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Sep. 2nd, 2005 12:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
urocyonI should have posted an update earlier, but got distracted.
My dad's second trip to the VA was, erm, interesting, as those trips can be. They actually called the cops--twice--to come and deal with him because he lay down in the waiting room floor and wouldn't get up. That could have had something to do with their not making suitable arrangements for someone who could neither stand nor sit comfortably. The second pair of cops tried to find him a more reasonable place to lie down (the first lot left when he just wouldn't get up, and they divined that his middle-aged wife was liable to hit them hard, in public, if they tried to lay hands on him). When he finally saw the doctor, the guy wound up taking my mother aside and suggesting psychological problems as the cause of everything. He was apparently raring to try to commit Sid after the floor-lying incident. Yep, sounds appropriate for stubborn people with Asperger's who are in pain.
My mother watched them do the ultrasound on the leg, and nothing showed up on it. It's very unlikely that there are clots, at least. (Hey, still more proof that psychological factors are at play!) Given the quality of pain and the lack of anything else obviously wrong, we're guessing it's a pinched nerve. Sid's apparently never had even a touch of sciatica before, as many other orthopedic problems as he's dealt with, and possibly didn't explain the quality of pain too well (hard to tell what would satisfy, given the audience, though). Ingvar also thought of nerve pain, with the way it's going all the way up/down the leg, which I didn't even know before. Sid is now about half-convinced that it probably is sciatica, so he's unlikely to die, but he still isn't getting around too well.
I'm heading home next Wednesday--booked the tickets last night after the transfer finally went through. With any luck, it should only take a couple of weeks, but they do need some help now. I didn't realise exactly how poor my mom's range of motion still is with her (two already wonky) arms, this long after the surgery. It is apparently not so unusual for them to have a hard time leaving enough skin to close for best healing, and she has icky deep scar tissue. She's been putting on a good front, but is apparently having the devil of a time reaching for anything. Dealing with the cops looked like less of a problem, apparently. :) It sounds like things will be heavy on the errand-running; they need a gofer at the moment.
This also involves driving, yay! It's gotten frustrating, not being able to do so, having grown up where I really needed to. The main obstacle at the moment is trying to figure out who has even vaguely known me two years and is qualified to sign the photos. (No, no reasonable alternative such as showing up at a public office with identification seems to exist.) I'm just trying not to think about their having already decided that I was too mad to give blood--their loss of O neg with precious few antibodies, but irritatingly stupid--with all the medical questions on the driving license application. That's the problem with being straightforward sometimes; it's not as if anyone here would know I'd been diagnosed as bipolar otherwise. *grumble*
Yes, I'm a bit anxious about going home. Besides its sounding like a not-so-fun but necessary trip, I am slightly concerned that I will not want to climb back onto a plane. I really have isolated myself a bit much for someone basically so social, and am already craving the social interaction. Even with scattered friends, there's a whole extended family, not just Ingvar and cats (great for what they are, but not as a near-complete social network). And having a decent understanding of the culture helps, especially if you're shy. It can be argued--(too) frequently by me--that I've done this to myself, but it can be difficult to figure out the best way to approach people if you're bashful enough that approaching people in the first place is hard. I have really noticed this since I moved here, where at home there's more shared context to give a better idea how people might react. The simple answer is to learn the local rituals, naturally, but that's harder than it sounds on the face of it. A common expat complaint, probably.
OTOH, very practically, I no longer have a place to live there that doesn't require a lot of work on it, or health insurance. The decisions that are made every day, largely on the basis of health insurance--but I don't particularly want to make a go of things without any again there, and worry about breaking a leg or coming sown with pneumonia. The NHS may have its problems, but it looks damned good when you've gone without any safety net. Torn ligaments can wait for years, IME, but I don't want to play amateur bonesetter on myself. I saw the comparative lack of treatment when my mother broke her ankle while uninsured, which may make that seem less odd/more likely. And I just didn't see about what felt suspiciously like a bout of pneumonia--not an example out of thin air, so to speak.
That's more than enough whining. Sometimes getting started is very tempting, though. *g* I suppose I'm concerned that the appeal of the known will make a good attempt at outweighing that of the less-well-known, which is not a way I like to operate.
Ingvar is having to work late for the third night in a row, with a PBX migration. I am really hoping they don't decide to call him in over the weekend.
