Once I arrived at the hospital, I kicked everyone around my husband's bed in the emergency room out-- including my mother. Security told me that only one person could be there, and that person was going to be me. They both left. My mother went to pick up my twins at camp.
About 10 minutes after I arrived, an ultrasound technician came in with an ultrasound machine and started scanning his organs. She was measuring the sizes of things on his organs. I saw the words "liver," "kidney" and others, but I didn't know what she was looking for. I imagined it was masses.
Suddenly, my phone started ringing. It was someone from my husband's job. I declined the call. A minute later, someone else called. Again, I declined the call. Thirty seconds later, someone else called me. I texted the first person that I would call him back in a few. He told me that I needed to call him back immediately.
I stepped out of the room and called him. "Candy," he said, "It's all over town. Everyone knows."
My heart dropped into my feet. My husband was a private person. I hadn't told many people-- It was barely 11am. He proceeded to tell me that someone posted it on FaceBook, using my husband's name (which I will never use on FB, in this blog or anywhere else online), and everyone knew about it. I started getting a flood of emails, text messages, FaceBook messages and phone calls soon thereafter.
I was shocked. Not only was it posted on FaceBook, but incorrect information was posted. That's why I directed people to ask my dear friend Sally what was going on. I only gave Sally information about what was happening, and she would tell the people that asked her.
Well, so many people were asking Sally for info, that she started a FaceBook page called "Prayers for the Cain Family." I had no idea that she made it until the following morning after she did. Honestly, I can't even tell you about the time sequence of everything-- I don't think Sally made that page until the second or third day of this ordeal, because there was such a messed up game of "Telephone" going on. Sally did it out of the kindness of her heart to help me. (I love you, Sally.)
Unfortunately, the same people were taking the information that Sally was posting and twisting it. After a couple of days of nonsense, I had Sally delete the page. It's a shame, too. It helped me immensely because so many people wanted to find out what was going on and offer their support, and this was a way for me to avoid spending time talking to them.
I never told my husband anything about what was going on with FaceBook and the person that started the shitstorm. He still doesn't know, and he won't know until he is all better. There's a lot that he won't know until he is home and better, as it will stress him out and do more damage than good.
I thought I was doing good by telling certain people what was wrong with my husband and what we were going through-- More specifically, what he was going through. It came back to bite me in the ass because, frankly, some people are just self-serving, evil individuals. Some people thrive on sympathy they receive when someone that is perceived as close to them gets sick or dies. It's disgusting and inappropriate.
And that is all I have to say about that.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Flood
I'm sure you've heard the phrase, "When it rains, it pours." Well, we had a flood.
Quite literally.
After about an hour and a half of me closing my eyes, I was awakened by pounding footsteps and a door opening and closing, over and over again. Bleary-eyed, I crawled out of bed and trudged halfway down the stairs. It was the same noise over and over again...
Thud.
bang-bang-bang-bang-bang
stomp-stomp-stomp
Creak.
Slam.
stomp-stom-stomp....
You get the idea. As I stood in the middle of the staircase leading upstairs, I watched my mother walk down the hallway with a bucket, throw water from it over the railing outside, and walk toward the basement.
"Ma!" I called as I walked down the rest of the steps. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, don't worry about it. Just go back to sleep," she replied, not straying from her course. I followed her to the top of the basement stairs.
"What happened?" The wet-vac was taken apart and everything smelled moldy and musty.
"We have a little flood in the basement. I'll take care of it." She started down the stairs and I followed. As she dipped the bucket into the water, I noticed that we had six inches of standing water.
I couldn't believe it. Of course, my husband was in the hospital, and I didn't have anyone to help me. I told my mom to go to the hospital to be with my husband and I would call Joe and Shannon, two very close friends of mine that work with my company, Cain Casting & Talent Management. Joe is also an EMT, so I knew he would be prepared for a flood like this.
I picked up the phone to call Joe. When he answered, I lost it. I sobbed that he needed to come over because my husband was in the hospital and we had a flood and bring a pump and on and on and on. I think all he said was "Okay, I'll be right there."
I just sat and cried. It was a couple of minutes after 9am, and the whole cancer thing was hitting me. I had a little more than an hour of sleep, and that hit me, too. I didn't know what to do. I went upstairs, got dressed, brushed my teeth, combed my hair and went back downstairs. Joe and Shannon were already at the door. I showed them the flood.
