Monday, January 26, 2015

In Memory of Sharon Janda

Now on to the future. We have all lost the most creative person I believe I have ever known: Sharon Janda who died suddenly the end of December. Sharon was the leader of my felting group, a study subgroup of the Potomac Fiber Arts Guild, Washington DC area. Sharon opened her studio for our meetings and arranged for many wonderful teachers to come in and inspire us. Life is precious. Sharon has impacted a legacy on all of us.

Daughters of Genghis Khan: The best group of friends I have ever had.

I'm back, sort of

Wow, I see that it has been a year since my last blog post. Actually right before my knee replacement last November which was a real fiasco--not the knee replacement itself, but they ignored my request first not to be sedated during the surgery (no one even spoke to me, they just put me out even though the surgeon had agreed I didn't need to be sedated in addition to the spinal if I didn't want it) and second not to have any narcotics since I already knew I was hypersensitive to them. The evening after surgery Someone wrote down that I had level 9 pain when I had almost no pain at all (my surgeon infused the joint with long acting markane which was supposed to control pain for at least 3 days--and it did!!! I had refused previous surgery from a different surgeon who said I would have to have narcotics). The only thing I can think of is when an unidentified gal stood at the door to my room and asked how was I and I said I am fine--she must have thought I said I am nine--but she just left. If she thought I was in pain wouldn't she at least have entered the room and checked on me? No one asked me if I wanted pain meds and no one told me when they administered them to me (just phoned a resident who didn't even know me to get an order) and I had a respiratory arrest. Even if I had been in pain, it should still have been MY choice whether or not to take pain meds. I spent 2 days unconscious on a ventilator and another night with "nurse from hell" who I assume thought that I was trying to pull out the tube when all I wanted was to wipe the slobber off my chin and neck because she wasn't suctioning me enough. She tied me down, reclined the bed into a back searingly uncomfortable position, disconnected my controls so I had to endure her choice of position, refused to allow me to write my needs, put great big mitts on my hands, and finally when I tried to put out my arm just to tell her to stop ranting at me about how much HER back hurt from lifting my case of books to read, accused me of attacking her and sedated me for punishment while I shook my head NO NO NO. I still cry every time I think about it. I can't even walk though a hospital and look at those white uniforms without getting upset at being treated like such a nonentity and damn near killed to boot. And after the fact they won't even talk to me to tell me what happened.

OK enough of that. I know I need to get back to work but it is difficult when my mind still goes off into such anger. I just need to be thankful that I am still alive and that the sequellae of the experience-gums sliced to the jawbone, broken teeth, TMJ pain (asymptomatic for over 30 years), loss of hearing in the left ear, and over a year to regain bowel function among other things are no worse. I know that I was a difficult intubation and had jokingly warned my surgeon in advance that I needed pediatric dental tools not ever thinking that that would be important.