This is Part 9 of a story I'd love you to read. But please, please darling, start from the Part 1., here.
Part 9.
The whole episode of eight days I stayed in hospital was filled with oppressive atmosphere, negative attitude, small, despiteful words, neglect, and so much more, every hour, every minute of the day. There are 5760 minutes in 8 days. I can tell you; it was a lot to see through.
I wanted desperately it all to be over, especially after the ENMG test, when I was moved from intensive care to an ordinary neurological ward, but I needed to wait for a permission to leave. I also had a nagging feeling, an instinct that everything would not be over yet, that I needed to stay in order to see it to the end. That nobody could say that I quitted, that the reason I was not given medication would be, for example, me leaving hospital too early, I thought. So, I asked and asked if I could be given information about the decision and told the personnel repeatedly, I wished just to go home as soon as possible, after getting the answer.
First, I was told that nobody knows when I get to leave, then I was told it’s taking so long because they waited for the ENMG results. Which, to my confused brain did not make any sense, and frankly, still doesn’t; how would my myasthenia ENMG results affect to the decision of my medication to an entirely different problem?
A day passed in the ward, while waiting and asking if I could have a word with the chief neurologist about the decisions, so I could just go home. The next day, on day 7, they sent a specialising young doctor to discuss with me and to tell me that, The Masters/Sirs (Herrat in Finnish) were still gathering and discussing about my case and the decision, but they’d decide it today and the chief neurologist would come to tell me all about it. This younger doctor was sympathetic to me in a professional way; I had no idea what her opinion was but for once, I had a medical professional there, who acted like a professional should, and kept their opinion to themselves, being neutral and actually even warm. I waited and waited for the chief neurologist to come, but nothing happened. On the third day in the ward, spent just waiting anything to happen, they came. They, as in plural.
After total of 8 days in hospital, doctors came to tell me what they had had in mind all this time and what had actually been written in my medical files prior to my arrival: we don’t want to rewrite your description. And then came the low blow. Oh, by the way, we took away your myasthenia gravis diagnosis.
But before we go into that, there are some details I want to pick from the hundreds of other little details. I simply cannot write down everything, there’s too much, but I have tried to describe the general picture, so you could understand the atmosphere, the context I was in.
The rest three days of my stay in the hospital, after the ENMG test, I spent in a normal neurological ward instead of intensive care. I still had troubles with speaking, eating, peeing, moving, but I was just that tiny bit better, maybe because I got out from the noises of the intensive care to the silent wardroom with friendly ladies, and some of the most, well, the least kind nurses visited the room less frequently. I think all this helped my senses and body to be able to relax and rest, even if just a tiny bit. I was also boosted with ephedrine that caused considerable adrenalin-like peaks in my system that enabled me to function a little, at times.
It was not like everything changed for better, though, when I changed the bed and ward. The hostility did not vanish anywhere, it dwelled inside some personnel, regardless the room. Most of the time, I was still treated like waste.
You may think I am overly sensitive, going on and on about how I feel I was treated badly, but when you are at your most vulnerable and cannot defend yourself at any way, completely dependent on others, the way other treats you, gets so much more weight than in normal life. You cannot shrug it off, you cannot do nothing about it, and you just need to bear it, but usually it is these moments of total vulnerability when you truly yearn for some kindness. I did not need sympathy; I did not need anyone to hold my hand and wail how horrible everything was. All I needed was a bit of kindness, and if that was too much to ask, then at least to be treated with just a bit of humanity. What I did not expect when I arrived at the hospital was the hatred; or was it fear that turned into hatred, that I could not say.
There was exhausting stream of little negative incidents that made my stay continuing to be just that bit on the horrific side. According to some nurses, I was still asking too much when I asked the curtains to be closed during catheterisation; there was no need for privacy as we were in women’s room, after all. The hatred and despise daggering in the eyes of some, if still not most nurses started to feel overwhelming. I wanted to feel safe and had still no idea what I had done to them to deserve such attitude towards me. I just wanted to go home.
There were several different doctors visiting other patients in the room during those three days, interestingly dismissing me every time saying they had nothing to do with me, that the chief neurologist is the one who I should talk to. On the other hand, those doctors did take their time to read all my medical files. Which, obviously, they were absolutely not entitled to, if, according to their own words, they had nothing to do with me.
