of our work on downstairs but it is far from finished.  As far as I know, the upstairs is used mostly for storage except for one room. It’s Eric’s private haven. And as much as I hate to admit it I can’t help but obsess about what goes on up there. Talk to anyone in wheelchair and they will tell you that they too wonder what is at top of the stairs and wish with every ounce of their being that they could traverse them.

            Also, it was another long, cold and lonely winter. Eric never once got romantic with me. The closest he got to me was a peck a cheek, head or if I was lucky quick closed mouth kiss on the lips. If I brought up the subject of lovemaking he would say when he wasn’t so tired, when we got more help, or when his back felt better. It was always something but I so drugged up at time I took it in stride. Sometimes he would offer to get in bed with me and hold me and I refused because it made me feel trapped when he fell asleep with his arm pinning me down on my side. Talk about regret, I couldn’t feel more remorse about those lost opportunities. If only he would offer now …       

My Story Chapter Seven The End

          I feel like I should be wrapping be up this part of my story but so much went on during those 7 weeks that it seems a crime to leave any of it out.  I will try to pick up the pace so I can wrap this small piece of the last five and half years of my life so I start writing what’s going on now.

          I fought with reality vs. fantasy even after leaving that creepy place but I do remember with some semblance of clarity the difficulty we had having me discharged. Every evening the doctor would promise that I’d be going home in the morning so Eric would get my things together and ready to go home and the next morning came it  the same scenario. We would be awakened by the respiratory therapist, I would refuse my treatment,  he/she would change the settings on my oxygen, and I would have chest x-ray LYING FLAT ON MY BACK. The doctor would make his a.m. rounds and tell us my left lung was partially collapsed. Therefore, I couldn’t be released as scheduled and would have to wait another day or two. God forbid it was a Friday, then I’d have until Monday because by the time the physician was finished with rounds to check on my progress it would too late to write up release papers. Of course in my state I thought it was some kind of conspiracy to keep in the hospital/prison forever. Thank God Eric finally reached my spinal cord specialist who explained that a quadriplegic would always have a partially collapsed lung when lying flat on their backs and my blood oxygen level was just fine at 95%. We were ready to leave A.M.A.

          Eric called for the charge nurse and the caseworker who took care the power attorney fiasco my sisters put us through. He also called my peer counselor, a man who was assigned to me to help get me integrated back into society after my injury to whom I became great friends, to bring my power chair to hospital so I could get off my back and sit up so I could breathe a little easier. Not to mention just in case we had to make a mad dash for exit out of that hell hole. I had gained 40 lbs of water weight due to the steroids they had given me for the pneumonia and my hands were like paws. I couldn’t fit into the clothes I had worn to Presby so Dale ran home to get some sweats while we did all the necessary paperwork and bitching. After what seemed like an eternity and endless nightmare I was in my peer counselor’s Don's van, with his attendant and my friend Jo Anne driving, genuinely, absolutely, positively, and FINALLY on my way home! Back to safety, warmth and familiarity. And perhaps, even slowly back to sanity. 

This is my peer counselor Don. He has been friend and confidant for 4 years now.    

My Story Chapter Seven Part 7

          Eric tells me I regained consciousness after nine days after lapsing into the coma and being moved AGAIN back to the ICU one morning when he was on his way in from our home about an hour and a half away. They had given up trying in the NICU, after a spinal tap failed to show what was going on, the blood transfusion didn’t yield any results, and eight or nine anti seizure meds failed to bring me around. Even after experimenting with two or three given at once. When he arrived at my room, with the glass doors and windows, I was sitting up wide awake chatting away with a large group of doctors and interns. He rushed to the bedside, elbowed his way through the throng and bent down to scope me up into his arms. He gave me a big bear hug and showered my unwashed face with kisses, “Honey, are you okay?” he excitedly asked. I was so happy to him and the tube in my lungs had just been removed so my voice was very weak but sincere when I told him I was fine now that he was here. Then he turned to the flock of doctors and began firing questions at them. Evidently, I had awakened that morning and a nurse found me alert and struggling to summon someone.

          *After having my first request granted which was to have my teeth brushed, the nurse washed my face and hands and gave me quick bed bath so Eric and I could be alone. He kept looking into my eyes and telling me how much he loved me.  Then he made me three heartfelt promises I’ll never forget but he apparently has. He told me when got home he would never scream or verbally abuse me again, he would never again hit me out of anger (which believe it or not he honestly DID do that!), and he would never again have another woman. I was so happy I cried with joy and clung to him with all my strength. Eric stayed the whole day and spent the night that day so felt safe enough to relax and sleep. Once out of the coma I was slowly getting my regular medications back. If it weren’t for Eric’s bitching and threatening I probably wouldn’t have had any of my meds. *Alas, this was the only portion of time I remember with any clarity while in Presbyterian Hospital of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.

