It is different to be patient in your 20s than your 60s. You have more complications and don't rebound from things what way in which you prepared - should have been prepared at all.
The EMTs made me laugh when they were getting info while I lay in the road. Standard questions: name, address, date of birth. On the last one a few of them go - "oh happy birthday!" It wasn't. I had been two days prior. But I wasn't expecting it at all and i was played face down, it made me laugh. Out loud.
This is the second longest hospitalization that I have had. The last time I didn't have diagnosable mental illnesses. But hospital psychosis is a real thing - not that I have it. I know, because I told my team I needed a psych eval.
I woke up having a conversation with someone who wasn't there. But I realized it. I knew it. And it was the third time during this stay that it happened. I finally had to say something to someone. I also wasn't ruling out opioid induced conversations Meds are a fucked up thing.
But I was also super antsy. Like I couldn't focus on a single thing for more than five seconds. The NYT games? OMG - a disaster. I must have opened and closed Spelling Bee 145 times. Not even an exaggeration. As it would be explained to me later, it was probably a panic attack.
I felt captive. I felt vulnerable. I wanted to be gone - out. Of the hospital. Not life. Earlier in the week with the massive amounts of pain, I did wish someone - anyone - to shoot me.
It's a hospital. I still had to do the work. Peeing. Moving. Walking. Exercising. But I can't say it was a great day.
Things were better when 710 came to visit. And while I love the man, I want him gone sooner than later. It's no fun watching me get vitals or cathed. Or worse, just sitting there. I'd rather he come say hi and stuff and rescue Shep.
Yesterday also told me my next 12 weeks are going to suck. So many restrictions on my movements - I won't be shopping, or making dinner or walking the dig (I kind of knew that last one). No cleaning. No yardwork. Everything falls on 710 and I feel like a huge failure.
The surgeon came by. I'd only seen him in an OR cap and mask. He is kind of a stunner. I'd add a pic, but I looked and none of them did him justice. Also a bit on the spectrum I'd guess. But I he said I "walked" past his home when I was injured, My immediate response: "well where the fuck were you?". He laughed.
I axed him if he knew the doc who found me. He did not, but picked up his phone and called him immediately. I go, "no - I only wanted his email". He goes," this will make day. Trust me. "
The surgeon goes on and on commending the doc for his actions and giving an update on me. 710 and I can hear the elation is his response. I got to talk with the doc and thank him, figuring no one ever gets noticed for their good deeds.
So the day ended on a good note and maybe by evening's end tomorrow I will be home.
Hopefully.
Song by: the Roots
5 comments:
I am so glad you got to thank that doctor. Hoping you are able to go home soon; everyone feels better at home. Maybe you could get a dog walker or home aide to help out the first week or so. Will be thinking of you.
I have never been diagnosed, but opiod pain meds made me paranoid beyond belief. I was a grumpy patient, and argued with the nurses to reduce the dosage and stop taking them. The hospitalist at discharge insisted that I had to fill the script on the way home, or we would hold me over the weekend, I did, then never opened the bottle. You will be better at home, get on with healing and physical therapy. If you can fly, go to Germany. Take the break, enjoy the vacation. A month after I returned to work, I took two weeks off and went to Germany. It did my mental and physical health a world of good.
I don’t know what to say, other than I’m thinking about you. Try to be patient with yourself. Take good care.
Hope you get to go home today/ Shep will make you feel better. Feeling trapped is awful. >>Glenda
This is a healthy post my friend , healthy and frustrated
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