The Reality Of The Dream Of The Evil Gators

As I explained in the previous post, we’ve been under attack for some time now. Ever since February, things have just gone totally haywire. I had the thought the other day that perhaps its to be expected. After all, we are in a 13th year, right.  At the same time, I had to dismiss that as superstitious nonsense, but for a brief moment, it flew in the face of my reality right now.

I had begun to connect the dots. You know, scripture warns us to always be on our guard, and I guess being caught off guard is what happens when things are going too good for too long. And the worst part is, I knew it had been too good for too long. It seems that the minute I begin to ponder this fact, and then try to dismiss it, doors start opening and attacks begin to come. It seems like that is always the case.

So naturally, when I realized we were under attack, and connected the dream my son had, things began to make sense. First of all, I realized that all the gators in the dream had not begun to attack in the dream. That didn’t mean they weren’t going to attack. They were just watching and waiting…waiting, I’m sure, for the most opportune moment.

Now, about a week or so ago, I ran into my neighbor; the youngest of the two gay guys next door, and the same one that was fishing in the murky water in my son’s dream. After greeting him, I told him that he had almost lost us as neighbors, and began to explain the situation with the landlord and the leak.

The thing is, you always think you’ve got it so bad, until you talk with your neighbor. That was certainly the case on this particular day. After telling him my story, he told me that the older guy had passed away. I knew he had been fighting cancer, and the last time I saw him, he had been progressing well, and said he was feeling fine. I expressed my condolences to the younger fellow.

He also told me that the older guy had handled all the bills, and unbeknownst to him, they were 3 months behind when he died. So the younger guy had to get a roommate, and was in the battle of his life to save the house, which was in foreclosure. This totally lined up with the fishing in murky water. He is trying to find an answer to the situation he’s now facing.

This only reemphasized to me that we were living the dream. Additionally, what I hadn’t figured out until the last week or so, was the issue of the man in red & black picking my son up by the foot and throwing him down into the water, knocking him out. I should have realized what it was about, because we’ve been fighting this particular battle for over a year now, but it just got to a really serious situation.

We have been battling with an ingrown toe nail in my son’s foot. The problem in the beginning, was that my son was being a bit stubborn in his refusal to follow instructions concerning taking his antibiotics, and in allowing me to clean the wound. So naturally, the situation escalated as time went by. We had several trips to the  podiatrist to get the nail cut out, and were supposed to come back for him to repeat the procedure, but seal the nail at the same time.

This could only be accomplished if the infection had cleared up, but it didn’t because of the on again off again inconsistency of my son, and in part because we lost our medical coverage for a short time as well. So long story short, when we got it back in February, I immediately took him back to the podiatrist in an attempt to get the nail cut out again, clear up the infection, and return to get the nail cut out and sealed.

However, another factor emerged to complicate the situation. My son developed Agyrophobia; which is a fear of needles, and was part of the problem during the process used to numb his foot previously. Suddenly we had a serious problem, because the procedure could not be done in the doctor’s office, but had to be moved to a medical center.

So the podiatrist sent me to get blood work, EKG, and chest x-rays just to do the same job he had done once before in his office without all of that mess. In all of this, I have come to recognize that people are so dense sometimes. They just don’t think. I go to Quest to get the blood work done, and I tell the girl at the desk about the phobia, which she says she understands. My son is in the room waiting, and I step out to go to the restroom a second. When I open the restroom door, 3 minutes later, my son is running past me, out of the building, saying that she came at him with a needle. And she is saying, “I brought the smallest one I have.”

Needless to say, we had to leave there, because they won’t sedate him to do it. Now, I have to be between the podiatrist and the main pediatrician numerous times to get approval for sedation for the procedure, the and the blood work, and finally, I get to Broward General hospital to get this done. After 2 days of delays, we finally get into pediatrics and after waiting two hours, and being told they will give him a liquid to make him go to sleep; the chief anesthesiologist comes in. He begins to try to explain to my son who he is, what he’s going to do to draw the blood, and that he’s not going to hurt him.

Someone help me understand why this doctor thought that he, a complete stranger, could talk my son into something that I, as his mother, could not talk him into? So because he wasn’t able to influence my son, he tells me that it makes more sense to do the blood work on the same day as the procedure, so that he can be sedated one time. Makes sense to me, so once again, I’m on the getting approval merry-go-round. The catch is, his podiatrist does not have privileges at this hospital, so he has to refer us to another one.

So one visit, and a scheduled procedure later, we are in the outpatient section for the procedure. I come in the door telling everyone, just like I have with every doctor previous to this; about his special needs, and the phobia, and requesting that they give him either the liquid to make him sleep, or the gas mask.

I’m told this will be done, and I’m finally hopeful until the brusque, bossy Middle Eastern anesthesiologist comes in, and tells me that she’s not doing the gas mask as I had been told in pediatrics, because she doesn’t think it’s safe without an IV. I tell her that they can’t get the IV in without knocking him out, so now it’s a big problem, and they are outside our room holding pow-wows, discussing this. I can just see it in their eyes…that thought: “He’s a big boy; he can handle it.”

Naturally, they aren’t taking his disability into consideration, along with the phobia. So they bring the liquid to give him, but, this liquid is the maximum amount they give in pediatrics to little kids. My son is 17. After giving this liquid, the nurse comes in 10-20 minutes later. She’s asking if she can try the IV. My son is not knocked down…even slightly yet. He agrees to try.

