When Multiple Local Doctors Finally Beat You Down…

This has been a year I hope to forget.  I’ve had endless appointments and testing done for GI issues (starting with a large gallstone that nobody would remove without repeating tests that had been done two years prior with no change in those symptoms), kidney function abnormalities, etc.   I’m done. They win.   Even though the new primary care doc (different health system) is a far cry (in a good way) from the “healthcare providers” (use term very, very loosely)  I’ve seen this year, I am no longer interested in testing, treatment, or being BOTHERED by sitting in waiting rooms and arranging my limited life around waiting rooms.  My newish primary doc is a decent sort.  But he wanted me to see a GI doc before referring me to a surgeon.  Well, I don’t want a surgeon now.  I don’t want ANYTHING from medical people in this town.  I can use Urgent Care for simple stuff.  That (and any trip away from home) requires getting in and out of the care twice for one appointment/stop.  THAT causes a lot of pain that generally results in at least a day or two in bed to help the muscle and joint/disc pain.

Sent to current doc after messaging about still seeing GI doc AGAIN, when symptoms have improved “enough”:

“I’m SO, so sorry to be a pain in the ass. Really, I am. I just don’t want to be bothered with medical anything other than the bare minimum to stay alive within the ‘cage’ of my house. Appointments are not worth it to me. I’m buying my own Blood Sugar strips/CPAP junk. My labs were better. That should buy time. Plus, appointments are painful with the DJD and DDD. A single there/back = 1-2 days in bed.

I’m just DONE with folks meaning well, but not hearing that I DON’T CARE anymore about finding out about any new problems. I won’t go to the ER. I don’t care about the gallstone. I don’t care about anything but basic maintenance. I’m trying to wean off of all meds I can. I’d like to spend time not thinking about appts, tests, etc. The nausea is better. I’ve had mild nausea intermittently for years, and that is livable. Belching yesterday’s lunch at breakfast the next day tells me that my gastric motility is dull- don’t need a test for that, and don’t want meds for it. The stomach pain is much better since NOT having to deal with the other health care systems.

If I’m not interested, why should anybody else put more energy into something that doesn’t effect them?

My goals: 1) not wasting what little is left of quality of life in one waiting room after another. Nobody will fix the things that effect mobility (clot history)-and my shoulders are not strong enough for rehab anyway, and the rest of it is just not fixable. After the hell with the other healthcare systems in town not giving a damn about what I want out of things, I’m just done looking for anything else that would need anything done about it.  If that means palliative now, so be it. I can’t leave the house in the late spring/summer/early fall during the daylight (heat) anymore. If I have to have anything done, it means hiring “help” and I don’t “do” babysitters. And 2), not contacting your office unless there’s something that can be treated VERY, VERY simply (UTI, URI).

Had I seen you first this year, I doubt I’d be where I am now, but my PCP of 11 years was still here- and she was the ONLY reason I stayed with freaky OSF for so long. I don’t trust much right now (nothing related to you). I hope that changes. I’ve had 2 GB ultrasounds, the endoscopy, and abd/pelvic CT. If there’s something going on that isn’t on any of those, I won’t want treatment anyway. SO why waste anybody’s time?   I’m done on the patient rodent wheel. I’m fully aware of the risks.
I’m sorry. “

We’ll see if this is clear enough with the new guy.  He’s been reasonable in the past (saw him many, many years ago when I was still able to work, and only left when I switched jobs and had different insurance).

DO NOT MOVE TO Northern ILLINOIS if you have a lot of medical issues and expect decent care from  “local” “healthcare professionals” unless you get the one that implies “merciful”  (all sold out to other companies and they’re no longer advocates for patient well-being, but profits, but I’m hoping the one I’m with now is at least not terrifying).   Smaller communities are being paid bonuses to deny care to seniors and the disabled…so they send folks for tests that are cheaper than the fix… and/or hope that folks give up, since that population is limited in transportation options many times.

https://www.forbes.com/sites/theapothecary/2016/02/21/aca-savings-paying-doctors-and-hospitals-bonuses-to-deny-care-to-patients/#6a9ec5aa6c46

Well, mission accomplished.  I’m done.