The big problem was that we had a lot of power cords and outlets under water. The water had to be bailed from the steps, rather than being able to go into the basement and do it. Joe told me that he would handle it. I explained to Shannon what was going on, and made some phone calls that had to be made about my husband. I instructed everyone not to go to the hospital, and I would call if I needed people to go to the hospital. I was very, very specific. I called one of the guys at work to let them know what was going on, and to see if there was anything else I had to do in order to make sure that my husband didn't have issues at work.
That took maybe 20 minutes. After, I sat on the couch with Shannon and told her how angry I was. Joe was still pumping the water out of the basement. My text went off, and my mother texted me that someone showed up at the hospital-- someone my husband hadn't talked with in about 4 years and made crystal clear to me that he didn't want to see.
I told Joe and Shannon that I needed to leave. Joe had gotten nearly all of the water pumped out of the basement, and packed the pump up. The three of us left the house-- They went home and I flew to the hospital.
That flood had been cleared up without issue (although we lost a LOT of our belongings that were kept in the basement, including some of my kids' toys), but - unbeknownst to me - a bigger, figurative flood was right around the corner.
Quite literally.
After about an hour and a half of me closing my eyes, I was awakened by pounding footsteps and a door opening and closing, over and over again. Bleary-eyed, I crawled out of bed and trudged halfway down the stairs. It was the same noise over and over again...
Thud.
bang-bang-bang-bang-bang
stomp-stomp-stomp
Creak.
Slam.
stomp-stom-stomp....
You get the idea. As I stood in the middle of the staircase leading upstairs, I watched my mother walk down the hallway with a bucket, throw water from it over the railing outside, and walk toward the basement.
"Ma!" I called as I walked down the rest of the steps. "What are you doing?"
"Oh, don't worry about it. Just go back to sleep," she replied, not straying from her course. I followed her to the top of the basement stairs.
"What happened?" The wet-vac was taken apart and everything smelled moldy and musty.
"We have a little flood in the basement. I'll take care of it." She started down the stairs and I followed. As she dipped the bucket into the water, I noticed that we had six inches of standing water.
I couldn't believe it. Of course, my husband was in the hospital, and I didn't have anyone to help me. I told my mom to go to the hospital to be with my husband and I would call Joe and Shannon, two very close friends of mine that work with my company, Cain Casting & Talent Management. Joe is also an EMT, so I knew he would be prepared for a flood like this.
I picked up the phone to call Joe. When he answered, I lost it. I sobbed that he needed to come over because my husband was in the hospital and we had a flood and bring a pump and on and on and on. I think all he said was "Okay, I'll be right there."
I just sat and cried. It was a couple of minutes after 9am, and the whole cancer thing was hitting me. I had a little more than an hour of sleep, and that hit me, too. I didn't know what to do. I went upstairs, got dressed, brushed my teeth, combed my hair and went back downstairs. Joe and Shannon were already at the door. I showed them the flood.
The big problem was that we had a lot of power cords and outlets under water. The water had to be bailed from the steps, rather than being able to go into the basement and do it. Joe told me that he would handle it. I explained to Shannon what was going on, and made some phone calls that had to be made about my husband. I instructed everyone not to go to the hospital, and I would call if I needed people to go to the hospital. I was very, very specific. I called one of the guys at work to let them know what was going on, and to see if there was anything else I had to do in order to make sure that my husband didn't have issues at work.
That took maybe 20 minutes. After, I sat on the couch with Shannon and told her how angry I was. Joe was still pumping the water out of the basement. My text went off, and my mother texted me that someone showed up at the hospital-- someone my husband hadn't talked with in about 4 years and made crystal clear to me that he didn't want to see.
I told Joe and Shannon that I needed to leave. Joe had gotten nearly all of the water pumped out of the basement, and packed the pump up. The three of us left the house-- They went home and I flew to the hospital.
