E.R. Eye Opener

Wally's supra-pubic catheter had clogged last night. He was breathing fast and was in a cold sweat that soaked the bed sheets, it was about three in the morning and when I checked him, noticed the urinary bag had blood in it with little else. It should be about half way full or more with urine at that time in the morning. I did the procedure they showed me to do at the urologist office but the catheter still wouldn't drain. We needed to take him to emergency since Urgent Care wasn't open.
 
Getting in was a snap, there were only a few people and this was a Saturday night during a full moon. A special full moon at that since it is called a Super Moon being it is the closest it will get to earth for a while. That was good fortune, if you can call going to the E.R. fortunate.

The nurse we had was Asian with a thick accent. It's okay by me but she had difficulty with English. Like the word soiled. She wanted a rectal temperature of Wally and his weight. Okay but Wally has dementia and there was no scale for people in wheelchairs. I said, "Wally has soiled himself as they began to put him on a gurney.
"What?" she asked.
"When we were getting him in the car, Wally soiled himself, you need to clean him if you're taking a rectal."
"What do you mean soiled himself."
"You know, he's messed his Depends."
"What?"
"He took a shit in his pants. You know, shit? He's crapped in his underwear."
"Please sit down, we will take care of this. What is your relationship to the patient?"
"We're married."
"Your his brother?"
"No, we are married to each other."

Now she has discovered Wally's poop and of course it is dropping out because she had his nappy pulled down and some of his shit is now on the floor. "We need towels," she announces.

"We have to clean him before we can take his temperature."

"No kidding," I'm saying under my breath. 

"Get the gurney with the scale," she says.

Wally is stood up again and they have to clean the old gurney and the floor, meanwhile Wally is in pain and having difficulty standing. One of the assistance tells him to stand up, another Asian.
I say, "Wally has dementia, he's doing the best he can."
"Stand. Mr. Wallace, do you understand me? Stand up."
"Wally has dementia and is doing the best he can. He's in pain."
 "We'll handle this. What's your relationship to the patient?"
"We're married."
"Your his son?"
I gave up. "Look you have to hold him, he can't do it by himself. He has dementia."
The idiot turns to the Asian nurse and says, "He won't respond."
I go over and hold up Wally while Stan, our caregiver cleans him and the medical staff watch. It's easier that way and fortunately they stayed out of the way until we're done with their job.

Put him on the gurney. That takes a while because they don't know how to put up the sides and once they're up find out it can't weigh Wally because the batteries for that are dead.

Here we are in an E.R. dealing with people with poor English skills and equipment not maintained. Finally they ask me his weight, which I told them at the beginning.
"You are a good son," the Asian nurse told me.
So much for the hard fought battle for equality in marriage. We aren't husband and husband, we are son and father.

The E.R. doctor was from India. He was good too, competent and very versed at English. Wally came home after a catheter was inserted in his penis. He has antibiotics to take and we need to make an appointment on Monday to have the supra-pubic catheter replaced and have him checked. 

It's a bit frightening though when you think what could happen if you're having a heart attack or can't respond and your spouse is a sister,  mother, son or father and the staff wants to weigh you first.