Actually you should be beaten for that
Previous issues
Week 25: Mask Drama
Week 24: Nurses' diagnosis
Week 23: Care Officers
Week 20: MDK assessor
Week 19: Care service
It can happen so quickly. Just last week's episode online and already the next hit list. Today it's going to be short. I know I say this often, but today it's going to be really short and snappy. I've told you everything. The events repeat themselves. Funny story that managed to cheer up the mind in a few otherwise not so great days, my mum dug out my old school leaving certificate from the depths of her house. Actually, to check whether, when my sister and I were at school, our economics/law teacher was really called Günter Glebsch, as I had claimed. None of us could still remember. I just had to find where I had stored memories of my Abi 1999 in my long-term memory to make room for more important and acute things in all the other places. Anyway, there was a report about all the participants in the Abi newspaper. And back then, in the last millennium, literally, it said something like this in the words that are still so apt today
his thoughts are usually that twisted, so if you have no idea what Patnck is talking about, don't worry, you're not all alone.
Numeric, that would be a funny word. Not as good as kumquat, but not bad. So much for that.
Last night I had some lovely surprise guests. Suddenly Sofi, Geli and Erik were standing in front of me with the two dogs. They have a key, which has already caused quite a few other surprises. Read more here. And here. But that's about it for the mood-enhancing things. The rest was rather mediocre.
The first half of the week I was lying around completely exhausted, if I'm honest, I was really struggling to breathe. So I couldn't really enjoy the last two days of visiting my sister, who has been living in Spain for many years. The breathing problems have eased a bit, but my breathing is still far from good. Interestingly, it's a very carer-dependent thing. In this case, it's not really related to the interpersonal aspect, but to the professional aspect. The correct fit of the ventilation mask is also enormously important for good breathing. Who would have thought that? My nurses continue to discuss with me whether the mask fits correctly or not. See here. Oh, that's idle, that. It's almost as if the order came from above. After all, a patient with a cannula brings more money with less work. And you can send any temporary worker to the customer who can connect a garden hose to the tap. That's true. And a good practice.
Then they won't have to send such expensive staff to me all the time. After all, they are all doctors, my nurses. 5th place. That's all I'm saying.
Tuesday. Cover picture. Actual story. Publish. Click. Ready, the second.
- Cover me up, strip me completely naked and „clean“ me in bed with surface disinfectant, then soap me from head to toe. And let me freeze for two hours until the washing is ready. More on this? You can find it here: Basic care
- Now I have certainty. My beloved sister is visiting. And takes photos of my mask, every time one of my carers claims that the band at the back is already behind my ears - it doesn't go any higher. I was mistaken, I have a perceptual disorder, I'm just imagining it. The photos, however, prove the opposite.
- You still remember my Nail fold inflammation? It felt like months ago. It was during my sister's last visit to Germany. And she comes to see me - Yippieh! ? - is coming to visit me again next week. She'll be amazed when she sees this next week. It was almost better after my doctor said, please do not put anything on it. Just disinfect and leave it alone. Um, leave alone and trust the doctor, my nurses can't do that. Well, apart from the sort who, even after explicit reforestation, hardly complies with the request to store me properly at night.
Story to follow. A little teaser. Ploughman A has independently decided to stop disinfecting. Wait a minute? Yes, the same carer has just squeezed out pus. Strange things have been happening since he was forced to work for me by his PDl for days, completely exhausted and not at all receptive. I really - really really - think he has post-COVID. Carer B smeared Lavanid on him without any orders and without asking me. Carer C picked at it. Carer D removed the scab, even though the doctor specifically said we weren't allowed to do that. Carer E tells me that everything has healed perfectly and that I shouldn't tell my doctor about it. It can't really be that I'm supposedly in pain.
I inform my nurses and still inform my doctor. He comes by immediately. Inflammation again. Pus. Blood. Some contaminated ointment residue. Swab taken from skin and sent to lab. Thank you. To the whole team. - To serve up one of the most implausible old wives' tales I've ever heard to a surprise visitor who enters the flat with his own key on a Saturday morning. Of course he didn't drink the can of Jackie Coke. Some completely retarded person threw it in the rubbish and now the whole flat smells of it. He took it out of the rubbish to rinse it out. More on this? You can find it here: The insensitive sick person.
- Discussion with a nurse about whether it is really nail inflammation, as my doctor claims. She is of a different opinion. If she has her way, I'll have to get a new chiropodist immediately. Mine did a very poor job and didn't even do anything about the ingrown nail. How can she judge this better than my doctor, who has already examined the injury twice with a scalpel and the like? (By the way, you can read here and here.) Because she has the problem too. Oh, guys, you're really getting on my nerves.
- „I need a little whisky from you now.“ (he said, ignoring my dimenti and emptying the bottle by the end of the service) More on this? You can find it here: Inventory Olé
- Leaving me in the shit for over an hour, because night duty comes shortly and I'm so stressed that my own coffee is more important. I would have loved to use the time to clean myself up, because my three friends who are visiting are having dinner in the dining room. I really don't need to have my ass wiped when my friends are sitting next to me. Read more? You can find it here: Shift, change.
- Finding a syringe filled with cloudy liquid by the sink and wanting to give it to me via the PEG without knowing whether it is a tablet, cleaning agent or something else.
- The MDK assessor comes to the conclusion that no care-relevant issues are to be expected with my ALS. I have this in writing.
- The lady from the AOK just doesn't listen to me. Or she doesn't want to understand me. Probably both. I'm not saying I'm used to it. But I am used to it. The fact that she seriously wants to make me believe that inserting a gastrostomy using a stoma button will help against my muscle atrophy caused by the decay of my motor nervous system is the tip of the iceberg. Not only is not a single one of my doctors familiar with the „button“ she is talking about. Research shows that it is something like a PEG for babies and small children. How on earth is this supposed to stop the relapse of nerve cells?
