Hi.
I am writing this from my house. I returned yesterday (Saturday).
The hospital had discharged me as of Friday, 5PM. We had arranged for one of my neighbors to come pick me up at the hospital. When he arrived, he loaded my stuff into his pick-up truck. The nurse wheeled me to the truck. It's one of those trucks that you have to climb onto a high footboard before you can drop your behind on the seat. After a month sitting almost motionless on my back, I didn't have the physical strength to climb that step, so I had to abandon my project and return to my room.
By that time, they removed all bedding from my bed. First order of business was to feed me supper and find sheets. Now, one wouldn't think that finding clean sheets in a hospital would be a herculean task. It only took 3 hours to scrounge all over the hospital until a set of sheets could be obtained for the bed. Someone came in and started installing the fitted sheet. She was called away for 45 minutes. When she returned, she finished installing the fitted sheet. I got out of the wheelchair and into bed.
I spent a month in a deffective bed that was basically possessed by the forces of evil. It would raise me, lower me, change position, inflate the mattress, fully deflate the mattress, left me on my back on the bed's metal base when the mattress deflated, then it would over-inflate one side and not the other. Space Mountain and the best torture implements of the Holy Spanish Inquisition had nothing on that bed.
By the time I climbed into the bed with a fresh bottom sheet, it was past 11PM. I could finally undress. I was also tired beyond measure. I get cranky when I get that tired. There are a few things in life I try not to do, but when crankiness sets in... all manners go out the window. I don't like that. I fell asleep naked, resting on my left side. The attendant threw a sheet and a blanket over me and let me be. A nurse woke me around 1AM to give a pill. That didn't help my crankiness. The empty side of the bed had over-inflated, whereas the side I slept on had not inflated at all. It took all of the wee bit of strength I could muster to climb onto the inflated part of the bed to take my pill.
So, the pill was presented in one of those little paper cups. The nurse reached for my water pitcher. I told her:
- I have to tell you something. Grin and bear with me.
- I own a pet snake, a creature we dote over every day the Good Lord brings about.
- My snake gets a bowl of fresh water every day the Good Lord brings about.
- It's not as if Lucy can get out of her locked enclosure to go to the sink, fill her own bowl and return home.
- A good snake owner knows to do that for his pet.
- The water in that pitcher is now 3 days old.
She tried to object, but I raised my hand and I told her to talk to the hand because the brain wasn't willing to listen any more. I continued with:
- It's not like I could get out of bed, walk over to the sink and refill it myself. I can't stand on my feet more than 10 seconds without fainting. It is abundantly documented in my file. I am not making this up.
- Yet, here I sat many times over the course of a month with a pitcher of 3-day old water.
- What's your excuse: are we in a drought? Is the water bad? Is it just a case of plain neglect? Say nothing, I don't want to hear it.
- Next time I go to the hospital, I want a nurse who owns a pet snake to care of me.
- Now, darling, wipe that disdainful look off your face and get me a clean pitcher filled with fresh water and ice. Resist the impulse to spit into it. And for the love of everything that is Holy, do find the means to secure some clean cups, too. Come on now, move along.
While I was saying this, the bed became possessed again. Of its own volution, it completely deflated on my side and started inflating again on the full width of the bed. It finally stopped at some random point, which turned out to be almost fine. I could live with that until a new round of possession inevitably manifested itself.
Early Saturday morning, a case worker came to see me and told me it would cost me $45 for a wheelchair transport van to take me home around noon. All that trouble when a few bills could have taken care of the whole thing? Transportation was arranged quickly. At noon, I was laying naked in bed. I had been waiting since 9AM for someone to come help me get dressed. The driver was none too pleased and I was getting crankier by the minute. He went and got someone to help me. So, there this attendant arrived to help me get dressed dressed without falling, while the driver waited in the door's frame. I told him: Please do the hall a favor and close the door whilst I hide my shame.
I finally got home (2 miles away) at the beginning of the afternoon. I am so glad to be here. It's far from being completely over, but at lease I am home and that's a big part of healing.
Stay healthy my friends... At one time, I told myself that there are worse things than dying on the operation table. Staying alive and suffering through these demeaning situations I endured for a month is worse than death. Death is swift and final. Hospital stays are akin to cruel and unusual punishment. I have cried a lot in the last 4 or 5 days. Funny, since I returned home, I haven't felt like crying. I must be getting better.
Take care, all.
Sylvain.
