Turbo Cancer: Day 164 - November 22, 2022
Visiting Hours
On this day, last year, at 9:18 am, I received a text from my mom.
She said that there were technicians in her room, putting a wound vac on her leg.
When I received the text, I was in the parking lot, sitting in my car. Visiting hours began at 10:00 am.
In the hospital, doctors’ visits and procedures always occurred outside of visiting hours. They made sure that they saw my mom when she was drugged, confused, alone and vulnerable.
If my mom had been healthy and cognizant, this would not have been an issue. Had she been healthy and cognizant, she would have been able to comprehend and communicate about the doctor’s theories and decisions. Had she been healthy and cognizant, she would have been able to advocate for herself, ask questions, and make sound decisions about her care.
Obviously, had she been healthy and cognizant, she would not have been at the hospital. She would have been at the fitness center doing water aerobics with her friends. Had she been healthy and cognizant, she would not have been having a vacuum attached to the gaping, infected, cancerous abscess on her leg.
As is often the case with hospital patients, my mom was neither healthy nor cognizant. She was experiencing phenomenal levels of pain. She was ingesting colossal doses of opioids, around the clock. She was sedated, sick, weak and tired.
I was her caretaker. I had been granted the power of attorney over her healthcare decisions. In spite of this, the doctors only saw her during the hours when I was not allowed to be present.
Obviously, this was intentional. The system cannot have its best doctors wasting time, discussing options with concerned family members. Time is money.
I spoke to nurses, charge nurses and administrators. I asked for a special permission to be with my mom early in the morning. I explained about my mom’s condition and the amount of narcotics that she had been prescribed. I said that I did not believe that she was able to fully understand what was happening. I told them that she needed me to be there, to talk to the doctors with her.
They told me that, due to the Covid-19 pandemic, they needed to adhere to the visiting policies. They said that they understood my frustration, but that, since it was a holiday week, many of the more seasoned staff members were off. They said that, with temporary staff in place, communication with families was not always consistent. They said that they would put a note in my mom’s file, asking for doctors and staff to please call me with any updates.
I said that staffing and communication issues sounded like a good reason for me to be allowed to be there. I said that I would make it easier for the staff. I told them that I would help her wash up, use the bathroom, and pick up her phone, if it fell on the floor.
They were, as usual, very sorry.
I said that their rules didn’t make any sense. I asked how I could infect anyone with Covid-19 differently at 8:00 am than I could at 10:00 am?
They didn’t care that their rules didn’t make sense.
They said no.
They said that I should enjoy having some time to myself and that I should see it as an opportunity to get some rest. Hoping to mask their condescension with feigned concern, they said things like: “Caretakers must take time to care for themselves.”
That was that.
My mom was alone and unfocused, while a flurry of doctors were quickly making their rounds. She was helpless.
I feel so much pity for the people who died, alone, in the hospital, at the height of the pandemic. My heart breaks for the family members, forced to stay outside, knowing that the person whom they loved the most was suffering, and dying, alone, on the inside.
I know, for a fact, that nobody was caring for those people. They died in a place that is void of spirit. They died in a building occupied by faceless, nameless, heartless murderous demons.
Ventilators? Remdesivir? They knew better.
In 2020, during the pandemic, the practice of depriving the sick and the elderly of human connection and love became the norm. We were told, at the time, that the isolation of grandparents was the policy, and we accepted it as the “new normal.”
What I witnessed in 2022 was the consequence of the greater society’s acceptance of a set of outrageous and inhumane “new rules.” It is not the system that has made us slaves. It is through our compliance with the system that we have enslaved ourselves.
I wonder if it is possible for human beings to put their differences aside and to start caring about one another? I wonder if we could evolve to a point where we each put the well-being of another ahead of our own selfish pursuit of material success and hedonistic excess?
Or are we simply wired to be the same savages we always have been? Are we willing to sacrifice God’s children to the false deity calling itself medicine? Science? Ideology? Fame? Culture?
A dark force has been unleashed upon the earth. He is demanding sacrifice. He is a great deceiver, who goes by many names. The attack is all around us, and we are the target.
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The Next Day:
To know the whole story, start at the beginning:
ON THIS DAY, LAST YEAR - SIX MONTHS OF TURBO CANCER
June 11, 2022 - Turbo Cancer: The Beginning
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FEB 3
Oh Kristy. You do great honor to your precious mother in these posts. I can only hope that her story will reach people working in the industry and lead them to repentance.
“What I witnessed in 2022 was the consequence of the greater society’s acceptance of a set of outrageous and inhumane “new rules.” It is not the system that has made us slaves. It is through our compliance with the system that we have enslaved ourselves.”
THIS. All of this.
💔