January 7, 1978… The Nelson Murders, Rockford, IL

EDIT:   This post is my most viewed post.  I’d like to know who is searching for this, and why (my guess is that it’s more “kids” who remember the Nelsons).  Please leave a comment.  🙂

January 7, 1978…. it was a clear, cold winter Saturday when my grandmother (and grandfather) walked into our house and asked me if it was my figure skating coach whose 6 children had been murdered, and found earlier that morning.  I froze.  I was just 14 years old (by a couple of months), and had no frame of reference to figure out how to wrap my head around what she had just asked.  It couldn’t be true, could it?  Ann’s kids had to be OK.  I knew  her oldest daughter, Jennifer, who was 13 years old. We saw each other at the skating rink on occasion.  We knew each other well enough to know where we knew each other from- and if we’d been thrown together with strangers we would have stuck together… so we weren’t close friends by any means. But I knew her.  I didn’t know her other siblings.  But I knew Ann. I adored Ann.

Ann Nelson had been my skating coach for a few years on and off, and more recently had become my coach for private lessons.  She was compassionate (something I didn’t feel much from my own mom, though as the years went by I learned so much more about how much she DID love me- in the only ways she knew how). Ann took the time out of her evenings to call me when I was babysitting to see if I was OK.  She stayed behind from a coaching and rink staff party when I fell and hit my head pretty hard during the Spring Ice Show rehearsals in 1977.  My folks were out of the country and I wouldn’t give anybody the phone number of the grandparents I was staying with (grandma would have freaked if she knew I got hurt on her watch- same grandma who broke ‘the news’ to me), so she made sure I was doing well enough to go home when  it was time for me to be picked up. She’d already called for any available physicians that happened to be at the rink that night to come and see me in the back room where they’d carried me (I’d been knocked out cold), and there was one there- so I’d been seen by a doctor. She also was a role model.  I adored her, and looked up to just about anything she did. She had been an alternate in ice dance on one of the mid-late 1960s  US skating teams.  I still have a photo of her and myself on my dresser from 1978.

After my head reattached to my body when my grandmother asked me if the kids who were murdered were my coach’s kids, I went into my bedroom and turned on the local radio station.  That’s all that was on.  It was true. Ann’s kids were all dead, and her husband, Simon Peter Nelson, had bludgeoned them with a rubber mallet and hunting knife.  Over and over, I heard about Jennifer-13, Simon-11, Andrew-8, Matthew-7, Rosie-5, and David-3  being dead.  At first nobody knew anything about Ann, or they weren’t talking about it, so I had no idea what had happened to  her.  I was terrified she was also dead.  Being only 14, I hadn’t had a lot of experience with losing anybody I cared about, and really didn’t know how to handle it all.  But I couldn’t stop crying.

The next morning was a Sunday, so the newspaper would be a bigger edition, and my best chance of finding out what information was available.  I found out that Ann had been in Milwaukee, WI after telling Simon Peter Nelson that she wanted a divorce. Evidently, he snapped and killed all of the children, and the family dog- a dachshund named Pretzel.  He then drove to the hotel where Ann was staying, and threatened to kill her, but told her about the kids. At some point, Ann called the police and told them that her husband had told her he’d killed all six of their kids, and they needed to get over to their home.  Reports that were going around  said that in order to identify some of the boys, they needed the footprints taken at their births to confirm who was who, they were so mangled from what their father had done…. what their f a t h e r  had done.  The idea that a parent could do such a thing was unthinkable. This was the late 70s. There was no 24/7 news coverage of family atrocities.  These things just weren’t heard of unless they made national news- and those situations were rare, and not in MY city. To people I knew.