That flood had been cleared up without issue (although we lost a LOT of our belongings that were kept in the basement, including some of my kids' toys), but - unbeknownst to me - a bigger, figurative flood was right around the corner.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
The Cancer Scare
I don't know what it is about Emergency Room doctors on the graveyard shift, but they suck. I apologize for sweeping generalizations, but they do. I mean, I nearly died in the BMH emergency room a few weeks back when I was in anaphylaxis for an allergic reaction, and I was told that I wasn't having an allergic reaction. I know the hours suck-- I've worked overnight before. My husband worked midnights for YEARS. But, seriously, get your shit together and don't take your dislike of your shift out on the patients. (Again, this might not be the case for all night shift ER doctors, but it has been for every freaking one I've ever run into.)
So, my husband had been laying in a bed for an hour before they told me that they expected he had a pulmonary embolism and needed a CT scan. They wheeled him away at 2am, gave him the intravenous dye and did the CT scan. While he was getting the scan done, I called his job and told him that he wouldn't be in for Thursday or Friday. He was wheeled back to the little area they had him (bed #19) at about 2:30, and we waited for the results.
At 3:15am, the ER doctor arrived with results. "I have some good news," he said. "You don't have a pulmonary embolism. However, we were able to see part of your liver, and there are a couple of masses on them. They might be cancerous. I'll be right back." And then he left.
I'm not kidding or exaggerating. That's what happened. He dropped the C-Bomb and took off before I could even say, "What?????" He just left.
After disbelief, rage was the next emotion that hit me. I was furious at my husband. He is 43 years old, and he has effing CANCER????? How did he not go to the doctor earlier? I remember exactly what I said to him...
"You are stubborn, stupid and selfish. If you went to the doctor sooner, we wouldn't be in this situation. How am I supposed to explain this to the kids? I am PISSED at you!"
And then I paced. I paced for hours. Literally. I walked from the foot of his bed to the nurse's station and back. I think I wore a track in the floor. So many thoughts were going through my mind, especially since something similar happened to a friend of mine. My friend's brother wasn't feeling well for weeks. He finally went to the hospital and, long story short, they found out that he has STAGE THREE colon cancer. Oh, by the way, he is only 34 years old.
As you can imagine, thoughts were running wild through my head. What kind of cancer is it? All of the body's blood filters through the liver, so it could have been anything. How far along is he? What stage is he in? Is he going to die? How long do we have to prepare? Is our life insurance paid up? How am I going to tell the kids? What are we going to do?
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I let rage consume me, since it was a lit easier than grief. He had his eyes closed, but I shot him dirty looks every time I laid eyes on him. I was livid. I was furious with the doctor for dropping the bomb like that. I asked to speak with him again, but he was "busy."
I saw him sitting at his desk, and he was "busy." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but he was "busy." I wanted to stab this frigging doctor. I had so many questions and he wouldn't come to me to answer them. He didn't come over to me for HOURS, while my husband shuddered and sweat in his hospital bed, waiting for the next steps.
The secretary told me at 5:45 that he was going to be admitted. I demanded to see the doctor and threatened to walk over to him. He reluctantly walked over to me.
To be completely honest with you, that was a week ago and I can't remember what I asked him. He kept telling me that someone from Oncology would speak with me, and he couldn't give me any answers. I asked him a lot of questions, and he said that they were questions for the oncologist-- literally every question was answered like that. I think the only thing he confirmed was that he was going to be admitted.
That's it. That's all I had.
By 6:45, I was absolutely exhausted. I was drained. I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew that he was sleeping. I woke him up and told him that I needed to get a couple of hours of sleep, and would be back. I kissed his sweaty forehead and left.
We live about 7 minutes from the hospital, give or take the traffic lights. I got home at about 7:00 and jumped online to let those closest to me know what was going on. The kids were waking up for camp, so I got them ready, gave them breakfast, and didn't mention anything about Daddy. I think they thought he left for work. our kids are 6, so they really didn't need to know anything at that moment-- Especially anything about cancer.
My mother left with the kids at 8am. I slipped into my bed and closed my eyes.
At 3:15am, the ER doctor arrived with results. "I have some good news," he said. "You don't have a pulmonary embolism. However, we were able to see part of your liver, and there are a couple of masses on them. They might be cancerous. I'll be right back." And then he left.
I'm not kidding or exaggerating. That's what happened. He dropped the C-Bomb and took off before I could even say, "What?????" He just left.
