Hospital Antics

I haven’t written in over a week. I started getting this strange smell in my house. I woke up one morning with an awful headache. I thought that I had a stroke. That’s what happened the last time I had a stroke, but I couldn't remember. For a few days after it happened. I couldn't remember how to use my phone or my address, telephone number or birthday. Right now, I’m relying on auto-correct to type this blog, because I forgot the laptop’s keypad. Somethings are better than others, and It’ s getting better with time. I but not quick enough. I put off writing this blog, hoping it would get better, but it is, but very slowly. It’s been just about two weeks, and I still feel like a kindergartener on the first day of school.

Trinity Oakland – St. Joe

When the headache wouldn’t leave and the memory loss kept gettinglike what happenen when I had my first stroke, I went to the hospital. That was a huge mistake. Physicians spend more money on prostitutes than most, because they can afford it. While at Caro, Sara Gaynor turned many “tricks” at Hurley Hospital. When I got there, they made me wait. Said my stroke happened a week ago and wasn’t high priority. After about an hour, they took me to have a CATSCAN. It came back and said I had blood clots. I was shocked. No one in my family has ever had blood clots! They gave me an IV with Heffern in it, a blood thinner, but it’s how the doctor told me. He pointed at me and said, “You have blood clots.” And walked away. I don’t remember a lot, but it was real scurvy how I found out I had blood clots.

They hooked me to the IV and put me in a room, but I was never comfortable. It was the straw that broke the camels back, when they hadn’t contacted my sister. No one knew where I was. They could do anything, and it seemed they were. I left and went home to call my sister. She told me that if they say have blood clots, and I did. She is a doctor. They started putting me under for a scan, and it became dangerous! People go under and don’t come back. I made up my mind that I was leaving again. This time, however, they were reluctant to leave. They did everything to stall me leaving. I called the police and they wouldn’t come and told me to call hospital security. I finally got out, found the elevator and got on. It stopped in mid-descent. I called the police again. They finally opened the door.

McClaren Hospital – Osteopathic

I went home and took a bath, and changed clothes, because no one offered me a bath or a wash up. I wasn’t interested in taking one anyway, there surely prostitution vibes there. They pimp their patients and put stuff in their food and water to incapacitate. I stopped drinking it and when I got home my heart was beating and I was sweating. I could barely put my clothes on. I called an ambulance and went back to the hospital, only this time I went to Maclaren, the old Osteopathic. I knew that I didn’t have a tumor or a blood clot. McLaren supported Trinity’s lie. Showed me pictures and everything. I told them about St. Joe, and the professionals were great. Those other ones were horrific. I went up to the nineth floor, there was a guy with this hair, and this big fat chick reigned. They refused to feed me. I didn’t eat at Osteopathic for over 24 hours. Control is real in prostitution. Nobody let me off my bed. All I could think about was Monica Canady and her children and the lack of compassion for them. Killing is something the OCSD is not afraid to do to cover their crimes. Thet get low IQ people to do their dirty work. Those young flunkies are not nurses. The Stat needs to check on all that;