I’ve thought about Ann so many times over the years.  I’ve wondered if she’s ever had some sort of peace to continue any quality of life. I’ve wondered if she did end up getting married, as it had been said months after the murders, around the rink.  I had taken lessons from her throughout the time up to and somewhat beyond the trial and conviction.  She had seemed like herself, but I can’t imagine the agony and heartache she must have felt.  The rink had to be sort of a bittersweet place; she was in a familiar place with people who cared about her, but her daughter- a promising ice dance skater- wasn’t there.  Jennifer’s ice dance partner was there, and seeing him had to be hard.  Yet, maybe the familiarity and kids who didn’t ask questions (or some of the younger ones didn’t really understand what had happened) were of some comfort.

It was during this time that I was being ‘groomed’ for ice dance.  My mom told me years later  that Ann had called her and explained that I could be on a national competition circuit path, but it would involve a lot more skating time, much more expensive skates, and that a parent be available to travel with me. Things were different back then.  Now, the coach is considered to be the acceptable adult to accompany the kid.  Back then, it had to be a parent or relative…and my folks both worked, so that wasn’t possible.  It broke my heart to not be able to spend more time skating, but it was what it was, and I survived …but I’ve never stopped wondering how Ann is doing. Where she is. If she’s been as OK as someone could be who had survived the extermination of  her kids.  As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been able to understand the magnitude of what happened much better, and really don’t comprehend such a loss.

When I was 14, I’d already been exposed to the kidnapping and murder of an adolescent boy in our city. About a year earlier… Joey Didier was on his paper route when he was abducted, and later found dead at a Boy Scout camp about 25 miles away- he was found while I was staying with my grandparents who lived relatively close to the camp. I remember it being dark when the news told of his body being discovered, and being out in the country  near that camp.  Then the Nelson Murders (as they came to be called) happened.  In my adolescent brain, that meant that adults either snatched kids and killed them, or that parents can get mad and kill their kids.  It left a huge impression on me as well as most of the kids in Rockford, IL.   Around here, it’s one of those ‘where were you when?’ events to those in the skating community, or who were of the same ages as those who whose lives were stolen.

My folks didn’t really seem to understand why I was so upset- but I think it was more that nobody knew how to deal with that sort of thing.   It’s just  not in the Parenting 101 Manual- ‘How to Help Your Kid Deal With Parental Murders’ isn’t in the index.  I’d heard of murders among adults- but never anything where a parent wiped out the whole family of kids.  It was scary, as well as incredibly confusing.  Add to that the loss of my coach, when she eventually moved away after the trial (understandably), and I was upset for several years, though I learned to shut up about it.  But it never went away.  I still remember it every year, 34 years later.  Since moving back here, and having access to online petitions, I sign all  protest petitions that I know about when Simon Peter Nelson comes up for parole.  The city still reports those parole dates on the evening news.

I don’t know if Ann Nelson (or what she changed her name to, though it was rumored that she became ‘Elizabeth Johnson’, marrying the man she’d been divorcing Simon Peter for) is still alive. She’d be about 72 years old now, as she was 38 at the time of the murders and trial.  It’s very possible she’s still out there.  Unless her heart physically broke.  I’ve always wanted to tell her how much of a positive influence she’d been when I was younger, and how much I appreciated the time she spent with me, helping me out when I got hurt, and also  being encouraging when I was going through adolescent ‘stuff’.  I wanted to let her know that I’d thought about her, and prayed for whatever sort of healing one can get to in that sort of incomprehensible loss.  I wanted to let her know that the lousy, hurtful things that were said about her (like why did she leave the kids with ‘him’- as if she had any remote inkling that he was capable of such devastation) weren’t representative of everybody, or even most people.  Mostly, I’d want to let her know how indescribably sorry I was she had to go through that horror, and reach out to her- now that I’m an adult.

It’s been 35 years tomorrow.  I still remember how I found out as if it were yesterday.  I still have the newspaper articles somewhere, and that beloved photo on my dresser.   I don’t know how to ‘put this away’ for good- or if that’s even possible.  I do know that I wish the best for Ann,  wherever she is, and whatever her name is now…and that those lovely eternal kids have been able to rest in peace.

