Dreams: Running From Bullets

I knocked on the neighbors door to pick up a package.  She wasn’t there, but a very rude man appeared to be watching her house due to his response, and a man was sitting at her kitchen table. As I was going out heading for my car, I heard the host say that I was a sneaky bytch.  I disregarded his remark and continued towards the car when he came out on the porch and dropped a big glob of disgusting mucus right down on me.

I grabbed him by his ankles and pulled him from the porch.  He hit the ground and I started banging his head into the street.  I got up and put my foot on his neck and told him that I could break it if I wanted to.

I got in the car to pull off and noticed a mob of young guys coming from the top of the street heading towards me. One was on a bike with a long gun in his right hand aiming for the passenger side where the baby was sitting.  I was driving in reverse but threw the car in drive and grabbed the gun before speeding off back  in reverse.

By now, it was dusk and I went to my sisters house to tell her what had just happened when we noticed a white van driving fast in our direction. We hurried the kids inside and locked the doors. I was trying to call the police and hide the kids but couldn’t dial fast enough. They were downstairs coming through the door. I faced them with their guns drawn. I felt I had reached my end.

The head was the son of the man that spit on me, and his brother was the kid on the bike with the gun. I told them what happened between their dad and I and then one of the guys that was with them said that it was messed up how there dad treated me. I could see their change of plans happening. I was relieved and grateful for that and very grateful to the one who spoke up.

The head apologized for their actions and they left.

Advertisements

Delicacy of Dialysis

In 2017 a home hemodialysis nurse told me that the home dialysis machines were gentler than the machines that are in the clinics. My interpretation of that statement was that the patients who do not have the option to do their treatments at home have to suffer more than patients (clients is probably more fitting) who can treat themselves in their homes.

Because if you know that one machine is less aggressive than the other, why not “only” use the one that is less aggressive? I’ll assume that it is based on time and money.  Money makes mans world go around.

A kidney doctor (nephrologist) who knew nothing about my mother, was meeting her for the first time, told me that she would probably live five years being on dialysis.  I felt he was a donkey for saying that.  Later, I understood why he did.  Solely, in their hands, you are less likely to survive. Most of the time you will have to manipulate their recommended treatment to benefit from a treatment that will be customed for you and not set for the majority. We are individuals and have individual needs.

The centers are staffed with technicians who are trained to get as many people in the chairs as possible and to get them out as fast as possible.  That’s why many clients look like they have ran a marathon after being dialyzed.  Their bodies literally  have.  My mother has had several hospital visits from orders of pulling too much fluid, and a flow rate that was too high.  There seems to be an obsession with pulling fluid, even when it’s not there.

Most times the blood pressure will drop from pulling too much or the body will start cramping, letting you know that it’s too much for the body. I instructed clinics to never go beyond a certain amount during treatments for my mother.

I saw a lady yesterday that I met in one of the clinics last year.  She was with her husband and looked like she could barely make it and worse.  It troubled me because I know that her treatment doesn’t have to be so harsh.  I guess enough people haven’t died or complained to cause changes to be made.

I try to help the patients feel as comfortable as possible when I’m allowed to cross their paths by giving them special hoods or sweatshirts with openings for their accesses so they’ll be warm during treatment, getting snacks that they can tolerate after the treatment, hard candy during treatment for dry mouth, calling to check on their transportation and anything else that is appropriate, but it’s not enough.

These are people who need better care at the core.  My trying to help after the damage has been done, isn’t help at all.

From experience I would request peritoneal dialysis as the mode for dialyzing before hemodialysis. Facilities may try to discourage you by talking of sterile techniques. Being sanitary and careful should get the job done.

I did hemodialysis at home with my mother for a year with no incidents whatsoever, with the exception of a few cases of prolonged bleeding after pulling her needles that blood pressure medication and a cold compress took care of.

Happy Being Normal

“That’s Not My Normal”😐😕

I enjoyed working as a group, the fast pace and the challenge was exciting, but I am less tolerant of the negative manners of others.  I don’t function well in disorder and confusion.

Am I right or wrong?

I guess I was trying to be something that I’m not. I thought it would be easy having less responsibility, when it was actually harder.  It takes a lot to deal with all the different personalities and characteristics of people when they have no respect for your role or position.

Some were doing the job wrong intentionally, producing products of poor quality, having disturbing outburst ( that was the last straw for me).

We are who we are and there’s nothing wrong with not being comfortable trying to be something we are not.

 

Blaming The Devil

If I do wrong is it Devil’s fault or mine?

Why do so many blame Devil for lack of discipline?

Who is this Devil?

Of all my days why haven’t I felt compelled to accuse Devil of my short comings?

Who truly knows Devil’s mission?

Or witnessed Devil playing the position that man has given?

If I believe everything that a man says I may never know Truth.

 

 

 

 

 

Roses For Ms Margaret

Ms Margaret is a patient of the same dialysis clinic as my mom and me.  She is an eighty-seven year old , heavy set, humble, black woman, of few words, who waits patiently in her wheelchair with her oxygen tank for medical transportation to pick her up from the clinic and drive her back to the nursing facility that she resides.

Last Saturday I greeted her with a hug and asked her how she was feeling.  She didn’t complain of anything besides being tired from waiting for her ride. She had finished her treatment at ten and it was then twelve thirty.  She said sometimes her ride would not come until two o’clock. Giving her a four hour wait.

Pam, one of the nurses at the facility, came out to get my mom and told me that she had called the transportation company for Ms Margaret but no one is in the office on Saturday’s.

Ms Margaret told me that you only get a voicemail on Saturday.  I called anyway but found Ms Margaret and Pam to be right.  I asked Ms Margaret if I could call her daughter for her but she said that it wouldn’t do any good since she had to have a lift to get into a vehicle.

She then told me that she had needed to be taken to the bathroom but had to have a bed pan due to her limited mobility.  I felt terrible and helpless for her being in that situation.

I offered her a pack of nabs ( name given to peanut butter crackers by elders).  Hesitant to accept them, she said she would only eat one.  I asked her if she had a drink in her bag but she didn’t, so I went to the dollar store across the street to get her a fruit punch.

When I got back to the clinic with her drink she told me about her treatment at the nursing facility. She mentioned how her doctor told her that she should have been dead ten years ago, and how he snuck and put a patch on her back that her son asked him not to due to the side effects that it caused her.

Then she told me how her assistant refused to wash her properly and told her that she smelled bad and made her sick to be near her.  I held back tears.

Yesterday, I had opportunity to visit her. I took her roses, strawberries, and grapes.  I was able to meet one of her assistants who appeared unfriendly and defensive by my presence.  Compliments and kindness eased his position.  I was able to assist with her bath and get her settled for bed.

Today I made calls to the transportation company and the nursing facility to try to resolve her ever having to wait four hours to be picked up.

Love Was Too Much To Ask For

As a child I wanted to be loved and protected

Instead I was molested and rejected

As a girl I wanted to be loved and enthused

Instead I was used and abused

As a woman I wanted to be loved and appreciated

Instead I was ignored and degraded

Still, my hearts function is to love

and my mind is anchored on peace

Love was just too much to ask for in this world for me

Again I’m content and as fresh as I can be

When I look around

Im surrounded by love

It’s always in my grasp

I just had to open my eyes to see