Now here, I have to mention that a woman had come earlier, prior to the liquid, trying to get the blood, and I told her that she could not take it because they had not put him to sleep yet. So now this same woman sneaks in with another woman on the other side of the bed, while he’s distracted and his nurse is on one side trying to prep him for the IV. I’m thinking she’s there to help the nurse, but instead, she jabs him with a needle.

He jumps and pulls back his arm demanding to know what the hell is going on. Now he’s, angry, upset, and more frightened. At that point, the efforts to get an IV were pointless. We tried to talk him into it 2 more times after he calmed down from Nurse Ratchet’s attack on his arm, to no avail. By this time, it had been about 1.5 hours, and the liquid had not taken effect. The doctor decided to cancel the procedure. So the doctor writes the cancellation order. 

Not 5 minutes after the doctor walks out, my son says, “Why does my body feel so heavy?” Five minutes later, he was out…for 3 hours! I call the doctor, but he doesn’t want to return. I say to the nurses, “At least get his blood now!” Nope. No one will do a thing. “The procedure’s been cancelled,” they say. I’m just crying, because I’m so frustrated.

Meanwhile, let me tell you that the ingrown has grown in on both sides of the toe. It is necrotic on the top half, so I’m getting desperate to get this addressed, because I’m concerned about the possibility of him losing the toe. What got me in this whole fiasco at the general hospital, was the fact that exponentially, they did not take my son’s age and size into account, in considering how long it would take for that liquid medicine to work.

I call the podiatrist back, but now, he’s washed his hands of the situation, and refers me back to the original podiatrist, who I’m now thinking is an idiot because he can’t seem to come up with a solution for the situation. I mean, I’m sure my son is not the first teen with a phobia like this. In fact, I’m sure he’s not the first special needs kid with this issue either. However, I’m now stuck calling back and forth between the same two boneheaded doctors that couldn’t figure this out in the first place: his original podiatrist, and his primary.

I’m even beginning to think that there is a communication issue between the Haitian podiatrist, and the Middle Eastern primary. No one was returning my calls, so I called the health insurance myself, begging them to tell me where I could take my child, where they would listen and consider his situation. Once they found out the toe was necrotic, they said, “Take him to an emergency room. They can sedate him without authorization if necessary.”

So again, I take him to Plantation Medical Center in the west side of the county. It’s another repeat of the situation at the general hospital, except these people prove to be a bit lower on the level of intelligence. First, the doctor, a Cuban, is very belligerent, and tells my son that, “You are just going to have to cooperate!” Then, one of the nurses comes in and says to him, “Whatever your fear is, you’re just going to have to get over it!”

I’m like, “What?!?!? This is what you tell a child??? You just have to get over it??? You just have to cooperate???” I’m completely astounded. Now they back peddle a bit. “Well, we’re going to give him something, but he still has to cooperate,” says the belligerent, bullying doctor.

So the girl comes in to take his info, and I keep saying, “Give him the medicine. It needs time to work! It took two hours before. Hurry up, and give it to him.” But they aren’t listening. The girl is like, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll give it to him when I’m done here.” They already told me they had called their podiatrist.

Finally, she gives him some valium. Two minutes later, in walks the nasty doctor, the podiatrist, and an orderly, ready to do the procedure. You know I’m frustrated like crazy, right? And naturally, they can’t do the procedure. The nasty doctor again tells my son that he has to cooperate, and attempts to hold him down. Wrong move. My son is 5’10, 260lbs. It’s not going to be easy to hold him down. So the podiatrist told them that he would have to be admitted. It was a wash yet again for that day.

So I’m home again, crying. My son is apologizing for something he can’t help. I tell him its not his fault. Even the referral we got for counseling for the phobia, hasn’t returned my calls. This was two weeks ago on Monday. I was frustrated and at my wit’s end, but I was determined that this was going to be taken care of. I was done with the primary and the doofy podiatrist. I called the health insurance back.

I found out that the sedation order only stood for a pre-approved procedure, but had nothing at all to do with emergency treatment, which did not require the order. I took him in again; this time to Coral Springs Medical Center at the north side of the county. Funny how this hospital seems to have a bad rep. At least, that was the input from a few people I spoke to after he had already been admitted, but I wasn’t displeased. You see, I had prayed prior to taking him there. I simply asked God to give us favor with these people.

This hospital did everything I asked. They completely considered all the variables I presented, (and I presented quite the challenge, as I was pretty desperate by that time) and they followed through, not only admitting him through the emergency dept., but bringing in an excellent podiatrist who performed the procedure the following day. My son was put to sleep, even prior to the IV, and he came through the procedure just fine. He was hospitalized for two days, and released. He’s fine – still recuperating, but what a nightmare that whole thing was.

So yes, he was grabbed by his foot, thrown down, and even knocked out. I was near him the entire time, in the dream & reality. He’s fine, but the battle is not over…a new challenge has raised its head, but I’m not as depressed as I first was when I found out about this. I’m simply going to stop battling everything by myself, and go back to “Daddy.” I’m just going to pray for God’s unmerited favor and assistance in managing this situation as well. It should turn out just fine.