          Now I can’t say everything was a hallucination, delusion or dream but I have too many bizarre memories to have been completely lucid. I do remember Eric and Dale taking turns staying with overnight at the hospital. I hated the nights Dale would keep watch because he was a very meek man and the nurses could easily push him around. The strangest thing about my last three weeks of incarceration was the fact that I thought I spent it in NICU was on the ground floor in tiny, cramped, and filthy room with sliding glass doors that could be shut which made it positively claustrophobic. (to be continued)

Pictured - Dale and Me the X-Mas after getting out of Presbyterian Hospital

My Story Chapter Seven Part 6

Once in the NICU, Eric had finally procured for me the air mattress, a pair of orthopedic boots that gently lifted my sore heels off the bed, and didn’t stop ranting and barking orders until there were a team of neurologists hovering around my bed. The EEG’s had been done, the lab results were in, the phlebotomist was gingerly trying to locate a vein in my painfully thin arm and there was at least one nurse present to address his concerns at all times. Still everyone was baffled as to why I was having such severe brain seizures while in the coma.

When I still could not be revived the next morning and no meds were being administered, Eric threatened to carry me out in his arms to another hospital on the South Side of Pittsburgh. He had telephoned my spinal cord doctor to fill him in on the grievous details of my condition and the lax treatment from the hospital staff. My doctor was very adamant about the fact that several of my meds will CAUSE a seizure when stopped abruptly the way mine were. It was as if the staff was learning medicine as they went along. After his outburst the head of neurology sent a tech to my room to look at my case. He did an EEG right on the spot using a state of the art laptop/EEG recorder. After the test the specialist had more questions than answers and Eric was beside himself with irritation and worry. Just when it looked liked things couldn’t get more complicated all hell broke loose.

My blood work came back showing my platelet count dangerously low. Every specialist on my case was taking six tubes at a time to run their various tests and apparently that is what caused the serious drop. So Eric was called and told that I needed a blood transfusion immediately and of course he gave the word to go ahead with the procedure straight away. Unfortunately, my oldest sister Linda was not finished trying to wrestle power of attorney away from him. She had called the legal department AGAIN to inform them that I had a grown son who should be making my decisions and taking care of my “estate”. Forgive me now for I must digress and tell you what my sisters had already tried to do.  Linda had already put Eric and me (even though I have no memory of it) through hell once before when I was first admitted and the medicine error and resulting lung collapse caused pneumonia and I was medically sedated with propofol. She actually called our mother and told her I was dying and then called the hospital asked who to speak to find out about getting power of attorney since I had two sisters and a mother. Where would my last Social Security check go? We are her family; we should have the authority over her care! The head of the legal department’s hands were tied. When Eric found out about this he blew a gasket. He called my younger sister Mary and tore into her with questions about me: Who’s Lori’s primary care physician? She couldn’t answer. Who’s her spinal cord doctor? What are medications? Can you tell the doctor about her medical history?  My sisters were quiet. I don’t remember ever seeing either them OR my mother during my entire stay at Presby. They had to bring me out of sedation to get my verbal consent that Eric did indeed have power of attorney relating to matters of my health and well being while in the hospital. When I think about how poorly I’ve been treated by family over the past five and half years I get physically sick to my stomach.   

Now, back to the emergency blood transfusion, the hospital administrator had to track my son down who was away at tech school. Eric broke the speed limit to get to the hospital to be there for me... he got there in record time. Regardless, we still had to wait six hours for what the specialist considered an urgent procedure. My son Bill was stupefied by the actions of his Aunts and immediately told those in charge not only that he had no interest in having power of attorney but that Eric was the only person he knew who was qualified to do so. Thus I finally received the blood I so direly needed. Still, I lay in coma having undiagnosed and unexplained brain seizures hovering somewhere between a never ending nightmare and far away world of confusion.

                                                  My sister Linda and husband Ron                           

My Story Chapter Seven Part 5

The next morning found the blue skies cloudless and sunny. It was a Sunday so there was only a skeleton crew working when Eric returned to my room to find me soundly sleeping but breathing and laying awkwardly. His anger had mellowed over night and quickly turned to concern when his greatest efforts could not revive me. He promptly asked Dale, our friend, to keep trying while he went to try and summon a nurse.

