I recently enjoyed my first stay ever in a hospital, thanks to several miss-diagnosis from a certain primary care outfit which I won't be going to anymore. I guess I should have known better than to trust a place that has a sign that reads "Health Care Services - Humans use front door, animals around back please."
The first ray of sunshine in my Emergency Room visit was that the waiting room was completely empty. This was 9am on a Saturday, which is usually not such a quiet time. In fact 30 minutes later, the place exploded with action. There were people lying on gurneys all through the halls with various afflictions. I was happy to have my own room, so I could feel like shit in relative privacy.
The next piece of luck was getting a room upstairs. Within a few hours of arriving I was whisked upstairs and brought to a room. Being pushed in those beds on wheels is embarrassing when you're not unconscious. People look at you and wonder what your deal is. "He gonna die?" I heard one kid stage whisper his parent as I was pushed by. I guess I didn't look so good.
My roommate was an octogenarian with an attitude. Bill was laid up with several afflictions, one of which he blamed on a whore from his stint in Korea in the 50's. We didn't talk much, our privacy curtains remained pulled so we only traded nods when leaving the room or using the washroom.
Bill was a bit of a grump, complaining about the food ("tastes like shit!"), the doctors ("they keep poking me, maybe I'll take a poke at one of them!"). He most detested his phone most of all, which rang a few times a day, mostly his wife checking in on him. Without fail, when it rang he would curse ("Ah shit, what now?"). It got so I had to stifle a laugh when his phone rang, his mini-tyraid always cracking me up.
I didn't really want visitors while I was there. I felt like crap and looked it as well, but mostly I felt dumb being stuck in that adjustable bed all day. By coincidence, my folks were in town this past week, so they had to come visit. My mom stared at me like I was going to die and my dad read the paper. It was wonderful. There was some comic relief, in the form in inappropriate comments that my folks are good for. The blood nurse was siphoning off a few tubes of my red stuff while my parents were in the room. She was of East Indian heritage, although had no accent. While standing right behind her, my dad says "You know in India, they still use leeches?" To make this worse, my Mom says, "What did you say?" and my Dad repeats it. only LOUDER.
The nurse pretended not to hear.
The day and night shift staff were as different as you could get. My day nurses Joe and Donna were awesome. Fast, efficient and on the ball. The night staff... not so much. I was right near the nurses station, but when my IV pump would beep, there was no reaction. After 5 mins, I would hit my call button because I didn't want to piss my roommate off. Another 5 mins would go by, and I would begin being thankful I wasn't bleeding to death or turning blue from lack of oxygen. The night crew didn't check in to see if I needed anything, or turn down my bed or leave me a little chocolate on the pillow like the nice places do. I was going to complain to the management, but felt it unwise to anger the nursing staff. They could make the stay longer, and more painful.
Sponge baths - I didn't get one! I had to shower myself, which felt great but I really was hoping for the sponge bath experience.
I bet Nurse Joe had some mad sponge skills.
I began to draw comparisons between a hospital stay to prison. The food is bland and functional, you can't choose your roommate, you have to wear clothing that makes you stand out as an inmate (which prevents escape) and you learn to make a shank as soon as possible. I palmed a knife at lunch my second day and kept it handy, in case on of the night crew tried to get too friendly, which turned out not to be an issue, because I never really saw them.
One night my brother called to check on my and we got talking about the food. I told him the real pain was knowing I was situated a few hundred yards from some excellent pub food (on the outside world the hospital is located among several college bars). After hanging up, there was a knock on my door and a pizza delivery dude stood there. Tim had ordered the pizza prior to our call and had convinced them to deliver it up to my room. Pepperoni was not on my approved diet, but Nurse Ratchet was otherwise occupied, so I had a few pieces before she showed up. My bro knew exactly how to lift my spirits. Pizza.
The profound boredom wore on me. I had books, but my head would hurt to read. A book on CD provided distraction, but I had heard it before. There was a tv, and it was mostly crap. So much crap.
One bright spot? Univision, a Spanish language channel. It's truly amazing. Crazy, wacky shows with beautiful women and bizarre costumes. One example,
El Chapulín Colorado. This is the guy who inspired the Simpson's "Bumblebee Man".
I didn't understand a word of it, but El C made me laugh. Made me wish I got Univision at home.
Sweet, sweet release. After 5 days I was granted parole/house arrest to finish the recovery there. Which is where I am now. I'm still bored, wishing I could go do SOMETHING, but at least now I'm back with the family, which I very much missed. The kids were worried, and they weren't allowed on the floor I was on, so I only had phone time with them while away.
I'm getting there. I feel stronger and coughing less and my doc should let me go back in the world soon. He said I can't play hockey for 6 weeks, and I should abstain from alcohol while on the meds. I can do that. I think. I f I need motivation I can just recall the hospital visit. Like prison, the memory serves to keep you in line.