I still could not feel my central part, apart from the horrid pain in my back, and after the catheter was taken off, I constantly felt I was wetting myself and that my whole bed was wet, even though it wasn’t the case, it was just my senses not working. As I have written earlier, I had the most severe UTI (urinary tract infection) while I was in the hospital, and I had to make sure myself that I got medicated for it, otherwise it would have been left untreated. My periods started two weeks early and they were the worst I had ever had in my life; I was bleeding more than after the two childbirths of my three. There was blood everywhere, despite the adult pampers they had put on me. I had to take care that they searched for and gave me the medication I needed for my extremely heavy bleeding. It seemed to me I had to take care of all of my issues myself, and I started to feel so frustrated. If this was the level of the highly appraised Finnish public health care system, how could patients with memory or other cognitive problems ever survive alive there? I just longed to be home, where I knew that rest, silence, and slow healing could take place.
But there were also couple of members of personnel, who made me feel more secure, even if just for a moment at a time. One smiled and chatted to me while feeding me, without any hint of disapproval or negative attitude oozing from her which was a refreshing novelty. Some were kind and had time to help me move from one side to another, lift the head of my bed up or down again, help me slowly to the bathroom when I was able to walk supported, after the catheter was taken off.
It was ephedrine that made me very, very dizzy, everything seemed to be upside down and I felt I was drugged. It was one of those dizzy moments in the neurological ward I now was, when I needed to go to bathroom after my catheter had been taken out, so I called for help, as I definitely could not stand up. The nurse who came to the room snorted and said scornfully that if I just wanted enough, I could simply walk to the bathroom myself, that I should just get a grip and stop acting, that I was a pathetic mental case. I will never forget how another nurse discreetly and gently stroke my back when I burst into tears, while the other nurse insulted me.
After endless catheterisations I had tried to actually use bathroom couple of times and was able to pee just a bit. After one such attempt, I felt a bit better and a nurse monitored my bladder to make sure there wasn’t too much residual. She had actual happy tears in her eyes, when she told me there was no need for catheterisation now, my bladder worked well enough. That gave me so much light, that kind gesture of empathy. That is what patients need when they are in hospital. They need acts of kindness. Proof that even if something is wrong (you hardly hang around in a hospital if everything is all right), there is still this one thing that keeps us hoping everything will turn out just fine: kindness of others.
During those last 3 days I spent in the neurological ward, I and my husband tried constantly get to see the chief neurologist and to talk about my medication, to finally get some answers to be able to go home. It was during one of these attempts, when my husband saw the chief neurologist in the corridor, and as he saw my husband, he simply turned and run away from the building. It tells a lot about the whole situation. I was kept there, waiting, in uncertainty, and giving me answers was avoided at any cost. Until, of course, they came and give me answers, in masse.
Assembly at the Door.
There were two neurologists coming to the room. The other was the chief neurologist, and other a neurologist I had seen, just for a minute, in the intensive care couple of days earlier. Neither of whom I had, before entering the hospital 8 days earlier, ever seen in my life. Neither of whom had seen me earlier ever either, or neither of whom had ever got acquainted with my medical papers.
Funnily enough, the other patients in the room hadn’t needed two doctors telling them anything, one was enough to deliver the message.
What I, on the other hand clearly needed, was not only two senior neurologists, but also most of the entire personnel of the neurological clinic of the hospital. The room was crowded.
There were, beside the other patients in the room of course, several nurses, some of which I had never seen before, all the doctors I had seen in the clinic thus far and then some, physiotherapist, cleaners, and other personnel there, most of which I had not seen at any point or had seen only passing.
All of them packed in the corridor of the room, listening what was said to me. So much for any privacy regarding confidential, private and intimate matters of personal health.
I felt like a circus animal, a weird showpiece. It insulted me indescribably, and still does when I think about it, to see all these people nosily poking themselves into a private situation, where I was lying in my bed, defenceless, exhausted, maltreated, waiting for it all to be just over and getting home. I cried. I cried a lot during that conversation with the neurologists. What those neurologists and others probably did not understand was that I was crying not only from sheer exhaustion and defeat, but also because what I saw and didn’t. I saw hatred, despise, sneering, I saw schadenfreude. What I didn’t see was compassion – or even merest hint of anyone showing it was not ok to do it like this, dozens of people gathering for a show. Except for the other lady patients, who were completely shocked and speechless, how a patient could be treated like this, her private health issues publicly ripped to pieces, there was no sign of anything abnormal, no sign of shame they did it like they did.