After disbelief, rage was the next emotion that hit me. I was furious at my husband. He is 43 years old, and he has effing CANCER????? How did he not go to the doctor earlier? I remember exactly what I said to him...
"You are stubborn, stupid and selfish. If you went to the doctor sooner, we wouldn't be in this situation. How am I supposed to explain this to the kids? I am PISSED at you!"
And then I paced. I paced for hours. Literally. I walked from the foot of his bed to the nurse's station and back. I think I wore a track in the floor. So many thoughts were going through my mind, especially since something similar happened to a friend of mine. My friend's brother wasn't feeling well for weeks. He finally went to the hospital and, long story short, they found out that he has STAGE THREE colon cancer. Oh, by the way, he is only 34 years old.
As you can imagine, thoughts were running wild through my head. What kind of cancer is it? All of the body's blood filters through the liver, so it could have been anything. How far along is he? What stage is he in? Is he going to die? How long do we have to prepare? Is our life insurance paid up? How am I going to tell the kids? What are we going to do?
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I let rage consume me, since it was a lit easier than grief. He had his eyes closed, but I shot him dirty looks every time I laid eyes on him. I was livid. I was furious with the doctor for dropping the bomb like that. I asked to speak with him again, but he was "busy."
I saw him sitting at his desk, and he was "busy." He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, but he was "busy." I wanted to stab this frigging doctor. I had so many questions and he wouldn't come to me to answer them. He didn't come over to me for HOURS, while my husband shuddered and sweat in his hospital bed, waiting for the next steps.
The secretary told me at 5:45 that he was going to be admitted. I demanded to see the doctor and threatened to walk over to him. He reluctantly walked over to me.
To be completely honest with you, that was a week ago and I can't remember what I asked him. He kept telling me that someone from Oncology would speak with me, and he couldn't give me any answers. I asked him a lot of questions, and he said that they were questions for the oncologist-- literally every question was answered like that. I think the only thing he confirmed was that he was going to be admitted.
That's it. That's all I had.
By 6:45, I was absolutely exhausted. I was drained. I could barely keep my eyes open. I knew that he was sleeping. I woke him up and told him that I needed to get a couple of hours of sleep, and would be back. I kissed his sweaty forehead and left.
We live about 7 minutes from the hospital, give or take the traffic lights. I got home at about 7:00 and jumped online to let those closest to me know what was going on. The kids were waking up for camp, so I got them ready, gave them breakfast, and didn't mention anything about Daddy. I think they thought he left for work. our kids are 6, so they really didn't need to know anything at that moment-- Especially anything about cancer.
My mother left with the kids at 8am. I slipped into my bed and closed my eyes.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
How it all began.
On Monday, July 7, he wasn't feeling well. He complained that his stomach and back were bothering him. He worked Bingo the night before for our daughter's baton twirling team, The Sparklers. He brought home food from Wendy's and flopped onto the couch. We went to bed. Everything was normal. He woke up on Monday morning just not feeling well.
On Tuesday, he was grumpy and complained that his back and stomach were really bothering him. He had the chills when we went to bed. They were so bad I told him I'd shut off the air conditioner. He said he was cold and hot at the same time, and wanted to leave it on but use another blanket. I grabbed an extra blanket and covered him with it.
On Wednesday, he was worse. He still went to work, though. He actually worked both of his jobs-- He's a police officer and works in two different towns. He didn't get home until midnight and looked absolutely horrid. He told me that he made an appointment with Dr. Rac for Friday.
On Thursday, he only went to one job, which is very unusual for him. The guy NEVER calls in sick. He came home and sat on the couch. He didn't eat dinner. He went up to bed at about 7:00, and didn't come downstairs. I checked on him a few times, and he was sound asleep.
On Friday, he went to the doctor. It was the second day in a row that he called in sick. The fact that he called in sick two days in a row really worried me. He came back from the doctor and told me that his back was in such spasms that he got 12 novocaine shots up and down his back. The doctor prescribed Vicodin and Cipro for what she felt was a kidney infection. He was prescribed a couple of other things, but I can't remember what they were. He went to sleep at about 5:30.
He didn't wake up until Sunday evening around 7pm. Sure, he got up to go to the bathroom, but nothing else.
