They phoned the hotel about an hour later to tell us it was over, and that the kidneys were in perfect shape. That was about four in the morning. They phoned again a little after six to say that the kidneys were already in two young somebodies.
What a world.
We’ve heard since that they used twelve things out of him, including corneas. And the redwinged blackbirds sing in the budding greengage plumtree.
P.S. When Jed’s wallet was finally sorted out of the debris and confusion of the wreck it was discovered that he had already provided for such a situation. He had signed the place on his driver’s license indicating that he wanted to be an organ donor in the event of etc., etc. One man gathers what another man spills.
So I’m examining this Mexican kid who came in with a sore throat. His mom, who speaks English, brought along an uncle who just arrived from Mexico. This “Tio” is obviously grumpy and keeps muttering in Spanish about how hungry he is and how he wishes the doctor would hurry up so they can go eat. Not a big deal, so I ignore him and don’t let on that I speak Spanish, until…
Cranquis *auscultating the kid’s lungs*: Take a deep breath.
Uncle *in Spanish*: Oh for heaven’s sake, why is he listening to his lungs? The kid just has a sore throat!
Cranquis *in Spanish*: Because his mother mentioned that he was wheezing this morning.
Cranquis *in Spanish*: And don’t worry, I’m hungry too — I’m going as fast as I can.
Three years ago today, I personally had an experience with the final days of a man. I can still remember feeling watching this once proud and grown man grow weak and frail as his cancer progressed. I remember this man being healthy only months before lying in a bed, eyes closed and lips pursed, wrestling internally with the rebellious cells of his body and the toxic therapy coursing through his veins. I remember refusing to give into the truth that lay before me.
That this was my father.
A powerful and personal experience with the dying-and-death of a family member, as told by one of the best med-school bloggers around.
First, I would like to give you a little background:
My grandfather was diagnosed with Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease about 5 years ago. He is a very bad patient. His doctor told him that he can never recover from the disease. (My grandfather also suffers from selective hearing and thus did not hear the part about slowing the progress by taking medications.) He refuses to take medications (Advair, specifically), fearing that he’ll end up taking oxygen treatments. He will be 74 in March and up until the time he was diagnosed he stayed active working in his garden and keeping his farm up. Since that time he rarely works outside and spends most of his time watching the News. I have tried to get him to go for walks with me but he says that he can’t, that he “doesn’t have the wind”. My question is this: do you know of any way I can convince (encourage) him to either take the Advair or to be more active? How do you typically deal with “bad patients”?
Hey, congrats on winning this week’s Guess the Theme contest on the Facebook Fan Page! Here is your reply/reward, given the Fast Lane treatment (jumping to the front of the line of questions awaiting reply)…
It sounds like Grandpa has a few factors working against him right now:
The approach to “bad” “non-compliant” “stubborn” patients always has to be individualized, because each one has their own reasons for their behavior. But common “obstructing” factors among elderly patients include those items above. I hope those ideas give you some more ideas of your own!
***Pending Cranquis-Mails: 7; Inbox: Closed***
zoradomain submitted (2 months ago! Oops, sorry for the late reply!):
So, i’ve had a rought time trying to submit to your ask box. This is something I have wanted to know about for a while, however, now i realize it as not much of a question as it once was.
I guess I’ll kind of introduce myself, Im julie and I’m only eighteen but my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer this past February. She went through one surgery, but they discovered more cancerous cells within the tissue and she went through five months of chemo. Over the summer was when I really wanted to ask you, or ANYONE what I could really do to make sure nothing happened so that I didn’t get her sick. I figured it out on my own, however she got poison ivy which she has NEVER been allergic to. Granted, the chemo took away that leisure and the ivy spread all over her body, including her dear bald head. She was given steroids which finally took it out (regular cream would not do the trick) and her last surgery was on my first day of school. Everything went very well, and now she is healing/recovering.
I know my mom and I only dealt with cancer for eight months. It was very hard to see her being beaten down by her medicine, the chemo and everything, but we both worked hard to be strong through everything. She always told me that there are so many people out there who have to deal with cancer for so much longer, going through things like she did, and sometimes even worse. Now she is participating in neuroscience programs that study the after effects of chemo, and I aspire to become a nueroscientist so this all interests me very well. But I was wondering, for anyone else out there, for any of your followers out there who deal/have dealt with cancer, if you could supply us with some of your comments on this or some websites that may relate? I think many people are at a loss as to how to truly live with someone with cancer, as well as the patient themselves. I tried searching your blog for cancer posts but did not see any (even though i doubt you’ve skipped the topic) so this may be a nice start.
I apologize for the novel, but I greatly appreciate your time and hope to figure out any new information in the near future!
Zoradomain — I am so sorry I haven’t replied to this question earlier! Somehow it got lost in the shuffle of my ever-over-flowing inbox. (I vaguely recall sending you a quick private reply right after you wrote this? I hope?) Anyways, here’s my novel of a reply…
I love my mother, so much. Though it took her a while to come to terms with my limitations and accept things for what they are, she has since been an incredible part of my support system. As much as I appreciate her presence, there is one place I don’t want the company: in the doctor’s office.
How many of you find it more difficult to have a third person in the exam room?
How many of you find it more difficult to talk about some of the truly disgusting and ugly parts of your chronic illness with another person there? And what about when you are meeting a physician for the first time and have to reiterate your entire history?
So is three a crowd? Is there a way to avoid the crowd?
An excellent post about a tough topic. Since chroniccurve asks for my comments within this post, here they are: