Your son had been in the new place for 4 days. There, they have barely managed to turn him over in his bed once a day, never mind about physical therapy. He can’t put weight on his legs for several weeks.   His right clavicle is broken, meaning he can’t put much weight on his aright arm. He can’t sit or turn without help.

You break your hip in the middle of this but on day 4, you hear that he is doing poorly. He is trembling and disoriented. You think, SHIT, and your nephew takes you to the new place, where techs wander about yelling “Cuz!” or just lumber right past you.

In your son’s room, you see he is shaking and agitated. His stomach is so distended he looks 9 months pregnant. He can’t shit or pee. He is jerking his arms around and talking on imaginary telephones.

You go to ask for a doctor. A nurse comes and actually listens to you! It’s a miracle. Back in the room, your son starts to vomit. It is thick and dark, like blood. We all hope it’s the prune juice that his dad brought him on the previous night. You remember the withdrawal nightmare at the major teaching hospital. You ask the nice nurse to look at his records. Maybe they’ve suddenly taken him off lorazepam.

YES, she finds no lorazepam ordered for him. She give him 2 mg. His trembling subsides in intensity but continues. You hold his hand and he tries pulling off your fingers: He thinks they are some kind of cables.

The nurse calls the attending physician, a woman who saw him yesterday and asked, “Can you walk to the bathroom?” Haha, doctor, your patient cannot walk at all, try reading his records sometime.

After several hours, you get a ride home, in order to raise your swollen leg, aka Biggie. You leave instructions with his father, his uncle, his cousin and his aunt: Do not leave him alone tonight. Do not let them kill him! They promise to take turns staying in his room. A little while later, he pulls out his IV.

Back home, you make frantic phone-calls. Somebody somewhere must be able to help. This is America, we even have health insurance! A person in a good position to know these things suggests getting your son to an emergency room but first the people at the convalescent hospital have to call an ambulance.   As it turns out, they don’t want to call an ambulance.

In the morning, Allah willing, you will go back there and begin again. This is not about health reform, this is about WHAT THE FUCK! Any advice, send it.   Otherwise, keep your loved ones and yourself safe from harm, with all my sincerest blessings.