In 2014, comedian, musician, podcaster and Nashvillian Chris Crofton asked the Scene for an advice column, so we gave him one. Crowning himself the “Advice King,” Crofton shares his hard-won wisdom with whoever seeks it. Follow Crofton on Twitter and Instagram (@thecroftonshow), and check out his The Advice King Anthology and Cold Brew Got Me Like podcast. To submit a question for the Advice King, email bestofbread@gmail.com.
Dear Advice King,
I heard you mention on your podcast that your mom was bitten by a cat. How is she doing? I had no idea cat bites were a big deal. Any advice on what to do for a cat bite? I’m sorry in advance if this is a sensitive subject.
—Lily in San Antonio
Hi Lily! Thanks for the question! Yes, it’s true — my mother was bitten by a cat more than a month ago. It wasn’t some random cat, either. It was, uhhh, well … her cat.
HER OWN CAT. It sounds funny. It sounds funny because it is funny. But it’s also not funny at all — not one bit.
My mom was in the hospital for a month — multiple hospitals, actually. Two were big, brand-name Nashville hospitals. Mom was in the first big, brand-name hospital for two weeks starting at the end of February. She received four different intravenous antibiotics, and got a small (unsuccessful, probably unnecessary) surgery performed on her left ankle (where the cat bit her). From there, she went to a no-name rehab hospital for 10 days — to practice walking again, and to receive more intravenous antibiotics. While she was there, a thrombosis (clogged artery) was misdiagnosed as cellulitis (a new area of infection).
When we heard about this new infection, we called the doctors from the big, brand-name hospital that we had (basically) just left, and their receptionist said, “Take her to the emergency room.” We said, “OK, thanks.” Then we thought for a moment, and called them back to ask if they meant that we should take her to their emergency room, since, you know, they were the ones who made the (apparently premature) decision to release her to the rehab hospital.
I got voicemail. I left a message. They didn’t call back. They still haven’t called. That was a week ago.
I drove my mom to the emergency room of a different big, brand-name hospital. We sat in the waiting area for seven hours before they brought her to the back. She’s 82. She was in the second big, brand-name hospital for three days. She received more intravenous antibiotics, and conflicting diagnoses from seemingly every doctor who entered her room. One diagnosis from the emergency room doctors, another from the new emergency room doctors who arrived for the night shift, and one more from a doctor upstairs after she was admitted. Those doctors were never in the same room at the same time.
A doctor from fancy hospital No. 2 called my sister to ask her which antibiotics my mother had been given when she was in fancy hospital No. 1. When we asked why he didn’t have that information, we were told that sharing records between hospitals “can take time. It can take a couple days. It’s often easier to try to get the information from the patient.”
I wish I were kidding.
On Friday, March 23, my mom was sent home. The hospital said that even though she wasn’t cured, her life wasn’t in danger, and they needed the room. We cried for joy when I pulled the car into the driveway. But while the infection in her ankle is greatly reduced, it’s not gone.
Cat bites can be very dangerous, Lily. Cats have a ton of exotic bacteria in their mouths. If they bite you — especially on a joint — you should get it looked at by a doctor right away.
My beloved mother’s experience over the past month (with Medicare, and a Medicare supplement that she pays extra for) in the United States health care system has been the most exhausting and disheartening experience I have had in my entire life. And I’m a recovering alcoholic.
Sooner or later, we are all forced to engage with this corrupted, noncommunicative health care system. And before you tell me about your gold-standard insurance, your Cadillac plan, your Medicare, your supplemental, know that you will still need to relentlessly advocate for your own care. And have someone with you to take notes. (Not kidding.) And you still won’t know who said what, because the shifts just changed over, and your primary care physician will be on vacation, and, and …
