Target is the Epitome of Evil Pt. 2
Written 6/9/2005 & 6/19/2005
I thought I'd try and get a little suspense for you guys and girls. Perhaps it'll draw you in!! ::Makes excited face and runs around room in circle:: And the stunning conclusion.
The week before my friend got hired, his body did something that is still unexplained. He had a spontaneous pnuemothorax. The condition, I guess you can call it, is when the lung becomes dissengaged from the chest wall. If you want more info, I suggest checking out WebMD. This causes a collapsed lung. This is the second time this occured to my friend. During the first occurance, he didn't have health insurance so he couldn't take care of it. This time, he needed to fix it and we (collectively, me, the non-g/f, a nurse from her family, and his family) found a way. The following couple of days, he went in for a pre-operation operation. What happens, is that the lung collapses due to pressure building up between the lung and chest wall, so doctors put a tube in his lung to release the pressure (I still don't understand how a tube in the lung releases pressure from the outside of the lung). This ordeal was quite difficult to listen to, as he described the painful details of his doctor's mistakes. When he arrived, he had some new, young schmo of a doctor. Right off, my friend asked him if he's ever done this procedure before. "Oh, yes, hundreds of times," was the reply. Not bloody likely... During this procedure he had to remain awake, but he received some morphine. The doctor made an incision underneath his rib cage and shoved (in reality the doctor put most of his weight on my friend trying to put the tube in due to the difficulty he was having with the insertion) a quarter to half inch diameter tube into the incision in an attempt to stick it in his lung. When said doc started, my friend could feel the pain from the incision, so he requested more morphine. After numerous attempts, each needing an x-ray to confirm correct insertion, including two that missed, and the final one, which "worked", that wrapped around his lung and inserted in the back, he was ready to go home. Because of his current state, he wouldn't be able to do any lifting or any activity that required exertion. He then had some red tape to go through before he could get his surgery. First, he visited the doctor he saw the first time his lung collapsed. Apparently the schmo doctor had never performed the procedure before because my friend's veteran doctor, said that the tube needed to be inserted only a few inches for it to work properly, not 2 feet, wrapping around the lung. After making his diagnosis, the veteran doc, pulled out the tube and reinserted it properly. Needless to say, my friend was quite livid and was losing faith fast in our great (or lack thereof) health care system. At this point, we hadn't figured out my friend's health insurance predicament, so he discussed the situation with this veteran doctor. The doctor warned that without insurance, he would be quite far in debt for a long time. My friend didn't care, he wanted the problem fixed for good and he understood the repercussions of debt. The veteran doctor reluctantly gave my friend the phone number of surgeon that could perform the needed procedure. For some reason, when he tried to get surgery done on his lung, the doctor that needed to do the operation was booked for a week and a half. He started to worry about his Target job, so he called them and asked if he could keep the job, for he had been hired, but now he couldn't even show up for his first day. They said that he still had a place there, so he wasn't as depressed about the whole ordeal. The next day the doctor's secretary called him back and told him that the realization of the seriousness of his condition was acknowledged, so he was going to have the surgery done in the next few days. The day came when his surgery was scheduled, and I had talked with him often about how he was feeling during the past few days. He was nervous, because it was his first time going under, so I reassured him that it would be ok and that the only thing he really had to worry about is the pain he was going to have after coming to. When I had my widom teeth pulled, I was gased, and when I came to, the pain seemed to be more intense than I expected, so I figured this would be similar to any surgery. I was working a volunteer position for BCQ at Coffman Hall planting seeds for free plants (I now have my favorite flower, the Morning Glory, growing at home) when he left for the operation.
Later, when he was in post-op, his father called me, as requested, to tell me his condition following the procedure, which was stable and good. Over the next few days, he was recovering quite well. A different friend went to visit him and told me he was looking rough and he couldn't speak very well, which was understood. I talked with him shortly the second day following his operation, and I had to let him go, because I couldn't hear him well, and I didn't want him to have to repeat everything, as it was already difficult enough for him to talk. I planned a trip to see him with the non-g/f. We bought him some Prismacolor® colored pencils (the best in the market, according to non-g/f), a sketch pad, and I burned some music for him (some rarities from my personal collection). The night we planned a visit, he told us not to come, because he was having some disagreements with his roommate. Apparently, his roommate had changed that day and the new one and my friend didn't see eye to eye. Something about my friends swearing in his everyday vernacular that the other guy didn't appreciate. That aside, we were just going to drop off his gifts because this was the only night we could see him that week. I think pushing the meeting was enough for my friend to say "fuck it" and let us come anyway. We arrived quite late and visited him for a few hours. He showed us pictures of his surgery and explained what happened. To give you all the jist, they scraped the chest wall up so it bled very slightly, and pressed the lung to the chest wall; the idea was that the lung would adhere to the chest wall when it scabed. It looked like the most painful thing I had ever seen in my life. He learned that morphine had no effect on him, when he was at the highest dosage that wouldn't kill him and he still felt the pain in full. They switched his pain meds to something else. He was so excited to have an automated administration device that would inject the meds whenever he flipped a switch. I thought it was pretty sweet myself. After the nurses suggested that we leave, out of respect for his roommate, we headed back home.