My dad's second trip to the VA was, erm, interesting, as those trips can be. They actually called the cops--twice--to come and deal with him because he lay down in the waiting room floor and wouldn't get up. That could have had something to do with their not making suitable arrangements for someone who could neither stand nor sit comfortably. The second pair of cops tried to find him a more reasonable place to lie down (the first lot left when he just wouldn't get up, and they divined that his middle-aged wife was liable to hit them hard, in public, if they tried to lay hands on him). When he finally saw the doctor, the guy wound up taking my mother aside and suggesting psychological problems as the cause of everything. He was apparently raring to try to commit Sid after the floor-lying incident. Yep, sounds appropriate for stubborn people with Asperger's who are in pain.
My mother watched them do the ultrasound on the leg, and nothing showed up on it. It's very unlikely that there are clots, at least. (Hey, still more proof that psychological factors are at play!) Given the quality of pain and the lack of anything else obviously wrong, we're guessing it's a pinched nerve. Sid's apparently never had even a touch of sciatica before, as many other orthopedic problems as he's dealt with, and possibly didn't explain the quality of pain too well (hard to tell what would satisfy, given the audience, though). Ingvar also thought of nerve pain, with the way it's going all the way up/down the leg, which I didn't even know before. Sid is now about half-convinced that it probably is sciatica, so he's unlikely to die, but he still isn't getting around too well.
I'm heading home next Wednesday--booked the tickets last night after the transfer finally went through. With any luck, it should only take a couple of weeks, but they do need some help now. I didn't realise exactly how poor my mom's range of motion still is with her (two already wonky) arms, this long after the surgery. It is apparently not so unusual for them to have a hard time leaving enough skin to close for best healing, and she has icky deep scar tissue. She's been putting on a good front, but is apparently having the devil of a time reaching for anything. Dealing with the cops looked like less of a problem, apparently. :) It sounds like things will be heavy on the errand-running; they need a gofer at the moment.
This also involves driving, yay! It's gotten frustrating, not being able to do so, having grown up where I really needed to. The main obstacle at the moment is trying to figure out who has even vaguely known me two years and is qualified to sign the photos. (No, no reasonable alternative such as showing up at a public office with identification seems to exist.) I'm just trying not to think about their having already decided that I was too mad to give blood--their loss of O neg with precious few antibodies, but irritatingly stupid--with all the medical questions on the driving license application. That's the problem with being straightforward sometimes; it's not as if anyone here would know I'd been diagnosed as bipolar otherwise. *grumble*
Yes, I'm a bit anxious about going home. Besides its sounding like a not-so-fun but necessary trip, I am slightly concerned that I will not want to climb back onto a plane. I really have isolated myself a bit much for someone basically so social, and am already craving the social interaction. Even with scattered friends, there's a whole extended family, not just Ingvar and cats (great for what they are, but not as a near-complete social network). And having a decent understanding of the culture helps, especially if you're shy. It can be argued--(too) frequently by me--that I've done this to myself, but it can be difficult to figure out the best way to approach people if you're bashful enough that approaching people in the first place is hard. I have really noticed this since I moved here, where at home there's more shared context to give a better idea how people might react. The simple answer is to learn the local rituals, naturally, but that's harder than it sounds on the face of it. A common expat complaint, probably.
OTOH, very practically, I no longer have a place to live there that doesn't require a lot of work on it, or health insurance. The decisions that are made every day, largely on the basis of health insurance--but I don't particularly want to make a go of things without any again there, and worry about breaking a leg or coming sown with pneumonia. The NHS may have its problems, but it looks damned good when you've gone without any safety net. Torn ligaments can wait for years, IME, but I don't want to play amateur bonesetter on myself. I saw the comparative lack of treatment when my mother broke her ankle while uninsured, which may make that seem less odd/more likely. And I just didn't see about what felt suspiciously like a bout of pneumonia--not an example out of thin air, so to speak.
That's more than enough whining. Sometimes getting started is very tempting, though. *g* I suppose I'm concerned that the appeal of the known will make a good attempt at outweighing that of the less-well-known, which is not a way I like to operate.
Ingvar is having to work late for the third night in a row, with a PBX migration. I am really hoping they don't decide to call him in over the weekend.
