Comments for The Angels Theatre Company http://www.angelscompany.org Wed, 02 May 2012 04:40:14 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.1 Comment on Project Caregiver – Story collecting by bkh1976 http://www.angelscompany.org/project-caregiver-story-collecting/#comment-287 bkh1976 Wed, 02 May 2012 04:40:14 +0000 http://www.angelscompany.org/?page_id=204#comment-287 Thanks for being so generous with your story, Larry. Much appreciated. BKB Thanks for being so generous with your story, Larry. Much appreciated. BKB

]]> Comment on Project Caregiver – Story collecting by Larry Weixelman http://www.angelscompany.org/project-caregiver-story-collecting/#comment-271 Larry Weixelman Mon, 30 Apr 2012 19:42:37 +0000 http://www.angelscompany.org/?page_id=204#comment-271 Life is an amazing thing. It would be fantastic to say that every turn has been upbeat, optimistic, and full of joy. For the most part, it usually takes that turn because I wouldn’t have it any other way. However, the challenges of caring for ill loved ones will stretch that positive approach to people and life in general. By referring to people, I should qualify that by saying most of them have been a part of the assessment, delivery, and management of healthcare. Over the years, I have worked with, appreciated, and have had reason to visit a number of individuals that passionately exude the spirit of what practicing medicine should mean. Dr. William Griffin, a thoracic surgeon whom OR techs would stand in line to work with. He treated them all with respect, and never wavered in his mindset that he could accomplish nothing during surgery without their help. Dr. Akhtar Niazi, a pediatric surgeon and GYNOB. He came from Afghanistan in 1977, and had to make his way through a skeptical U.S. system to establish a practice. He delivered my first daughter, six weeks premature, and spent more time hovering around her neonatal ICU station than I did. He also encouraged me to apply for medical school; considered but never done. My Aunt Bernie, a midwife who spent twenty years in the bowels of Atlanta, delivering countless children for those that could not afford the standard clinical fees for pre-natal care and delivery. And Dr. Philip McNealy, who has ten children of his own, delivering my first grandson on three years ago after fifteen hours of labor. So I know that the medical profession is stocked with a number of compassionate, communicative and well trained members. However, it seems that the flipside of this situation is far from balanced. My father, died three years ago, was diagnosed with cancer after having waited through numerous incorrect reasons and diagnosis for his weight loss and lower back pain. I understand that these types of illnesses can be elusive. That the odds of reading an MRI or a CT scan and knowing immediately what the problem might be are about as good as winning big at a high stakes poker game. I can roll with that. I experience the same type of setbacks in my line of work, and don’t always get it right the first or second time. But I keep at it. Hourly or Daily, until I get to the cause of the problem so that it can be solved. In my father’s situation, as well as with other good friends and relatives, he was given a “probable” cause, prescribed meds, and scheduled for follow up visits. Month… after month… after month. It was only after the dogged insistence of my sister, who marched into the office of my dad’s primary care provider with a six month old picture, held it up in his face, and asked rather forcefully, “does my dad look like this man today?” was there a call to duty. Weight loss, lower back pain, numbness in the legs, elevated levels of M proteins. After a year, my father was finally diagnosed with Stage III Multiple Myeloma. Not the answer he wanted to have delivered, but he finally had one. Cancer. His brother Paul had died from the same form of cancer years earlier. My brothers, sisters and I felt flummoxed for not connecting the dots. But then, I don’t feel that way when I have to take my car in for service, or have my hair cut. Both things I could attempt on my own but the results would be disastrous. I admit I work on the car when it doesn’t involve huge technical ability, but I also do skinned knees and cough syrup. I have never tried to cut my own hair. The point I’m not making so well is that we go to these medical professionals for the big things. The things we can’t take care of on our own. We or our insurance companies pay them huge sums of money, and I would like to think that for that exchange, we get answers, fixes, remedies and treatment that meet our needs. That those needs are met in a timely fashion, minimizing the pain and hardship that must be endured when faced with a terminal illness. None of this seems to be the case. Over the last year of my father’s life, my family witnessed a tragic comedy that would have the Bard running out of ink trying to write the play. A short list of missteps, oversights, “you’ve got to be kidding me”, poor communication and outright lies - Not reading chart notes: I learned in a hurry not to immediately accept information that was offered by the variety of aids, nurses, specialists and doctors that are part of a “team” approach to healthcare. Even while surrounded by computers, fax machines, cell phones, white boards, conference rooms and items as mundane as pens and paper, there is a persistent lack of communication. The right hand never seems to know what the left hand is doing. What