My friend left the hospital later that week. He actually left earlier than the hospital wanted him to. What happened was that the doctor told him he was set to go, and that he could, but when the doctor left later that day, and my friend tried to leave, they wanted personal confirmation from the doctor to let my friend go. Unfortunately, the doctor he had talked to had left for the day, so he was "stuck" at the hospital. My friend, not one for rules, embarked for home that afternoon. He didn't get in any trouble or anything (I don't think they could have done anything anyway). He has since fully recovered and is doing fine, although I'm pissed that he is still smoking after he said he was done for good after the operation. Smoking increases the occurrence incidents of the condition he has, and since the condition is a "repeated offender", it would be best if he didn't. I respect that it's his life though, and he may do with it as he pleases. If anything does happen to him, I will resurrect him, and kill him again, however. I'm reserving that right.
That next week, my friend called Target to see when he could start working again (I think he needed an additional few weeks of recovery, though), and they told him that there was a problem with his situation, or something to that effect. He was perplexed as to what the deal was, but the person he was talking to didn't have answers. That day, he played phone tag for hours trying to find out what the problem with his job was, but every person referred him to someone else who apparently had the answers. Eventually it went full circle, until he was bitching the hell out of this one woman. She broke the circle and gave him some number which got him in contact of a lady who was going to investigate what had happened and call him back the next day. It turned out that something had happened and he had lost his position. I'm not going to disclose what their excuse was, but I think what they did was illegal since they had already hired him.
After all of that, I wanted to boycott Target as a career supplier, but I was already in the midst of my interviews when these events took place. I'm pretty sure I've already talked about the details of my experience with Target's employment ploy, so this is why I've decided that Target is how I've previouly described it in the title bar. Luckily I didn't accept the job! Thank You! Ya.....Hooo!
Did you like the suspense?
P-Wagz
I thought I'd try and get a little suspense for you guys and girls. Perhaps it'll draw you in!! ::Makes excited face and runs around room in circle:: And the stunning conclusion.
The week before my friend got hired, his body did something that is still unexplained. He had a spontaneous pnuemothorax. The condition, I guess you can call it, is when the lung becomes dissengaged from the chest wall. If you want more info, I suggest checking out WebMD. This causes a collapsed lung. This is the second time this occured to my friend. During the first occurance, he didn't have health insurance so he couldn't take care of it. This time, he needed to fix it and we (collectively, me, the non-g/f, a nurse from her family, and his family) found a way. The following couple of days, he went in for a pre-operation operation. What happens, is that the lung collapses due to pressure building up between the lung and chest wall, so doctors put a tube in his lung to release the pressure (I still don't understand how a tube in the lung releases pressure from the outside of the lung). This ordeal was quite difficult to listen to, as he described the painful details of his doctor's mistakes. When he arrived, he had some new, young schmo of a doctor. Right off, my friend asked him if he's ever done this procedure before. "Oh, yes, hundreds of times," was the reply. Not bloody likely... During this procedure he had to remain awake, but he received some morphine. The doctor made an incision underneath his rib cage and shoved (in reality the doctor put most of his weight on my friend trying to put the tube in due to the difficulty he was having with the insertion) a quarter to half inch diameter tube into the incision in an attempt to stick it in his lung. When said doc started, my friend could feel the pain from the incision, so he requested more morphine. After numerous attempts, each needing an x-ray to confirm correct insertion, including two that missed, and the final one, which "worked", that wrapped around his lung and inserted in the back, he was ready to go home. Because of his current state, he wouldn't be able to do any lifting or any activity that required exertion. He then had some red tape to go through before he could get his surgery. First, he visited the doctor he saw the first time his lung collapsed. Apparently the schmo doctor had never performed the procedure before because my friend's veteran doctor, said that the tube needed to be inserted only a few inches for it to work properly, not 2 feet, wrapping around the lung. After making his diagnosis, the veteran doc, pulled out the tube and reinserted it properly. Needless to say, my friend was quite livid and was losing faith fast in our great (or lack thereof) health care system. At this point, we hadn't figured out my friend's health insurance predicament, so he discussed the situation with this veteran doctor. The doctor warned that without insurance, he would be quite far in debt for a long time. My friend didn't care, he wanted the problem fixed for good and he understood the repercussions of debt. The veteran doctor reluctantly gave my friend the phone number of surgeon that could perform the needed procedure. For some reason, when he tried to get surgery done on his lung, the doctor that needed to do the operation was booked for a week and a half. He started to worry about his Target job, so he called them and asked if he could keep the job, for he had been hired, but now he couldn't even show up for his first day. They said that he still had a place there, so he wasn't as depressed about the whole ordeal. The next day the doctor's secretary called him back and told him that the realization of the seriousness of his condition was acknowledged, so he was going to have the surgery done in the next few days. The day came when his surgery was scheduled, and I had talked with him often about how he was feeling during the past few days. He was nervous, because it was his first time going under, so I reassured him that it would be ok and that the only thing he really had to worry about is the pain he was going to have after coming to. When I had my widom teeth pulled, I was gased, and when I came to, the pain seemed to be more intense than I expected, so I figured this would be similar to any surgery. I was working a volunteer position for BCQ at Coffman Hall planting seeds for free plants (I now have my favorite flower, the Morning Glory, growing at home) when he left for the operation.
