Too much medical knowledge

Canulas, aspirators, yonkers (sp)peg tubes, inner canulas, oxygen levels. These are words that I now know and understand. Running a central line was a new one I learned yesterday. Being the caretaker for a sick person is very scary to me. Went through a bought of respiratory failure yesterday, oxygen levels scarily low. Than found out that that said person is totally infected from every orfice in their body. Down to their urine. The drippings from the trach traveled a path to the freshly stitched pacemaker all the way down to the stomach feeding tube. So back to the hospital I go. A person cannot receive radiation treatment when they are this sick and weak. I hate the sterile, totally unique smell of hospitals. They all smell the same. Hospitals remind me of jail for sick people. Than there is the paper work. Numerous forms to be filled and signed. Everyone so polite but firm. There have been a few nurses, male and female that I have found to possess that special gift of comforting a paitent. Other's take temperatures as though they are checking to see if the roast in the oven is ready for dinner. I hate blogging about the medical crisis in my home. Presently this is an outlet. I haven't even had time to blog. I am constantly listening for unusual breathing, seeing if aspiration of the trach is needed. All this for a tumor the size of a quarter. The most fucked up thing of all is my efforts to quit smoking are not going so well. I am wearing the patches. I have cut down. After seeing and living this you would think I would bury and curse any cigarettes. So weak. I sneak outside for an early am smoke. I smoke with shame. There are many worse vices that I could have opted for, so I am letting it be. On a positive note Mother's Day was a huge success. I was bone tired, but made a rather nice deposit in the bank from work this weekend. I am blessed to work three days a week and meet my bills. That is one of the reasons we are living here. Auggie, my ever loyal dog, I do believe is keeping me sane. I break out the Ipod early in the am and off we go, walking around the lake, silent except for the beat in my earphones. That is when my head clears and I get mental focus. No gunshots here, except those of deer/boar hunters. The police blotter reads like something from The Andy Griffith Show. I wait on all the Andy and Barney Fife's doing their jobs with a diligence. I sometimes forget to lock my door and don't really care. I am keeping my eye on the prize. One little localized tumor that will be gone within 6-8 weeks. Than maybe the lake will be a tad more beautiful. Thanks for letting me vent.