is so disappointing about this bit a trivia is that the critical item mandated by law, the patient charting notes, have to be recorded. It’s all there if done properly. I got in the habit of reading them - all of them. And gaining a working knowledge of what all of the items and values listed on a CBC (Complete Blood Count) meant. If any of the team was going to try and bullshit me, I was going to make it difficult. Gunslinger tactics, sorry, there will be a short delay: Back to that communication thing, and what happens when a physician completely ignores a patient’s medical history, or doesn’t bother to pick up a phone to consult with someone who might have a clue. This is the kind of person that DOES spell team with an “I”. The short version is that medication levels were mucked with, platelet counts went into the toilet and instead of doing physical therapy, my father was confined to bed rest so he couldn’t injure himself and bleed to death. What’s another three days in a fun place like a rehab center! Is this approach unique to the Wild West, or does it happen elsewhere? Collapsed lung: A pneumothorax in medical jargon, and a painful experience at that. It can be caused by disease or trauma. And it happened to my father, but I guess cancer is not considered a disease, because it took two full days for anyone to schedule something as simple as an X-ray to confirm that he was indeed in pain. And after confirming he had a serious problem, we were instructed to take him immediately to the nearest emergency room, where we waited for another three hours while the hospital took x-rays and did a blood work up AGAIN, because they couldn’t look at the tests that had been done that afternoon. Is this starting to sound repetitive? Bring me a box with instructions on it: As if the information related above wasn’t enough, we knew we had bigger problems when the ER doctor (no, he didn’t look like George Clooney) had to read the instructions on the back of the chest tube kit. That’s the fun little thing that they punch into your chest cavity to re-inflate a collapsed lung. And they actually work when used by someone who knows how to perform the procedure. Needless to say the first attempt didn’t hold, and a qualified pulmonologist did it again the next day. But I’m sure my dad’s insurance company got a bill for both procedures. Kind of like going in to have a flat tire repaired, picking up your car, getting halfway home and discovering that it’s flat again. And the mechanic gladly charges you to fix it again the next day. But this isn’t about the money, it’s about the gross level of incompetence. OD on morphine (oh, he has a patch?): One thing that I will never have to find out and still feel that I have lived a full life is the pain that is caused by having cancer. Any form of cancer. They have these cool little trans-dermal patches that administer a continuous dose over three days to help manage that pain. I’m thankful to the pharmaceutical companies for once in my life. However, when someone is already taking this powerful pain killer, and the staff administers oral doses as well, it turns a once lively and articulate man into a comatose zombie. Again, read the charts and know what’s going on, because no one in that “team” is going to volunteer any information. Rehab the rehab facility: Just as hospitals are now called Region Medical Centers or Trauma Centers or Pediatric Care Units, they are still hospitals. When you drive down the interstate, it’s the white H on a blue sign that will direct you to the nearest location. Nursing homes have followed suit, reinventing there operations as Assisted Living Facilities, or Rehabilitation providers. I’ve been in close contact with three of the hospitals here in town, and they now look more like five star hotels than an Adams Mark in Houston. I get mixed signals from these institutions. I am supposed to feel good about feeling bad, or am I supposed to rush out and get ill so I can be admitted? Either way, it’s still tasteless hospital food, mediocre delivery of services, and lost laundry. I think the money would have been better spent on communications classes. Sorry, no cancer therapy here (Medicaid): While admitted to the hospital for treatment on several occasions, we had to provide the staff with one of my father’s chemo drugs. For any of you old enough to remember, Thalidomide was used as a sleeping pill and to treat morning sickness during pregnancy several decades ago, and resulted in drastic birth defects and miscarriages in the pregnant women who were prescribed this drug. Wisely, it was pulled from the market, never to see the light of day again. That is until it was discovered that it had beneficial therapeutic effects in treating this particular form of cancer. Lucky break for the pharmaceutical company, because they now charge five-thousand dollars for a twenty-eight day supply of this toxin. That’s one way to pay off those aging lawsuits. However, because the cost of this therapy exceeded the maximum coverage by Nebraska law for Medicaid, when my father was transferred from the Hospital to a rehab facility, we were told that he would have to discontinue the therapy for the length of his stay. All under a state ruling that they had to procure and dispense all medications. We couldn’t provide the supply that was already available, because that would be Medicaid fraud. Go figure! How to turn a single room into a college dorm for two: And while I’m on the subject of rehab facilities, I