I still am waiting for an official apology for this. I suspect it is not only pretty offensive behaviour, but also illegal.
Which bring us to…
A detour into the depths of Finnish legislation.
I quote several points of relevance in the Finnish legislation and authorities to underline the severity of forgetting the privacy matters of a patient (not to mention their human rights, about which I wrote earlier).
If you remember, there are also those approx. 200 obscure visits in my health care files. And then there was this Circus Show.
Both the National Supervisory Authority for Welfare Valvira and Health and the Ministry of Social Affairs and Healthcare STM have a thing or two to say about the patient rights of Finnish citizens, but I sum it up:
Patient must be treated well, so that their privacy is respected, and their human dignity is not violated.
Finnish Law, Act on the Status and Rights of Patients,No. 785/1992:
The patient has a right to good quality health care and medical care. The care of the patient has to be arranged so and he/she shall also otherwise be treated so that his/her human dignity is not violated and that his/her conviction and privacy is respected.
Act on the Status and Rights of Patients, Section 13 (653/2000), Confidentiality of information in patient documents:
The information contained by patient documents shall be confidential.
Health care professionals or other persons working in a health care unit or carrying out its tasks shall not give information contained by patient documents to outsiders without a written consent by the patient.
… The giving of information referred to in paragraphs 2 and 3, and the grounds for it shall be recorded in the patient documents.
Chapter 5, Section 14 (653/2000), Breach of the secrecy obligation:
Punishment for breaching the secrecy obligation referred to in paragraph 2 and in point 5 of paragraph 3 of section 13, shall be imposed according to section 1 or 2 of Chapter 38 of the Penal Code, unless the offence is punishable under section 5 of Chapter 40 of the Penal Code, or unless a more severe punishment is prescribed for it elsewhere in the law.
Which brings us to how serious the violation of the secrecy is… to the Criminal Code of Finland (page 154, 164).
Chapter 38, Data and communications offences (578/1995), Section 1, Secrecy offence (578/1995):
A person who in violation of asecrecy duty provided by an Act or Decree or spe-cifically ordered by an authority pursuant to an Act.
(1) discloses information which should be kept secret and which he or she has learnt by virtue of his or her position or task or in the performance of a duty, or
(2) makes use of such a secret for the gain of himself or herself or another shall be sentenced, unless the act is punishable under Chapter 40, section 5, for a secrecy offence to a fine or to imprisonment for at most one year.
Section 2, Secrecy violation (578/1995):
(1) If the secrecy offence, in view of the significance of the act as concerns the pro-tection of privacy or confidentiality, or the other relevant circumstances, is petty when assessed as a whole, the offender shall be sentenced for a secrecy violation to a fine.
(2) Also a person who has violated a secrecy duty referred to in section 1 and it is specifically provided that such violation is punishable as a secrecy violation, shall alsobe sentenced for a secrecy violation.
Chapter 40, Offences in office (604/2002), Section 5, Breach and negligent breach of official secrecy (604/2002):
(1) If a public official intentionally, while in service or thereafter, unlawfully
(1) discloses a document or information which pursuant to the Act on the Openness of Government Activities (621/1999) or another Act is to be kept secret of not disclosed, or
(2) makes use of the document or information referred to in paragraph (1) to the benefit of himself or herself or to the loss of another, shall, unless a more severe penalty has been provided elsewhere in law for the act, be sentenced for breach of official secrecy to a fine or to imprisonment for at most two years. A public official may also be sentenced to dismissal if the offence demonstrates that he or she is manifestly unfit for his or her duties.
(2) If a public official commits the offence referred to in subsection 1 through negligence, and the act, in view of its harmful and damaging effects and the other relevant circumstances, is not of minor significance, he or she shall, unless a more severe penalty has been provided elsewhere in law for the act, be sentenced for negligent breach of official secrecy to a fine or to imprisonment for at most six months.
So, it is not some irrelevant little details we are talking about here, but serious offences of Finnish law. My entire health issues were publicly ripped open, most certainly without my permission. In my phone recordings of the event is possible to check that yes, they did not ask me a permission for such a public… show, and that only in the end, right before end, they mentioned I probably did not want them to tell me what they thought my new psychiatric diagnosis was, the one they had casted on me. Only in the end a kind of realisation dawned to them that this, indeed, was not very privately dealt.
