WELL, THAT WAS FUN……..

Husband and I spent the morning at Kaiser.  He went to a group for fellow heart patients first (I skipped that) and then we met at the cardiology dept at 10:00am for a 10:15am appt to get his ICD read.  The tech is a sweetheart and put  up with (and patiently answered) my millions of questions.  Husband has had this device for several years now but I am just now really understanding the finer points.  At one point, she turned to me and said, “Are you a nurse?”  Uh, no, I’m the wife of a heart failure patient on a mission to keep him around for as long as possible.

Next, we saw the cardiologist, for an hour and a half.  We saw videos of his heart beating in the wonky way it does, the leaky (but not seriously) valves and talked about the volume and velocity of blood moved with each beat.  It’s all quite complicated but the Reader’s Digest version is that he is doing, “really well.”  Considering.  And we’ll take that.  We discussed options should there  be any more irregular beats – none of which we want to deal with.  So, we won’t be having any of that.

Then, Husband (out of the blue) drops the bomb:  How much longer?  Dr says if he found anyone to answer that question, he’d be lying or guessing.  But, the question triggered the “DNR Talk.”  Which, was decidedly NOT FUN.  Not a conversation you ever want to have and one that, for some folk, is going to happen.  The form is pink.  Once filled out and properly signed by the physician, the form is to accompany you every time you come to the hospital – even for a regular check up – even tho they have a copy – essentially, it becomes a part of your person.  Why not just have the text tatooed on your chest?  I haven’t looked at it.  There was talk about where to keep this pink form – oddly, the refrigerator was the place.  Apparently, the EMTs head for a beer before they start pounding on your chest?  I did take a peek at the result of the Google search:  DNR.  There was the suggestion that this form be kept, and I am not making this up, ON THE FRIDGE DOOR!  Shut UP!  Right there next to the postcards from Paris, pug magnets and drawings by grandchildren.  I think not.  So, you have friends over for dinner, and where do they always congregate?  In the kitchen, of course.  Great topic for discussion.  Your grandchildren ask, “What’s this pink form?”  “Oh, honey, that’s just Grandaddy’s DNR form!”  Why not  just write up the obit and post that?  Perhaps you include a copy in the Christmas cards – what we’ve been up to this year….suffice it to say, I had one of my famous “fits.”

On the way home from work, I drove straight to the local fire station to speak directly to the EMTs.  At the fire station, you ring a buzzer and wait.  Then, 2 drop dead gorgeous young men open the door with a puzzled look on their chiseled faces.  I explain the reason for my visit, they sympathize, tell me they hope they never come to the house, and give me a great big pill bottle.  It’s called The Vial of Life.  Inside is a form where you fill in all the meds your patient is on and put a copy of the dreaded DNR form in it…and put it in the refrigerator.  In the door, on the bottom shelf next to the expired bottles of salad dressing – not in a place you see every time you open the door, because, you know….that’s just goulish.  Might as well put it on the door, right?  In the bottle is also a little magnet – you know, like the one the plumber gives you – for the door.  The magnet alerts the EMT that there is something other than beer inside.  So, before the guys get out of the “bus” do they do rock, paper, scissors to see which one gets to be the “fridge guy?”  We decided, however, that the first line of defense is the MedicAlert bracelet.  Husband has one already, so we’ll have to get a revised version.  We’ll do what we are supposed to do  with that damn pink form and THEN NEVER SPEAK OF IT AGAIN.