Eric finally found a couple of nurses who tried the standard consciousness tests on me. They tried rubbing my sternum with their knuckles … no response. Then they tried pinching my earlobes … my eyes opened and then rolled back in my head. That’s when the commotion started. First, a doctor had to be paged then a neurological technician had to be summoned along with an x-ray tech and Eric was furious because I still wasn’t on a air mattress or wearing orthopedic boots and I already had two deep sores on my heels.

After I’d finally seen the doctor, the specialists, and all the tests run and everything thing was completely sorted out the news was grim indeed. I had suffered a lung collapse which in turn caused the coma because my brain went so long with so little oxygen. I also had to be moved again so it was back on a gurney for me headed for NICU. (Neurological Intensive Care Unit) to be contin.

Steelers Won!!! IN YOUR FACE

Forgive me for leaving my story for a night but I am a HUGE Steelers fan and football fan in general. For anyone who is Ravens fan all I can humbly say is IN YOUR FACE!!!
Have you ever heard of karma? That helmet to helmit hit on Heath Miller was CLEARLY illegal and no call was made. So this is what you get ... na na nana NA!
Sorry folks sometimes I forget I'm an adult when it comes to football.
Sometimes I just can't help myself ... I LOVE IT!
HERE WE GO STEELERS !!!

My Story Chapter Seven Part 4

MY STORY CH 7 PART 4

          I suppose it’s time to catch you up what was really happening while I suffered a nine day coma, had a lung collapse, got pneumonia and all while having inexplicable brain seizures. The neurologist was so stumped she was ready to put my brain to “sleep”, essentially rendering me brain dead, and then restarting my brain activity to see if that would stop the seizures and bring me out of the coma. Thank God Eric tried every day and every way to wake me up. He bought an air mattress ad spent every night in my hospital room. He talked to me every day and even made a mix cd of my favorite songs and played it through headphones for me when he wasn’t there. I had no idea the hell he was going through at the hands of inept doctors, who weren’t really doctors yet but interns and nurses who kept making medication mistakes. But worst of all was my oldest sister Linda who kept calling the hospital claiming power of attorney at the most critical of times.

Well, the only logical thing to do now is start at the beginning according to the person who was there every day, Eric. First, I was admitted to Presbyterian Hospital with some lung congestion and put on oxygen for a few hours to bring up the levels in my blood and help me breathe, had a chest x-ray and was scheduled for a scope that would be fed down into my lungs to remove mucus plugs the next day and then I could be released with oxygen if need be. Of course things don’t always work out the way we’d like and the situation became very grave very quickly.

It’s difficult to say which caused what first but let’s just say someone dropped the ball and it didn’t bounce back quickly or completely. First there was the matter of the respiratory therapist that had me on a nebulizer that was adding so much moisture to my lungs it made it impossible for me to bring up phlegm. Even though I began refusing the treatments, they would strap the mask on me while I slept! Then came the initial medication error. Apparently a nurse gave me too much of two of my of antidepressant medications both taken in very low doses to help me sleep. However, they were prescribed in higher doses JUST IN CASE I needed more and when Janice and I left for the ER that fateful afternoon, we just threw all my meds in a bag instead of writing down all the pertinent information.       None of the nurses were aware that I was a quadriplegic so no one bothered to move me in anyway even though Eric asked over and over for a rehab chair to sit me up in.  If it weren’t for Eric I would never even have had my urine bag emptied or my body position changed. The forced nebulizer treatments, the drug overdoses and constantly lying flat on my back were the perfect combination for the inevitable bacterial pneumonia to settle right into my lungs. Of course this all happened the day I was supposed to be released.

Now I had to be moved to the Critical Care Unit, put on a respirator, and be sedated with propofol (made infamous by the now deceased Michael Jackson) which is a “twilight” sort of anesthesia known for its number one side effect…hallucinations. It took 3 or 4 days to clear the pneumonia after which I was sent to a regular patient room where they exabuted (removed ventilator) me, told me the pneumonia had cleared, and I could be released the next day. Yet, according to Eric, I managed to sabotage my own recovery that evening by demanding an extra shot of pain medication only short time after taking my regularly scheduled medicines including my pain meds. I have no recollection of the events due to memory loss from the up and coming coma but in my humble opinion I believe that no matter how vigorously I argued with the nurse she should have refused to give me the extra dilaudid injection. It was definitely that shot which put me out and down for the count. I believe her options were many more than to just give in to a whining, half sleeping, almost hallucinating skinny little quadriplegic than to shoot me up with enough pain medication to put me in a nine day coma. Nevertheless, Eric tells me that i threatened to sue the hospital because "i was entitled to more pain meds than they were giving me." and the nurse even called the legal department and was told to give me an oral competency test which i passed! I  really feel rotten about how I spoke to the nurse now but I truly don't remember it. Eric was so angry with me he slept in the car all night oblivious to the fact that I had fallen into a nightmare world that would rival any Stephen King novel or teenage slasher movie series.                