… And back to the hospital, where there was this open entertainment show going on.
I, along with the congregation of nearly all the staff of the neurological clinic, was told by the Duo of the two neurologists, that they had decided I needed rehab. Not neurological rehab, though, no, but psychiatric rehab. They told me that there was nothing to be seen in the new ENMG results, so definitely myasthenia gravis was ruled out they said. They also informed me that they had dug up and reinterpreted my ENMG results from 2015 and decided that I never had had myasthenia gravis.
What they did not tell me (nor to their congregation) was why they thought this reinterpretation was seen necessary. I tried to point out that it isn’t not that unusual that myasthenia doesn’t get caught in ENMG test and that the specialist who made the test had said the same thing. The chief neurologist even admitted that this was, indeed, true, but nevertheless my myasthenia gravis diagnosis was taken off now.
I tried to object, pointing out that that was exactly what I had been repeatedly said I was afraid of: that this whole incident of me asking my prescriptions to be renewed, suddenly affects to and threatens my entire care in the neurological clinic – and my diagnosis in the worst case. I also reminded them I was repeatedly assured neither of those scenarios would happen, my stay at the hospital would not affect to my care at the neurological clinic nor to my diagnosis. And now they said that they had wiped off my neurological diagnosis, and what they thought I would benefit the most from, was psychiatric care. Well.
Only at the end of the discussion, when I asked what they thought my diagnosis was then if not myasthenia gravis, the doctors had the decency to look embarrassed and gestured around and said I would probably not want them to announce it publicly. To which I answered that after all they had publicly said already, it would clearly make no difference anymore.
But before that, all that was said, was just public information for all present. All of it. All.
And none of the people thought it necessary to point out that maybe this should be more private discussion between a patient and a doctor. If there was someone who left early realising this, I did not see.
The anger in the two neurologists standing at the end of my bed was palpable. (So much so, that not only my husband has it written down in his memo of the discussion in capital letters, but also the other lady patients in the room mentioned it afterwards, confused how and why. I’d like to know that, too.)
I cried and cried, I think I might have cried that much only when I was told, in the neurological rehab the previous year, that I could never ever be capable of continuing my research work, that I should concentrate on surviving in the everyday life. I cried because I knew I had to find another way to get the medical treatment I was now denied. I cried because I knew it would take months and months to recover from this hell, I had gone through for nothing. I cried because of all the pain, both physical and psychical caused to me. I cried because I was so angry and exhausted and helpless. I confess I even cried because I felt so humiliated, all those eyes on me lying in there in my sickly-pink hospital gown, buttons too scarcely placed and bare breasts visible through the gaps, my whole face swollen from crying, eyes barely visible, them seeing me in my most vulnerable moment of my life but not a single person showing any compassion, knowing that not only had the neurologists ruined my life, but also my future of any kind of help in the public health care system. I cried because nobody seemed to think it was ethically, even legally wrong to publicly talk about my health issues when there were so many outsiders present. And there were all those eyes watching, all those mouths remained silent.
When I tried to point out that it was only approx. 9 months ago, I had visited the chief psychiatrist in the psychiatric clinic at the very same hospital and I was said I had no psychiatric problems whatsoever, my diagnosis was purely neurological, there were all those ears listening. (It didn’t matter, the chief psychiatrist was wrong, said the chief neurologist, showing how much he respected other specialists or the head of another clinic.)
They heard when I tried to say that there had been two neurologists in this neurological clinic treating me for my myasthenia gravis and giving medication for it during the past two years, not to mention the neurological rehab I had attended to a couple of times a year earlier because of my myasthenia gravis, and none of these medical professionals had ever even hinted I actually might not have myasthenia gravis but psychiatric problems. (It didn’t matter, all those specialists were wrong, the Duo said. How simple, how convenient. And very, very professional argument, let me add.)
There were all those people listening when I was told that if I wanted, I could choose to go home, they had been discussing that there is no legal basis for involuntary treatment, that is, keeping me there without my permission, I was too coherent for that. (I must confess that at that point my heart skipped some beats and I felt so, so, so cold, fear shooting through me. They had even found out if they could keep me in without my permission. That was… Well, I have no words. From a neurological patient to a mental case considered if she needed involuntary treatment… For which, as you might guess, very, very, very serious, heavy justification are required in Finland.)
