I had been at Hillcrest Commons (Or as I liked to refer to it, Hell-Crest Commons) for 3 months. Jillian, the nurse practitioner overseeing my care, decided that we needed to have a meeting with all of my care team and my parents.
The meeting was an absolute disaster.
Every time I tried to talk to Jillian she insisted that my disease wasn’t as bad as I said it was and that she could get me off of most of my meds, off of the IV fluids, get my port removed, get me eating again, get my GJ tube removed, and get me walking with no assistive devices. She had shared this viewpoint with my parents and got them so full of hope that they were willing to do just about anything with me or to me in order to get me there.
This was a big problem.
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