should mention that they are not all created equal. Our first experience, the same location that could not administer the chemo meds, made use of a communal shower, a dining room the size of a rat lab and single rooms that had been stuffed with beds, chairs, sinks and equipment to accommodate two patients. If any aids were in the room, it was necessary to wait in the hallway until they had left, because there was no space to enter the room. Privacy was nonexistent, and lighting was either on or off. Never mind power cords for equipment that had been wheeled into the room, wheel chairs when required, or more than two visitors at a time. Is it wrong to think that individuals who are already suffering should be placed into an environment that adds to that mental anguish? It’s hard to reason with an ailing and aging parent who wants to “just go home” when these are the alternatives for treatment. For those of you that have yet to deal with the experience, prepare yourself. And ask questions, lots of them, on a continual basis. If it’s your health, or the care of a family member, don’t take anything at face value. If you want the best possible outcome, you’re going to have to fight for it. Be well...seriously! ~ Larry Life is an amazing thing. It would be fantastic to say that every turn has been upbeat, optimistic, and full of joy. For the most part, it usually takes that turn because I wouldn’t have it any other way. However, the challenges of caring for ill loved ones will stretch that positive approach to people and life in general. By referring to people, I should qualify that by saying most of them have been a part of the assessment, delivery, and management of healthcare. Over the years, I have worked with, appreciated, and have had reason to visit a number of individuals that passionately exude the spirit of what practicing medicine should mean. Dr. William Griffin, a thoracic surgeon whom OR techs would stand in line to work with. He treated them all with respect, and never wavered in his mindset that he could accomplish nothing during surgery without their help. Dr. Akhtar Niazi, a pediatric surgeon and GYNOB. He came from Afghanistan in 1977, and had to make his way through a skeptical U.S. system to establish a practice. He delivered my first daughter, six weeks premature, and spent more time hovering around her neonatal ICU station than I did. He also encouraged me to apply for medical school; considered but never done. My Aunt Bernie, a midwife who spent twenty years in the bowels of Atlanta, delivering countless children for those that could not afford the standard clinical fees for pre-natal care and delivery. And Dr. Philip McNealy, who has ten children of his own, delivering my first grandson on three years ago after fifteen hours of labor. So I know that the medical profession is stocked with a number of compassionate, communicative and well trained members.
However, it seems that the flipside of this situation is far from balanced. My father, died three years ago, was diagnosed with cancer after having waited through numerous incorrect reasons and diagnosis for his weight loss and lower back pain. I understand that these types of illnesses can be elusive. That the odds of reading an MRI or a CT scan and knowing immediately what the problem might be are about as good as winning big at a high stakes poker game. I can roll with that. I experience the same type of setbacks in my line of work, and don’t always get it right the first or second time. But I keep at it. Hourly or Daily, until I get to the cause of the problem so that it can be solved. In my father’s situation, as well as with other good friends and relatives, he was given a “probable” cause, prescribed meds, and scheduled for follow up visits. Month… after month… after month. It was only after the dogged insistence of my sister, who marched into the office of my dad’s primary care provider with a six month old picture, held it up in his face, and asked rather forcefully, “does my dad look like this man today?” was there a call to duty.
Weight loss, lower back pain, numbness in the legs, elevated levels of M proteins. After a year, my father was finally diagnosed with Stage III Multiple Myeloma. Not the answer he wanted to have delivered, but he finally had one. Cancer. His brother Paul had died from the same form of cancer years earlier. My brothers, sisters and I felt flummoxed for not connecting the dots. But then, I don’t feel that way when I have to take my car in for service, or have my hair cut. Both things I could attempt on my own but the results would be disastrous. I admit I work on the car when it doesn’t involve huge technical ability, but I also do skinned knees and cough syrup. I have never tried to cut my own hair. The point I’m not making so well is that we go to these medical professionals for the big things. The things we can’t take care of on our own. We or our insurance companies pay them huge sums of money, and I would like to think that for that exchange, we get answers, fixes, remedies and treatment that meet our needs. That those needs are met in a timely fashion, minimizing the pain and hardship that must be endured when faced with a terminal illness. None of this seems to be the case. Over the last year of my father’s life, my family witnessed a tragic comedy that would have the Bard running out of ink trying to write the play.
A short list of missteps, oversights, “you’ve got to be kidding me”, poor communication and outright lies -

