***
Note: Part I, 6/10/13; Part III, 6/13; Part IV, 6/14.
Note: Part I, 6/10/13; Part III, 6/13; Part IV, 6/14.
The
next morning, with me still immobilized on my back, tubes down my throat, hands
bound at my sides, A----- came in early.
She herself was fighting through a tough time with a significant gastric affliction and had
figured she’d be safer eating only yogurt and drinking skim milk (for two or
three days).
She
said something to me, and then I couldn’t see her anymore because she sat down
next to my bed. Of course, I couldn’t
respond. I heard the nurses asking her
if she was all right. Our Primary Care Physician
was there too. I heard A-----’s voice
saying she felt weak. The doctor asked
if she had been eating and drinking properly. A-----
started to answer…
But
then I heard her fall to the floor. She
came to right away but was embarrassed, not only for having fainted but also
for having made a big mess. Not only was
her doctor right there but there were several nurses too, who had her all
sorted out in just a couple of minutes, or that’s the way it seemed to the
silent witness lying motionless on the big bed.
A-----
was whisked away to Emergency, and she spent the rest of the day and that night
in her own hospital room upstairs.
I got
the sense all this made quite a big impression on the hospital
staff. If it were possible, I think they
felt even more empathy for poor ole me than they had before, and every time A------
visited from then on, she was greeted as a hero.
*
I
neglected to say earlier that as our moving day approached, a rather
disconcerting development had been occurring to me.
For my whole life I’ve been known for a couple of distinctive features:
a strong appetite and an ability to sleep soundly. Both of these inveterate traits were
significantly disturbed in early 2013; looking back, that seems
significant.
By the
end of February, I’d pretty well lost my enjoyment of eating, altogether; I ate
only to be polite and because I knew I needed nourishment to stay healthy. Also, I couldn’t sleep at night. It got so bad I was having actual panic
attacks; I knew I was all right and everything was fine, but I had a deep sense
of dread and couldn’t let myself go, to be vulnerable as one is when
sleeping. It was weird, awful.
Later,
in Intensive Care it didn’t matter how I felt about eating. With my tubes, I wasn’t getting any food,
only nourishment through the I. V. But
not being able to sleep and having a deep sense of dread did matter. Big time!
At
home before, when I couldn’t sleep, I just got up and did something – read, did
a crossword, went to the bathroom, walked around a little, listened to classical
music on the radio – and then tried to sleep again.
In the ICR, though, I could change the t.v. channel and I could make the top of my bed go up or down… That was about it. The rest - while I was immobilized - was rigorous self-discipline and mind games (there were seven large squares of ceiling tiles from my left to my right, each with four smaller squares inside, and there were nine large squares from in front of me to behind me).
In the ICR, though, I could change the t.v. channel and I could make the top of my bed go up or down… That was about it. The rest - while I was immobilized - was rigorous self-discipline and mind games (there were seven large squares of ceiling tiles from my left to my right, each with four smaller squares inside, and there were nine large squares from in front of me to behind me).
So getting through the night was a painful struggle. When the sunlight began to peek into the corner
of my I. C. room about 5:30 a.m. I experienced such release, such a feeling of
accomplishment: the night was over! (I
usually nodded off at about that time and had my best hour or so of sleep in
the 24 hours beforehand… before staff came in to take my blood pressure and draw
blood for the lab).
*
When I finally got my hands unbound, I could help pass the
time writing. One of the things I
constructed was this:
Grandmother used to say that during a rough time, you should find one particular thing about what was going on that was good. (Saying “It could be worse” was a cheap cop-out, by the way.)
Well , one good thing about being in the hospital is that everyone always knows what is the most appropriate topic of conversation. You could say it was sunny or stormy, pale or dark, nice or unpleasant, dreary or invigorating… But you did know, from the get-go, what you were saying this about!
Right now, for instance, I’d say I’m fair and only partly cloudy.”
(I realized later that I’d intended to point out that this most appropriate topic of conversation in the hospital was my very favorite one for people to talk about too... that being ME!)
*
