A Patient’S Point of View

By Jennifer Binish

This book is my story of experiences I endured going through 19 major operations. From my tonsils being removed at age 17 to having a 4 level back fusion at age 50 with many in-between, and after. Some of them brought me close to death, and some were not so traumatic. However dealing with doctors is another story!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479780709

Jennifer Binish

A little about me, I am a 53yr old single mom although my children are grown now, they will always be a priority in my life. I have worked hard as a Travel Consultant for the past 30 plus years. The past 27 years of my life has been filled with so many medical issues, that I thought I would put it in words. I am hopeful that I can help at least one person out there who may think they wont make it through their medical struggles. You can do it!

Book preview

A Patient’s Point of View

Jennifer Binish

Copyright © 2013 by Jennifer Binish.

Library of Congress Control Number:     2013901319

ISBN:              Hardcover                             978-1-4797-8069-3

                         Softcover                               978-1-4797-8068-6

                         Ebook                                    978-1-4797-8070-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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CONTENTS

Preface

The Beginning

Here We Go Again!

The Body Breakdown

Not Quite A Year Later—1989

Time Between Times

But There Is One More!

Close To Death

As We Move Forward

And I Have To Have What?

Taking Care Of The Neglected Things

2002—I Am Trying

As Life Moves On

One Small Blip

And Moving Forward

It Is Not Over Yet!

18 Came Too Soon And Not What I Was Expecting

Depression

The Final One (I Hope) Surgery 19

In The End

PREFACE

E verything I have written is the truth. This is my story about the struggles and emotions I endured during surgical procedures and my illnesses. This is my view as a patient. I have not used the real names of physicians or their practices in my story. My intent is not to discriminate against their practices nor is it to tarnish their professionalism (although sometimes, it was extremely difficult not to).

I am writing this with the hope of helping others who have endured a stressful illness or surgical procedure that have left them out of sorts, depressed, or just plain old numb. Also, I wanted to provide a realistic insight for those that are preparing for a procedure in the near future.

I dedicate this to my children, Shannon, Jonathan, and Hannah. If it were not for them, I would not have the strength to move forward.

Also to my dearest friends, Terri, Gail, Ricky, Paulette, and Kathy, for listening and letting me cry on their shoulders during the most stressful times of my life.

THE BEGINNING

I grew up in a household of ten: five sisters, two brothers, and Mom and Dad. We were not a rich family, but we were certainly a dysfunctional one. But who has not grown up in a dysfunctional family? If you say no, you are most likely hiding. My parents were both alcoholics. My father was a functioning one; my mother, well, not so much. Being from such a large family, I can honestly say I felt left out sometimes. It always seemed, when I was doing something at school, there was never time for my mom and dad to go and participate. I used to be an ice-skater; they never went to watch me. Only one time I remember my dad came before he went to work. It was as if it were not important for them. Possibly, I let them think I did not care; I was very good at putting up shields. Or it was just the environment and too many kids to please. I just know that quite often, I felt alone.

I was the different one, larger in stature than my brothers and sisters. I could not share clothing, and if I did borrow a sweater, I got yelled at for stretching it out and putting boob marks in it. My sisters claimed I ruined it. I remember my older brother used to call me Fatso. Funny, I never thought of myself as fat then. I knew I was different, but I would definitely not say fat. The negative comments made by my brothers and sisters always cut to the core of my being. What was I supposed to do? I could not change how I was born; it is not my fault my stature was different from theirs. With that being said, it made me stubborn, and I became a bit of a rebel. I seemed to always go against the grain. I did what I wanted to do and did not care about the consequences. I did have a mouth on me and was not afraid to use it. I remember in high school there was the math teacher, Mr. Rose. He did not like me and I certainly did not like him. He had double standards in his classroom, and he had his favorites. Needless to say, I was not one of them! I spent a lot of time in the principal’s office. He was always amazed at how different I was from my brothers and sisters (they were never in his office), but I think in an odd way he respected me, and I think he actually agreed with me and my opinion of Mr. Rose. The punishment was never that bad. However, the wrath upon returning home was not the same. I remember yelling at my parents, telling them they had no right to judge me. Since they were drunk all the time, what did they know? Growing up was not always easy, but I would get through it.

The first time I remember being ill was in second grade. I had pneumonia, and it was bad. In those days, the doctor actually came to the house for the checkups. I remember sleeping on a couch downstairs in the living room; the room I slept in was too cold (there was no heating vent in that room). I remember clearly the yellow medicine. It smelled like bananas and came in a brown bottle. Unfortunately, the pneumonia was stronger than I was, and ultimately, I missed so much school that I was required to repeat the second grade. I was devastated as a small child. All my friends were now moving forward, and I needed to start again. It was not fair!

I managed to survive that setback and continued on with my life, conquering other traditional childhood diseases: mumps, chicken pox, and measles.

Life continued on with the normal teenage experiences: having that first crush and being devastated when the boy did not return the same affection and wanting to be part of that popular group but never getting invited to the social gatherings. Growing up, I was not sure where I fit in, and it seemed to also apply to high school. There were the jocks (all the athletes) and the heads (the kids that smoked and drank). I was not part of either group but knew people in both. I started working at fourteen. I loved ice skating, and my parents could not afford it, so I worked at the local Roller Rink to pay for my skating. So I started to hang out with the people that worked there. They were a little older than me, but that did not seem to matter. I actually found I enjoyed spending time with them instead of the people at school. I was also involved with a church program called Search for Christian Maturity. Some of the kids from school were involved as well; however, it seemed the only time we socialized was at church and search functions. When I think about it now, I really did not have the time to socialize anyhow. Between work and skating and church, there was no time. But I still had that nagging feeling of wanting to fit in, and it seemed I never did. I got myself in trouble at times for staying out too late or getting caught smoking at the bowling alley (my brother ratted out on me). I really took the punishments in stride, and it never stopped me from staying out late the next weekend. I paid for my own things, so I felt entitled to make my own choices, right or wrong.

I was sixteen when it started. I kept getting strep throat, and for the life of me, I could not get rid of it. After ten episodes of strep throat, the doctor decided it was time to have my tonsils removed. It was right before my seventeenth birthday, and I remember wanting to wait until after my birthday. Furthermore who wanted to have their tonsils out anyhow? In the end, the