Not reading chart notes: I learned in a hurry not to immediately accept information that was offered by the variety of aids, nurses, specialists and doctors that are part of a “team” approach to healthcare. Even while surrounded by computers, fax machines, cell phones, white boards, conference rooms and items as mundane as pens and paper, there is a persistent lack of communication. The right hand never seems to know what the left hand is doing. What is so disappointing about this bit a trivia is that the critical item mandated by law, the patient charting notes, have to be recorded. It’s all there if done properly. I got in the habit of reading them – all of them. And gaining a working knowledge of what all of the items and values listed on a CBC (Complete Blood Count) meant. If any of the team was going to try and bullshit me, I was going to make it difficult.

Gunslinger tactics, sorry, there will be a short delay: Back to that communication thing, and what happens when a physician completely ignores a patient’s medical history, or doesn’t bother to pick up a phone to consult with someone who might have a clue. This is the kind of person that DOES spell team with an “I”. The short version is that medication levels were mucked with, platelet counts went into the toilet and instead of doing physical therapy, my father was confined to bed rest so he couldn’t injure himself and bleed to death. What’s another three days in a fun place like a rehab center! Is this approach unique to the Wild West, or does it happen elsewhere?

Collapsed lung: A pneumothorax in medical jargon, and a painful experience at that. It can be caused by disease or trauma. And it happened to my father, but I guess cancer is not considered a disease, because it took two full days for anyone to schedule something as simple as an X-ray to confirm that he was indeed in pain. And after confirming he had a serious problem, we were instructed to take him immediately to the nearest emergency room, where we waited for another three hours while the hospital took x-rays and did a blood work up AGAIN, because they couldn’t look at the tests that had been done that afternoon. Is this starting to sound repetitive?

Bring me a box with instructions on it: As if the information related above wasn’t enough, we knew we had bigger problems when the ER doctor (no, he didn’t look like George Clooney) had to read the instructions on the back of the chest tube kit. That’s the fun little thing that they punch into your chest cavity to re-inflate a collapsed lung. And they actually work when used by someone who knows how to perform the procedure. Needless to say the first attempt didn’t hold, and a qualified pulmonologist did it again the next day. But I’m sure my dad’s insurance company got a bill for both procedures. Kind of like going in to have a flat tire repaired, picking up your car, getting halfway home and discovering that it’s flat again. And the mechanic gladly charges you to fix it again the next day. But this isn’t about the money, it’s about the gross level of incompetence.

OD on morphine (oh, he has a patch?): One thing that I will never have to find out and still feel that I have lived a full life is the pain that is caused by having cancer. Any form of cancer. They have these cool little trans-dermal patches that administer a continuous dose over three days to help manage that pain. I’m thankful to the pharmaceutical companies for once in my life. However, when someone is already taking this powerful pain killer, and the staff administers oral doses as well, it turns a once lively and articulate man into a comatose zombie. Again, read the charts and know what’s going on, because no one in that “team” is going to volunteer any information.

Rehab the rehab facility: Just as hospitals are now called Region Medical Centers or Trauma Centers or Pediatric Care Units, they are still hospitals. When you drive down the interstate, it’s the white H on a blue sign that will direct you to the nearest location. Nursing homes have followed suit, reinventing there operations as Assisted Living Facilities, or Rehabilitation providers. I’ve been in close contact with three of the hospitals here in town, and they now look more like five star hotels than an Adams Mark in Houston. I get mixed signals from these institutions. I am supposed to feel good about feeling bad, or am I supposed to rush out and get ill so I can be admitted? Either way, it’s still tasteless hospital food, mediocre delivery of services, and lost laundry. I think the money would have been better spent on communications classes.