I was told that they wanted me to go to psychiatrist again, even though I had been there less than a year ago. (And may I just point out that my health problems had not changed during those months, they had been the same for years. The only thing changed was the rights of one specialist to take private patients.) So, I was to go to see the same psychiatrist again, the one whose opinion they had just said doesn’t count. I said that of course I’ll go, I’d do anything they asked me to, I want to collaborate. I just wanted to go home first and rest, and the chief neurologist admitted that he sees my point, that it would be ok. And everyone was there, listening what was said. And then, later, in my papers was written that patient refused the proposition to go to a psychiatrist.
Everyone was listening, when I was told that along with the visit to a psychiatrist, I needed psychiatric rehab, and heard all the planned details. Like, it’d happen in 3-6-week periods and would take considerable amount of time, as my (mental) condition was so serious and it’d be a long process, to get me better. That this was the treatment and care they were offering me. Everyone also heard, when I asked how the rehab would actually, in real life, improve my situation, as I really wanted the same ability or condition or performance back, I had when my medical treatment was on, the one which had shown good results. I was told that that would be a wrong route.
I was publicly told that I was to see the chief neurologist month or so later, in a control visit, where we’d discuss about my rehab in detail.
I still tried to argue and asked if they had actually read how I benefited from the medical treatment and on what kind of medical, scientific grounds, but the other neurologist said he didn’t find my treatment convincing (and at the same time said they hadn’t read anything). I and my husband, we both tried to remind the chief neurologist how he, during our first meeting, had said that in theory he does think my treatment could work, that he did not deny it. Now, he denied saying that. What they admitted was that it was clear that my condition was worse now, but they said it was just everyday life there, that “these kinds of cases are dealt with in Satalinna”, the mental hospital of the district. The chief neurologist also publicly denied he had said that he actually was afraid to write the prescriptions in fear of the consequences, when we reminded him about it.
All of those outsiders were there, listening when I was told that they wanted to cancel my Mestinon meds, my myasthenia gravis medication, now that they had decided I hadn’t myasthenia. (I didn’t and a month later the chief neurologist, who asked if I had, said that he won’t be cancelling it as it’d be too many changes in my medication in such a short notice. But a month earlier that was just fine an idea.) The chief neurologist told me that he had never, in his 30-year career seen such a low dose of Mestinon than I had. He quivered a bit when I pointed out that it was quite usual in myasthenic circles, I knew many patients who had even lower dosing than I did. (At that time, my dosing was 10mg pills ten times a day, but these days it is 300-360mg a day.) The chief neurologist had said 5 days earlier to me that myasthenia gravis must be kept in mind always when my medication is considered. Now, five day later, he had forgotten both my myasthenia and my myasthenia medication. And thus, everyone heard even the details of my medical dosing. How… lovely. I know I am talking about private health issues in public right now, but it is completely different, when I am doing it myself, voluntarily, instead of others deciding, without permission, to publicly open up my medical matters.
And I cried and cried, and tried to defend myself, my husband tried to defend me, and there were this huge congregation standing still in there, silently listening.
They were all there when the Duo said, out of the blue, that of course they knew I was going to manufacture complaints and lawsuits, but that they could not lose, it would be easy to write into my medical files that patient denied the care she was offered. (I mean, well, that still sounds pretty bad to my ears, but how come, nobody reacted to that.)
And they all heard when both my husband and I said repeatedly that no, I am going to try everything they will suggest, of course I will. (I had no other choice; I knew without them saying it aloud that I’d get quite dangerous markings in my medical files if I’d refuse to do anything, they wanted me to.) What was written in my medical files later, though, was that patient refused the treatment. I was told publicly there that I was allowed to go home, and that the decision of leaving would not affect to my (psychiatric) care. The chief neurologist said that he’d understand any decision I’d made. How gracious of him. He just forgot a lot of what he had ever said.
Just to make sure I had understood everything, I asked, if this means that my brain injury, my other chronical illnesses, my alpha1-antitrypsine defency and all, these would not be cared for either from now on? Only psychiatric problems? The chief neurologist had a short and thorough answer for me. Let’s not go there. (Literal translation: let’s not open this.) At least, now I know my place. No help, nothing from now on.