For those doing the searches about this, please leave a comment … I’d like to know where all of the searches are from, and what the connection and/or interest is.  I have more searches for the murders and Ann than any other blog topic I’ve written about.

Update:   Simon Peter Nelson died on June 18, 2017, awaiting the decision on his 19th parole request.   He died in St. John’s Hospital in Springfield, IL, having been moved there  5 days before his death.  The initial cause was “natural causes”.   I cried when I found out.   He caused SO much collateral damage when he CHOSE to kill his own children.  Every kid old enough to understand what had happened was afraid that mad parents kill kids.  I’ve thought of Ann so many times, and have had the photo of her and myself on my dresser for 39 years (and have no intention of moving it).   My prayers are with her tonight.   As they have been many nights over the decades.   I hope this gives her some type of ‘release’.  ❤ 

UPDATE:   I recently found out that Ann passed away from ovarian cancer in 2014.  She was still married to the same man- so for about 36 years, she was with someone she loved, from all info I have received.   I’m glad she was able to have some stability after such a horrifically chaotic event in 1978.   May she RIP.  ❤

The Death of My Best Friend…Who Waits at The Rainbow Bridge

At 2:45 p.m. today (December 27, 2012), my best friend and amazing dog Mandy died in my arms.  About 15 minutes earlier, she had been lying on her ‘TV bed’ and made a sound that was similar to those she made when she’d faint, but not as loud and only one time (instead of the usual three deep, agonized moans). I immediately went to check on her, and she was semi-conscious.  I picked her up and she began to wake up, ears perky, and  looking at me. But something wasn’t right- normally when she started to wake up, she ‘came to’ quickly and was on her feet and steady. She did go over to her pee pads and peed, but she wouldn’t leave that area- she just kind of froze standing up. So I picked her up and brought her to my recliner, to hold her and see if she’d perk up.  I decided to get her onto her comforter with a disposable underpad beneath it (she has had ‘issues’ with bodily functions after fainting).  By then, she wasn’t able to support herself on the floor, so I laid her on her recliner as I got her situated (yes, the dog had her own recliner).  I picked her up to hold her  on my lap and see what was next.  She again picked her head up, but then essentially collapsed, and began some slow, agonizing breaths that became slower and slower until they stopped altogether.  I checked her heart rate with my stethoscope. There was silence. The entire process took about fifteen minutes as she died in my arms.

I’m extremely thankful that she didn’t have any prolonged suffering; just this morning she was looking at me and wanting her Charlee Bear dog treats (which she got), and eating Swedish meatballs (microwaved and low salt, just for her).  I’m extremely grateful that she was in my arms, and not alone or afraid. She just relaxed into my lap and let go. I told her she’d been an amazing friend and dog, and that I loved her more than I could ever make her understand, and that it was OK to stop fighting the heart failure.  I knew it had been hard for her for a couple of weeks, but she had been so alert and interested in what was going on, and had still been eating (though becoming very picky).  I’m so thankful that she took the reins, and it was fast.  I had agonized with the decision to put her to sleep last week, but unlike my last dog, the signs weren’t  so clear.  Mandy was still invested in life…until she wasn’t.  The end left no questions.

I’d called my dad when I noticed something wasn’t right, and he came over as fast as he could- thinking at best we’d be taking her to the vet to be put to sleep if she was still ‘not right’, or at worst to the animal crematorium.  I also called my birth-mother. She’s been keeping up with the gradual decline. Mandy  was ‘gone’ when dad got here, which was OK, since it gave me a few moments alone with her during that time when everything changes and the order of my world began the process of adapting to the void left behind without her.  I know it’s a process, and that I’ll be a mess on and off for a while.  I’ll miss her for a long time, just as I still miss the one before her, and the one before her.