Sorry, no cancer therapy here (Medicaid): While admitted to the hospital for treatment on several occasions, we had to provide the staff with one of my father’s chemo drugs. For any of you old enough to remember, Thalidomide was used as a sleeping pill and to treat morning sickness during pregnancy several decades ago, and resulted in drastic birth defects and miscarriages in the pregnant women who were prescribed this drug. Wisely, it was pulled from the market, never to see the light of day again. That is until it was discovered that it had beneficial therapeutic effects in treating this particular form of cancer. Lucky break for the pharmaceutical company, because they now charge five-thousand dollars for a twenty-eight day supply of this toxin. That’s one way to pay off those aging lawsuits. However, because the cost of this therapy exceeded the maximum coverage by Nebraska law for Medicaid, when my father was transferred from the Hospital to a rehab facility, we were told that he would have to discontinue the therapy for the length of his stay. All under a state ruling that they had to procure and dispense all medications. We couldn’t provide the supply that was already available, because that would be Medicaid fraud. Go figure!

How to turn a single room into a college dorm for two: And while I’m on the subject of rehab facilities, I should mention that they are not all created equal. Our first experience, the same location that could not administer the chemo meds, made use of a communal shower, a dining room the size of a rat lab and single rooms that had been stuffed with beds, chairs, sinks and equipment to accommodate two patients. If any aids were in the room, it was necessary to wait in the hallway until they had left, because there was no space to enter the room. Privacy was nonexistent, and lighting was either on or off. Never mind power cords for equipment that had been wheeled into the room, wheel chairs when required, or more than two visitors at a time. Is it wrong to think that individuals who are already suffering should be placed into an environment that adds to that mental anguish? It’s hard to reason with an ailing and aging parent who wants to “just go home” when these are the alternatives for treatment.

For those of you that have yet to deal with the experience, prepare yourself. And ask questions, lots of them, on a continual basis. If it’s your health, or the care of a family member, don’t take anything at face value. If you want the best possible outcome, you’re going to have to fight for it.

Be well…seriously! ~ Larry

]]> Comment on The Angels Theatre Company by Thelma http://www.angelscompany.org/#comment-233 Thelma Fri, 27 Apr 2012 06:26:59 +0000 #comment-233 I'm happy to read your blog I’m happy to read your blog

]]> Comment on Our Company, Your Company by bkh1976 http://www.angelscompany.org/contact/#comment-152 bkh1976 Mon, 23 Apr 2012 21:52:12 +0000 #comment-152 Sally, would you please contact Becky Key Boesen at bkh76@hotmail.com if you'd like more information? We'd love to talk to you about Angels Theatre Company. Best Wishes, Becky Key Boesen Executive Director Sally, would you please contact Becky Key Boesen at bkh76@hotmail.com if you’d like more information? We’d love to talk to you about Angels Theatre Company.
Best Wishes,
Becky Key Boesen
Executive Director

]]> Comment on Our Company, Your Company by Sally Deskins http://www.angelscompany.org/contact/#comment-151 Sally Deskins Mon, 23 Apr 2012 21:25:52 +0000 #comment-151 I'd love to interview any of the women involved in this awesome project/group! I’d love to interview any of the women involved in this awesome project/group!

]]> Comment on The Angels Theatre Company by Annette http://www.angelscompany.org/#comment-25 Annette Sat, 14 Apr 2012 20:55:37 +0000 #comment-25 Amazing! Amazing!

]]> Comment on Project Caregiver – Story collecting by Becky Key Boesen http://www.angelscompany.org/project-caregiver-story-collecting/#comment-2 Becky Key Boesen Wed, 11 Apr 2012 03:44:15 +0000 http://www.angelscompany.org/?page_id=204#comment-2 Hello, Friends, I'm typing this as an example of how to include your story about care giving on this page. Just leave your name, email address and type your story in the comments section. Or, if you'd prefer to have your story collected, just click on the link above to redirect to Judy Hart's email. Hope to hear from you, soon. Becky Key Boesen Hello, Friends,
I’m typing this as an example of how to include your story about care giving on this page. Just leave your name, email address and type your story in the comments section. Or, if you’d prefer to have your story collected, just click on the link above to redirect to Judy Hart’s email.
Hope to hear from you, soon.

Becky Key Boesen

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