Wow. Not a great week.

Tuesday I had shoulder surgery. I stayed overnight at the hospital.  I don't like hospitals. I don't like nurses who impose "appropriate" controls upon unreasonable patients who wonder why their 8:00 p.m. pills aren't here yet and it's midnight.  Or CNAs who impose "appropriate" controls when the inhalers were brought by the respiratory tech at 2:30, on schedule, but then she got a call and it's 4:00 and the inhalers are due again in 2 more hours so is she coming back or are we just skipping that does?  Dear, she'll be back.  Just relax!

And the pharmacist who apparently doesn't know that you don't absorb calcium properly without Vitamin D so instead of sending that combination, he sent Tums.  Which are calcium, yes, but they have no Vitamin D so they're useless as a calcium supplement.  This guy is a pharmacist for a huge hospital and he doesn't know that?  I'm a consumer and I know that.

There is, in other words, very little respect for patients in hospitals.  I take my medication at 8 and 8, and my inhalers four times a day at the same times every day and I drink probably more water than most people, and its good for me.  And 6 small meals a day have been the standard for hypoglycemia at least since I was 5, but apparently hospitals don't know that so that didn't happen either.

So I'm glad to be home where the pill alarm goes off four times a day, small meals are ready six times a day, and the day starts with a protein drink because, as one gifted doctor put it, if you have hypoglycemia, waking up is an emergency.  I have CNAs coming in am, midday and PM.  AM helps me shower and dress, and makes breakfast for me.  This morning's CNA also repackaged some food for me so I could actually eat it.  I have a vacuum sealer that preserves food nicely but it requires scissors to get the bag open and my hands are not in a position to do that.

So I have a big owie and I don't like those.  But something happened that I like less.

Just on a whim I searched for a nephew of mine.  And there he was, on mugshots.com, that sweet child whose mother was the worst human being ever born.

When they arrested her for felony child abuse, one officer, staring in horror at the battered, beaten, bruised and probably dying baby on the floor, asked that sweet nephew's mother, "Lady, how could you do this to a baby?"

And she said, "Hey, Man, no sweat.  You grab him by one leg, swing him around your head a couple times, and then let go."

She'd apparently done that several times.  He lived, though.  That sweet baby lived.

And now he's on mugshots.com.  His face is hard and angry.  He is ill-kept and I can tell you that he has not eaten well in a far too long.  He's on the run.  The charge is breaking and entering.  This a probation violation.   They don't know where he is right now.  But they'll find him.   They always do.  They'll find him in a drunken stupor in an alley, or in a drug induced haze in some stranger's bed.  They will find him.  They will try him.  They will convict him.  And he will go back to prison.  I wonder if his son even knows him.  I wonder if his son's mother cares where he is.

I don't think there are a lot of people who care about Jason.  But there is me.  He won't know that.  He'll never hear it.  But I do.