Over the summer of 2010, my whole life, once again, had turned upside down. When my mother let me sleep on her couch, she gave me the chance to quit my current job (which I honestly hated) and go back to school. I took the chance and was so excited to quit, I did it within 2 weeks. Of course, I still needed a job, at least until I started school, so I found a job at a local water park for the summer. Other than that, I was doing my best to fully enjoy my time before I started school. As the end of the summer approached, I realized that I needed to find some way to make money while I went to school, so I found a place who was hiring and they called me in for an orientation, but it almost didn't happen.
A few days before I had to go in, I had a few friends over. Now, usually this was not a bad thing, but my mother's dog, Ike, decided he wasn't up for company. Ike's an English Bulldog how has a history for biting feet. When my friends came over, there was utter chaos, and Ike came charging down the stairs. He made his way into the crowd and his teeth barely brushed my friend's foot. I jumped in front of the bullet and before I knew it, he had his teeth sunk into the top of my foot and he wouldn't let go. My brother tried to pull him away, although no one realized he was gnawing on my foot until I yelled as loud as I could. What would you know? I ended up in the ER once again. They stitched me up and wrapped it and sent me on my way.
The next day, I took the wrap off and it was red, swollen, and obviously infected and for a diabetic, that is never a good thing--especially when it is on your foot. That is how limbs get amputated. I went back to the ER 2 more times until they finally admitted me. I was there for a week, again. While they were admitting me, I let them know that I had an orientation in a few days and asked if they thought if it was a possibility that I could still go. They said it was ok, and they would send the message along.
My stay at the hospital this time was less than ideal to say the least. When the day came for the orientation, I took a shower and got dressed, knowing that the day before I told 3 doctors about it and they all said ok. I called my brother to come get me and 10 minutes before I left, another doctor came in and thought I was crazy and said that it was not ok, and that no one should have told me that it was. I made a huge fuss, and he finally let me go. Talk about a communication problem.
Another huge problem I came across at the hospital was the nurses and their lack of knowledge about my condition. You see, I take Lantus, my once-a-day insulin, in the afternoon. It is just easier for me that way. The hospital decided they wanted to give it to me a night after a few days. They had given it to me at 3 one afternoon, and that night some ditzy little nurse comes in and starts to fill a syringe up with Lantus. I told her that I take it at 3 and that I already had my shot for the day. She insisted that it was doctor's orders and that they were switching me to night time. She walks over with the syringe and I told her again. She wasn't listening to me. She began to prepare me for my shot and I pushed her hand away and I was getting angry. She finally said "I'll go talk to the doctor" and left. An hour later she comes back and told me that I was right and she was wrong. Pardon my French, but that bitch could have killed me.
After a week, the swelling went down and the infection diminished. They sent me home on crutches and I was finally free. About a month later, my mother came to accept the fact that Ike had to be put down, and she set up an appointment for him to be put to sleep. As much as he was a danger at times, though, he really was a sweet dog and I still miss him sometimes. At least I have a scar on my foot to remind me of him, and I will have the scar for the rest of my life.
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