Well that at least is good news.
Yaaaaaaaa doggie.
Haha! Now I’m picturing all sorts of amusing ways that a K9 could be smuggled into a hospital room. Did they dress him as a doctor? Hide him in the linen cart? 
Sadly, they just went with the obvious: Dressed him in his “work clothes” (vest and leash, badge optional,) and walked him in the front door. It helped that the hospital security sergeant on duty used to work K9 with Tony in a nearby city…
Police dogs fall under a sort of gray area regarding access - they are service dogs, but not defined under ADA. Obviously, they are allowed in areas otherwise off-limits to plain old pets. So a convincing argument + a cooperative person controlling access = Yay! Doggie smooches for Tony! Sure, it’s special treatment, but Tony and puppy dog both needed to see one another.
That is so awesome that he and the doggie got to see each other. But it sucks that he’s in that much pain. I fell off my bike something like 4 years ago, landed on my right hand, jamming my arm up into my shoulder. I didn’t tear a thing, just some swelling in the rotator cuff. Four doctors and three years on and off of PT and I’m still in constant pain, 24/7. Most days it’s a 2 or 3, but there’ve been days when it’s almost unbearable and Vicodin barely touches it. So A) I can empathize at least to some degree, and B) be prepared for a potentially long recovery, pain-wise.
Thinking of you guys and sending healing thoughts his way.
I just had a thought about when Tony goes back to work and he and the doggie walk out to the cruiser.
Tony will open the back door for the dog…
I’m thinking the dog is going to give him a look that says " I’ve seen how you drive, how about you get in the back and I’ll drive from now on."
I hope the pain subsides soon.
I’m reading this for the first time. Wow, just wow.
No disrespect to folks in the military, but I think Americans tend forget there are many others here at home in uniform who serve to keep the peace. Their deployments are not months away from home, family and friends, but eight-, ten-, or more shifts. Just as scary, the unknowns, etc.
Next time you see your husband, let him know we thank him and those here at home helping to keep the peace, and keep us safe.
I’m so glad to hear this! I’m sure it helped both of them in their recovery.
That’s so great about his K-9 partner. I’ll bet the dog was stressed out wondering what had happened to Tony.
As to getting the dog into the hospital, I think they did it right. I’m quoting someone I once knew, on how to crash parties, or sneak into places, when I say “Dress riught and act like you belong there, and most of the time it works.”
Had to go bush for a couple of days, back now, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again!!
Good news about the doggie-visit, not so good about the pneumonia, but we’re all keeping our fingies and toesies crossed for his quick recovery.
I’m finally calm enough to post about the past two days…
On Friday, after Tony had spent hours writhing in increasing, uncontrollable pain, two doctors from the trauma team stopped by to pronounce him ready for release. That very afternoon. Straight to home. Now, as much as I want Tony home, there was no way that he was ready, and no way I could handle him (in that state,) plus kids, dogs, etc. Arguments ensued, with the nurse weighing in on my side, but they insisted.
I was furious. Started burning up the phone line with the insurance rep, patient relations, anyone who might help change this decision (from two doctors younger than my shoes, neither of whom had even examined Tony! They were looking at a check list of symptoms, not a patient, and ignoring new symptoms. And even the check list was wrong - someone mischarted that Tony used dilauded regularly, for Pete’s sake! You can’t DO that in his job!)
Meanwhile, bio dad shows up. While I was on the phone - and fuming, and getting madder and madder - Stupid Butt is busy fucking around with medical equipment and being no help. I asked if he could sit with Tony and the girls for 5 minutes so I could step outside and calm down. Five minutes later, I returned to a room swarming with medical types. Tony had lost consciousness. (Oh, shit, but at least that bought him another night in the hospital.)
An hour later, he was stabilized and more comfortable, so (@ 4 in the afternoon,) I asked bio dad to hang with Tony long enough to take the girls downstairs for lunch. Thirty minutes later, we returned to unconscious Tony again, medicos everywhere, and no bio dad. The trauma nurse helped me advocate for more testing, including the CT that was finally ordered Saturday morning, performed around 2 pm. Results were back by 4, and the nurse told me she was looking for a doctor to deliver the results. At 8 pm, I was still waiting. And furious. And scared.
The night nurse finally took 5 minutes out of his busy shift to show me the results, translate the gobbledygook, and answer my questions. The bruising to Tony’s kidney was bleeding. Not arterial, but seeping. He received 2 units of blood, and we are waiting for it to stop. He texted me this morning at one, feeling better. At least another day or two in the hospital, and maybe then rehab. Woohoo.