On Monday, he made his way back to the couch. He was crabby, snapping at me and the kids. He wasn't himself. He hadn't gotten his blood drawn the way the doctor ordered, and I went into nagging wife mode. He ignored me. Usually, when I nag, he does whatever I'm asking. (I rarely nag.)
On Tuesday, I had enough. He still hadn't gotten his blood drawn. His color was off. He wasn't getting better. I got him in the car and took him to get his blood drawn. While I was waiting, I called the doctor and told him that he needed to come in. My friend, Stacey, was nearby, and she came in to watch the kids while I brought him to the doctor. The doctor suggested he go to the hospital, but he said that he was feeling better. She told him that this was a warning sign and if he feels ANYTHING different, he needed to go to the emergency room.
We caught up on an episode of Masterchef and went to bed at about 11pm. He called in to work for the rest of the week. We went to sleep.
At 12:31am, he woke me up with, "Candice, you need to take me to the hospital." I flew out of bed, woke my mom to let her know what was going on and to listen out for the kids in case they got up, got dressed and drove him to the hospital. No joke, I dropped him off in front of the ER at 12:45am.
By the time I parked the car, they already had him on a gurney and were wheeling him into the back of the ER. I followed, no idea what was going on. I must say, though, I was pissed that it had come to this point. Why hadn't he taken care of himself? Why didn't he get his blood drawn sooner? I was livid.
And so that began our unfortunate adventure at Brookhaven Memorial Hospital...
On Tuesday, he was grumpy and complained that his back and stomach were really bothering him. He had the chills when we went to bed. They were so bad I told him I'd shut off the air conditioner. He said he was cold and hot at the same time, and wanted to leave it on but use another blanket. I grabbed an extra blanket and covered him with it.
On Wednesday, he was worse. He still went to work, though. He actually worked both of his jobs-- He's a police officer and works in two different towns. He didn't get home until midnight and looked absolutely horrid. He told me that he made an appointment with Dr. Rac for Friday.
On Thursday, he only went to one job, which is very unusual for him. The guy NEVER calls in sick. He came home and sat on the couch. He didn't eat dinner. He went up to bed at about 7:00, and didn't come downstairs. I checked on him a few times, and he was sound asleep.
On Friday, he went to the doctor. It was the second day in a row that he called in sick. The fact that he called in sick two days in a row really worried me. He came back from the doctor and told me that his back was in such spasms that he got 12 novocaine shots up and down his back. The doctor prescribed Vicodin and Cipro for what she felt was a kidney infection. He was prescribed a couple of other things, but I can't remember what they were. He went to sleep at about 5:30.
He didn't wake up until Sunday evening around 7pm. Sure, he got up to go to the bathroom, but nothing else.
On Monday, he made his way back to the couch. He was crabby, snapping at me and the kids. He wasn't himself. He hadn't gotten his blood drawn the way the doctor ordered, and I went into nagging wife mode. He ignored me. Usually, when I nag, he does whatever I'm asking. (I rarely nag.)
On Tuesday, I had enough. He still hadn't gotten his blood drawn. His color was off. He wasn't getting better. I got him in the car and took him to get his blood drawn. While I was waiting, I called the doctor and told him that he needed to come in. My friend, Stacey, was nearby, and she came in to watch the kids while I brought him to the doctor. The doctor suggested he go to the hospital, but he said that he was feeling better. She told him that this was a warning sign and if he feels ANYTHING different, he needed to go to the emergency room.
We caught up on an episode of Masterchef and went to bed at about 11pm. He called in to work for the rest of the week. We went to sleep.
At 12:31am, he woke me up with, "Candice, you need to take me to the hospital." I flew out of bed, woke my mom to let her know what was going on and to listen out for the kids in case they got up, got dressed and drove him to the hospital. No joke, I dropped him off in front of the ER at 12:45am.
By the time I parked the car, they already had him on a gurney and were wheeling him into the back of the ER. I followed, no idea what was going on. I must say, though, I was pissed that it had come to this point. Why hadn't he taken care of himself? Why didn't he get his blood drawn sooner? I was livid.
And so that began our unfortunate adventure at Brookhaven Memorial Hospital...
This is My Blog
I'm a writer. I'm going through a very tough time right now, and I need to get my emotions out. The way I get my emotions out is by writing. If I don't get these emotions on paper - or in this blog - I might just lose my mind. Deal with it.
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