If Only SOP Wasn't CYA

I finally snapped and bit a nurse.

Not really. I just wanted to.

Yet again, I got a call about an "incident" regarding Dave, and it would have taken the customary three minutes to get to the part where Dave is fine had I not burst out over her professional spiel to make sure. It's the third such phone call where I've had the shit scared out of me, and it always seems to come as such a surprise to the reporting nurse that I might like the good news up front. This nurse specimen had the misfortune of being last in line, and I would have apologized more heartily if she hadn't said, "I'm sure this is stressful." Instead I laughed heartily, or more accurately, maniacally. "Stressful . . . you think?"

I'm not lumping all nurses together. Dave has had some excellent nurses all along the way. The amazing ICU nurses at Methodist held us both together at a time when we both needed it. Now I don't need nurses to hold me together; I just need them to not provoke me to violence.

I need them to listen. Besides Dave, I'm the only constant in this journey. And even Dave doesn't know the whole story because he slept through the first few chapters.

I need them to listen to Dave. He's had a stroke not a lobotomy. Too often they assume his mind is muddled or he's still unconscious and don't ask him direct questions or they patronize him like he's in a pre-school reading circle. The truth is, even in this state, he's probably smarter than they are.

Don't judge my decisions or my actions. On Friday, I had a nurse question why I hadn't moved Dave to Methodist Rehab from the beginning. Well, the fact that the first two people I approached when moving Dave back to Methodist didn't know a rehab floor existed might have played a role. Then one questioned why I didn't find someone to stay with in Omaha so I didn't have to keep driving back and forth and could be there every day. I wanted to say to her -- "Trust me, you don't want me here every day."

I'm sure I've made mistakes. I'm sure there were times I could have made more enlightened decisions or braved the weather more, but I have done and am still doing the best I can. At all times, Dave is my priority. No one knows what this feels like for me. I wouldn't even presume to know how another woman in this situations feels. So, feel like judging me? Piss off.

Don't make "cover your ass" the default when common sense would serve. In our litigious society, I know this last one is unrealistic, but, oh, wouldn't it be wonderful? Then Dave wouldn't have to go back on soft food or have those stupid "landing pads" by his bed. And I wouldn't have to get those oh-so-professional reports.

It's possible I just need to take my anger out on someone. It's also possible that this is the fourth time I've had to entrust the most precious person in my life to total strangers, and it's getting harder not easier.