My dad is the guy in the tan sweatshirt.
After being told to “go home and die” and three days of 750 mg 2x daily Cipro antibiotics, my dad is at the casino. Phone dates the pictures in case they want to see them. We have a doctor friend who prescribed a strong enough dose and for fourteen days. He’s had three days or 2 1/2 plus one bag of IV antibiotics.
I couldn’t get our N-Palliative out to prescribe things last Monay and his air was dropping lower than usual, so I took him in, hoping I could force them to actually KEEP him on the IV. I couldn’t. One guy started them, and he got a dose which improved him some then they started their usual “Hospice go home and die” tap dance. Not to mention, this guy actually added “Lewey body dementia” to his diagnoses after seeing him ONE DAY and ill.
FYI, old people can act like they have dementia if they have infections, even a bladder infection, and my dad does. Guy wouldn’t listen to me. So I’ve been sending off letters for a few days now to all the powers that be. This is horrible care.
IMAGINE rationed national health care!
So I’m puttering around the house, doing some laundry and planning on some quesadillas for dinner, something easy. Mama Lupe’s low carb shells. Tomorrow I’m cooking quail, but they are so small, I’m doing a filet along with. You don’t see many recipes for turf and fowl but I think it will be ok, both with a mushroom wine sauce. All thawing out nicely now.
Have a nice weekend, folks, I’m gonna try and kick back here….