Oh, and bio dad? Turns out that after Tony fainted the first time while moving from bed to chair, bio dad was brilliant enough to try to help him move again. He tried to call about 30 minutes later. I was busy updating my mother-in-law. I didn’t take the call.
Hang in there. Your family are in our thoughts.
Actually, have the bio dad may be handy. Going off about him sounds like a great way to vent all the anger, fear and frustration you are feeling. If he shows up againso much the better, you can tear him a new one face to face.
Another friend asked me how the hell they got the dog into the hospital. My texted answer was “Need a rule broken? A cop will figure out how to do it.” Besides, I know and love that damned dog, but the average person finds him far too scary to try to confront him. Add three big guys with guns and badges? Yeah. It’s gonna take someone with very, very large testicles to say “No, you can’t go there.” (It also indirectly helped with the nurse last night. The last minute of our conversation was about how pretty our dog was, and how wonderful, etc. Gigantic Russian dude switching from medical-ese to “sweet widdle puppy wuppy?” Funny.)
Lacunae, as the spouse of a (now retired) K9 officer, though, I am glad to hear that the DOG is OK. That’s the really important thing!
My wife’s K9 was a rough, tough, trooper dog on duty, at home, he was a big old mushball family pet. The kids would climb all over him, and the cat would cling with all four paws to his ruff while walking around the house.
When our daughter was a toddler (she’s 25 now), we had a deck put on the house. Every minute of the day, he would position himself between her and the workmen. He didn’t make a big deal about it, but, no matter where she or they were, there he was, casually sitting.
He was truly a friend and gentle companion. I am glad yours is OK.
Oh, and good about your husband, too.
It’s the law here, in case they need to use a opposite lane.
Hate myself, replied to the wrong post.
Bless you and yours.
Lacunae, the best way I have found to deal with medical jackholes the likes of whitch you describe is to glare them in the eyes and utter the 5 magic words:
“You are fired, send your replacement”
The other thing that will cause them to change their tighty whiteys is to ask them who their and the hospital’s agent of service is.
Professionals of any sort work FOR you, if they do not, replace them.
Re: bio dad. The other bit I’ve pieced together: the first time Tony fell out* Friday, it was my 12-year-old daughter who had the presence of mind to hit the call button, run out in the hall to grab the nearest nurse, and gather up the baby to take care of her while the professionals were swarming. Bio dad apparently just stood there looking stupid(er than usual.) If I’d known that before the second fainting episode, I would have figured out another way to feed the girls, and not left him unattended with Tony.
Brother Cadfael, our (now retired) German Shepherd was like yours after Lily was born. I think he slept less than I did the first few weeks, what with standing guard over the new puppy, and once even growled at Tony’s mom when she tried to pick up the baby while I was in the shower. J.O. is much more high energy than the GSD, so he doesn’t get to play with the babies, but no one gets to knock on our doors without his permission. He’s a total marshmallow, but still young and very exuberant.
*Fortunately, that’s a figure of speech, since Tony was seated by the time he passed out.
Ugh, WTF. That would get me fired, and I only work with computers. Between that and bio-dad (who really needs to go jump in a lake, and/or get put on the hospital’s ‘no visit’ list), is this a situation where you can ask a very tall uniformed friend to come loom over your shoulder to help lend authority to your wishes?
Hope it goes smoother from here on out…
Great day today, but sad that I can’t be in two places at once. The big kids go back to school tomorrow, so the 12-year-old and the baby and I came home. Tony is doing much, much better - stable, hemoglobin rising (it was down to 6.9 Friday night - :eek:, but was up to 8.9 this morning,) and talk of bringing him home tomorrow or Tuesday. I can handle that, now that he’s stable.
I was so glad to get home, despite not wanting to leave Tony. I walked in the door to hear Lily Kat: “Mommy! You home!” and then “Me-shell!” and “Nana!” (Lily’s versions of Michelle and Alana.) The house isn’t pristine, but the trash was out, the dishes mostly done, and dog, toddler, and teenager fed and whole. Not many 15-year-old boys would have handled things so well… so proud of my “little” boy. And Michelle was so happy to be able to just crawl around on the floor and play with her toys and have some wiggle time - there was nowhere at the hospital to let her do that, and not even enough space in Tony’s room or the family waiting room for a Pack & Play. My arms are about to fall off from holding a wiggly baby for hours on end.
And now - clean jammies, my own coffee, my own computer, no bra, no shoes, four sleeping kids, and one dog all snuggled up against me. Gotta clean house and move furniture to make room for walker/wheelchair/crutches, but it’s good to be home…