I tried, for the last time to defend myself. I tried to point out that even the head of Valvira, the National Supervisory Authority for Welfare had said my case must be solved. Every single person in the crowded room heard, when the other neurologist said, in loud, aggressive voice that the chief of Valvira isn’t the one making decisions here. Even if he had a permission from the President of Finland, he could not act against medical doctrines and views. What about ethical side of medical doctrines and views, then? That, that didn’t matter, and everyone was there, hearing. The chief neurologist joined the chorus and said that what the head of Valvira had written was only an authority decision. Authorities could not decide what they do in a hospital, it’s them in the hospital who has the power to decide how they treat patients. In principle, that is somewhat true, yes, but to put it like that is quite an interesting way to express it and tells a lot about the ethics and general views of these medical professionals, who had taken the Hippocrates Oath.
A quick detour here to remind what the oath taken by doctors in Finland actually includes. To summarize, it’s an oath of ethics. It’s about doing no harm and doing what is best for the patient, to respect the fellow colleagues, to serve others respecting humanity and life, to respect the will of patients and keeping their confidential information secret. And how many of these had been broken, even in this conversation only? Quite a few, if not all. So, to drag into the discussion the medical doctrines and views they could not act against… Hypocrites.
“We operate like this because this is such an authority issue”, said the chief neurologist, in front of everyone in the room. So, suddenly it was not a private patient issue anymore that was handled. I was an authority issue. This is an interesting point of view I very much want an explanation to. How their decisions and acts were influenced by this. How was I suddenly an authority issue, not just an ordinary patient? “So many instances have sent so many emails. We must act in a way that everything is defined and documented. And our suggestion for your medical care is this (psychiatric rehab).”
And then we get to the point. I wasn’t a patient anymore. I was an authority issue.
I think nobody can argue against this, not after everything happened and said: I was dealt not as a patient, I was dealt as an authority issue so tricky that they needed to make sure every single instance in any way ever related to this would be silenced for good. And what’d me more convenient and efficient way to do it than to decide that the patient is a mental case?
At this point, right in the end of our show, I asked again if indeed they were going to change my diagnosis even though I was repeatedly told that was not going to happen, and if yes, what they thought my brand-new psychiatric diagnosis was, then. It was only then the Duo had the grace to look embarrassed. They waved around them and pointed all the dozens of people around the room and said it might be better if they’d not tell it so publicly. To which I gave a dry, short laugh and shrugged that everyone had already hear everything thus far, it would not matter to me anymore, not at this point, not after everything already said. And the stepped forward and actually and literally whispered, almost mouthed the word conversion disorder, which I’d have find absolutely hilarious after everything, this behavior of the Duo, unless the word had been so luridly horrific.
Don’t get me wrong, I know there is absolutely nothing wrong with mental illness. But after all the specialist, year after year emphasizing that my problems were solely and purely neurological, that there was absolutely no indication that I had psychiatric problems. But suddenly now, in these somewhat vague, suspicious and foggy circumstances, that was exactly what I was told I had. Psychiatric problems, and psychiatric problems only. After everything, and especially later, when I learnt about so much more about the circumstances, about how my medical files were visited by the head of the psychiatric hospital, the substance abuse treatment unit, all the other foggy login markings, after documents vanishing from my medical files, after everything, it was impossible to swallow as a truth.
All this time there were these people listening. When the Duo said that it is a common problem, that people are afraid of a psychiatric diagnosis even if they were just diagnosis among others. That a diagnosis is not a blame. Which triggered some strong emotions, contempt included, in me, still does. How on Earth can a medical professional, a neurologist, say aloud that a psychiatric diagnosis is not a blame? What it says about the person, to even think like it, how it crosses even his mind to think that somehow, it’d be a blame? I pointed out that I didn’t consider the psychiatric diagnoses a problem as such, what I considered to be a massive problem they tried to twist me into that mould without any examination, any kind of indication that this could be the case. That I had a problem with a diagnosis without any proof. Why they could say like the other neurologist just had minutes ago arguing that they changed my myasthenia diagnosis, because objective proof was required for making a diagnosis, but a neurologist could just draw a psychiatric diagnosis from a hat, on the go? The answer: see, it is a problem to you.
Excuse my language but hell yes, it is.
End of Part Nine of Ten.
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