Later, when he was in post-op, his father called me, as requested, to tell me his condition following the procedure, which was stable and good. Over the next few days, he was recovering quite well. A different friend went to visit him and told me he was looking rough and he couldn't speak very well, which was understood. I talked with him shortly the second day following his operation, and I had to let him go, because I couldn't hear him well, and I didn't want him to have to repeat everything, as it was already difficult enough for him to talk. I planned a trip to see him with the non-g/f. We bought him some Prismacolor® colored pencils (the best in the market, according to non-g/f), a sketch pad, and I burned some music for him (some rarities from my personal collection). The night we planned a visit, he told us not to come, because he was having some disagreements with his roommate. Apparently, his roommate had changed that day and the new one and my friend didn't see eye to eye. Something about my friends swearing in his everyday vernacular that the other guy didn't appreciate. That aside, we were just going to drop off his gifts because this was the only night we could see him that week. I think pushing the meeting was enough for my friend to say "fuck it" and let us come anyway. We arrived quite late and visited him for a few hours. He showed us pictures of his surgery and explained what happened. To give you all the jist, they scraped the chest wall up so it bled very slightly, and pressed the lung to the chest wall; the idea was that the lung would adhere to the chest wall when it scabed. It looked like the most painful thing I had ever seen in my life. He learned that morphine had no effect on him, when he was at the highest dosage that wouldn't kill him and he still felt the pain in full. They switched his pain meds to something else. He was so excited to have an automated administration device that would inject the meds whenever he flipped a switch. I thought it was pretty sweet myself. After the nurses suggested that we leave, out of respect for his roommate, we headed back home.
My friend left the hospital later that week. He actually left earlier than the hospital wanted him to. What happened was that the doctor told him he was set to go, and that he could, but when the doctor left later that day, and my friend tried to leave, they wanted personal confirmation from the doctor to let my friend go. Unfortunately, the doctor he had talked to had left for the day, so he was "stuck" at the hospital. My friend, not one for rules, embarked for home that afternoon. He didn't get in any trouble or anything (I don't think they could have done anything anyway). He has since fully recovered and is doing fine, although I'm pissed that he is still smoking after he said he was done for good after the operation. Smoking increases the occurrence incidents of the condition he has, and since the condition is a "repeated offender", it would be best if he didn't. I respect that it's his life though, and he may do with it as he pleases. If anything does happen to him, I will resurrect him, and kill him again, however. I'm reserving that right.
That next week, my friend called Target to see when he could start working again (I think he needed an additional few weeks of recovery, though), and they told him that there was a problem with his situation, or something to that effect. He was perplexed as to what the deal was, but the person he was talking to didn't have answers. That day, he played phone tag for hours trying to find out what the problem with his job was, but every person referred him to someone else who apparently had the answers. Eventually it went full circle, until he was bitching the hell out of this one woman. She broke the circle and gave him some number which got him in contact of a lady who was going to investigate what had happened and call him back the next day. It turned out that something had happened and he had lost his position. I'm not going to disclose what their excuse was, but I think what they did was illegal since they had already hired him.
After all of that, I wanted to boycott Target as a career supplier, but I was already in the midst of my interviews when these events took place. I'm pretty sure I've already talked about the details of my experience with Target's employment ploy, so this is why I've decided that Target is how I've previouly described it in the title bar. Luckily I didn't accept the job! Thank You! Ya.....Hooo!
Did you like the suspense?
P-Wagz
posted by P-Wagz at 2:58 AM
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