My Story Chapter Seven Part 3

          In my next memory, I found myself in a private room flanked by glass windows with a glass door that opened right in front of the nurses’ stations. My trusted friend and attendant Janice and my one and only Eric were visiting me. Janice, smiling like the Cheshire Cat, was holding my hand and stroking my arm like the concerned, supportive, and good friend. But something about her demeanor just wasn’t right. Eric was chatting away and every time he turned away to talk to one of the nurses Janice would look me square in the eye, smile still plastered on her on Barbie doll face, and mouth words like “you’re going to die, Lori.” And “I can’t wait ‘til I no longer have to hear you whine all day.” I couldn’t believe it. I kept trying to get Eric’s attention but I was still mute due to the ventilator in my lungs. Each time he came back in my room I reached for him with the useless hand not trapped by who I thought was my best friend now in league with the witches of Presbyterian Hospital. He would squeeze my free hand smile down upon me and say, “Everything is alright little honey.” He motioned toward Janice. “See, Janice is here, too.” He bent down and kissed me gently on the forehead. I tried with all my might to wretch my hand away from the back stabbing Janice but I was too weak. Too weak to keep my tentative hold on Eric as he strolled back out to nurses’ station to discuss my case. I slowly turned my head to look at my ex-best friend/attendant. She gazed deeply into my frightened eyes and blew me a kiss…then smiled wide, wider and so wide I only saw teeth. Then I was sucked back down into the black hole of super unconsciousness.  

          Somehow I found myself back on the same ward I started out on. Tonight was the big night. The night the nurse witches were going to sacrifice me to Satan by burning the flesh from my bones with acid. They had chosen their head witch to give the special honor to. It was Vicky, a small woman with long light brown hair and an attractive face and I could hear them giving her pep talk in the nurses’ station. Two other familiar nurses transferred me from my bed to a gurney and back to the same break room area as before. There were more people back there this time including doctors I’d seen, a respiratory therapist, and several others that worked at various positions in the hospital. I had seen them all at one time or another. The doctors saw me first, taking my vitals, listening to my heart, lungs and stomach and asking me about my pain and anxiety levels. They wrote their notes made absolutely sure the records reflected proper procedure and left the respiratory therapist take over. I knew her straight away. She was a large woman who wore too much makeup, too much jewelry, and had long sharp fingernails. She had forced me to take treatments I specifically refused and told me now she was going to remove my ventilator. I definitely wasn’t ready for what was about to happen but she ripped the apparatus out of throat so quickly and violently she took a few teeth with it. One of the witch nurses gave me some medication for pain and anxiety and everyone was careful to record everything as if it were an ordinary evening shift. Then I was stripped, given a thorough sponge bath, and dressed loosely in a hospital gown. I was laid on a hard wooden table without blanket or pillow. I was shivering with cold and fear. All I could do now was wait and pray. I could hear them talking on the other side of the lockers. Apparently, Vicky was having second thoughts about taking a life and the others were giving her all the reasons why she should. That girl is pain in the ass, she’s useless anyway being a quadriplegic, look at the hell she’s put us through already, can’t do anything for herself, calls us every half hour, better off dead anyway, an anchor around her caregivers neck, dead weight, ect. ect. ect. But they must have her talked into it because at the stroke of midnight she went into the nurses’ dressing room and donned the hazard suit picked up the designated amount of solution and began walking towards me. I was still shivering and started talking to her. I asked her if she really wanted to kill me and how would she feel if she did? She walked slowly and steadily the entire way up to the stage. But…she stopped and very slowly and extremely carefully set the container holding the vile liquid on the floor in front of the staging area, removed her head gear, kissed my shoulder, and said,“ You have my seal.” She walked away. ( to be continued)    

Here is me and Janice. She worked for me for more than a year. But I ended up getting into a fight with her shortly after coming home from the hospital and ultimately let her go. Unfortunately, it wasn't soon enough because I found out much later that she gave Eric head in very next room from where I was working on my computer. What whores they both are ...