I can’t explain in human words how much I loved that dog.  There is no ‘dog-language’ to explain how important she was as the one living thing I saw more than anybody else. Being home 24/7 about %98 of the time, she was my sole companion and closest friend.  All I could do was to do all I could do, and I did. I have no regrets about the level of treatment for her congestive heart failure. I have no regrets about letting her lead the way as far as when she was ‘done’ (and she was quite decisive 🙂 ).   I only know that there’s a hole in my heart left by her absence that will be raw for a while.  I know I’ll get another dog, though none of my dogs have ever replaced her predecessor. They just grew in my heart in their own way.

Thanks to the vets and staff at the Mulford Animal Hospital in Rockford, IL.  You have been so caring, and kind.

Mandy Bluebonnet Tumbleweed- my forever friend, who never let me down and always lifted me up. ❤

Mandy Bluebonnet TumbleweedMar. 28, 2001- Dec. 27, 2012

Mandy Bluebonnet Tumbleweed
Mar. 28, 2001- Dec. 27, 2012

 

"Mandy

And You People WORK In The Emergency Room?

Early on when I was starting insulin I had some learning curves in the area of low blood sugars (hypoglycemia). I’d been given the diabetic teaching about what to do, and I’d been an RN for 22 years by the time I started on insulin.  Generally, I did well at home getting my blood sugars back up with regular soda or glucose tablets/gel.  One day, nothing was working. I had to call 911 when I hit 37mg/dl, and couldn’t get it to go up no matter what I did.

The paramedics got there, and I was still in the upper 30s.  They gave me more gel, and got an IV going in the ambulance.  I was still conscious and able to talk to them, but I felt BAD. They  radioed ahead that I was coming, and unfortunately I had to go to the closest ER which was notoriously horrible. En route, they gave me an amp of IV dextrose (D50). I had my purse with me that had my backup glucose meter and change for the vending machines. That proved to be incredibly important.

I was given another amp of D50 , and my blood sugar went up to 128mg/dl.  The nurse  (who rarely made eye contact, and just muttered as if I were the most ridiculous thing she’d seen come through the door all day) said she’d called a cab for me; they’d be there in 45 minutes.  I knew that I had to have some source of protein and/or fat to keep my blood sugar from tanking again. The basic information for hypoglycemia says that a snack is needed if the next meal is more than 30  minutes away.  Evidently the EMERGENCY room people didn’t know that basic information.  Straight glucose will spike and then drop. That’s just how it works.  I was sent to the lobby to wait.

Within about 10 minutes, I could feel my blood sugar drop.  I checked it, and it was in the 70s. I got a Coke and some Starburst candy from the vending machines. It wasn’t helping. I got some peanuts to help my blood sugar stay put.  The peanuts didn’t help.  My blood sugar was in the 50s by then.  I went to the triage desk and told them what was going on. I was told I’d already been seen, and a nurse might be able to get out and check on me in a while. Really?  I’d been brought in by ambulance for hypoglycemia, I was bottoming out again, and I was thrown to the whim of some nurse who might get to me?  I was safer in the cab.

I managed to stay in the 50s until the cab got there, and got home where I could work on evening out my blood sugar on my own.  The ER obviously wasn’t going to complete the process with protein/fat sources.  I got some peanut butter, and that helped.  Now when I go anywhere I take glucose tablets or gel and portable peanut butter.  I make sure my blood sugar is in a range that lets me function before I eat the peanut butter, or it will slow down the glucose’s ability to work. The duration of action of D50 is dependent on the degree of hypoglycemia (and the symptoms of low blood sugar are different for everyone at different levels of hypoglycemia).  One person can be unconscious at 40 mg/dl, while someone else can be talking at 30 mg/dl…both are in severe hypoglycemia and need immediate treatment.

I learned a lesson about the emergency personnel’s lack of comprehension on how fully to deal with hypoglycemia.  I have to take care of myself even IN the emergency department at a hospital. At least the shoddy one.  I can’t depend on anyone to help me; I have to be prepared and advocate for myself.