Was in the Hospital - Hated It!!
- From: "René" <My.Pencil@xxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Sat, 10 Jun 2006 17:22:21 GMT
A couple of weeks ago, I knew I was getting the start of a bladder
infection. Not too bad, but enough to know it was going to get worse.
I couldn't get in to see my doctor until Friday, when my daughter got off
work and could take me. By that time, I knew I had a fever and was vomiting
everything. I was the last patient in Urgent Care at 9:30 pm. The doctor
gave me enough antibiotics to last until my daughter could get to the drug
store. I took one as soon as I got home, and up it came -- along with my
usual 3X a day Oxycontin.
So DD called the doctor and he told her I should go to the ER. Off we went,
and things sorta slipped out of focus then. I remember some of the ride,
but not getting into the car. My temp was 103F when I got there and they
tried very hard to get an IV in me. I have the world's worst veins, and
even the Flight Team guys couldn't get a line in. By that time, I felt like
I was in this long, dark tunnel and whatever was happening to me was
superfluous.
My DD, however, was counting all the needle jabs and said it took them 8
tries. They told me I needed to be admitted to the hospital. I had
expected to go to the ER, get a shot of antibiotics, something for the N/V,
then go home loaded with prescriptions. Next thing I knew I was up on 5th
floor and being wheeled into a small room.
The dark tunnel took over and I couldn't keep my eyes open. It was very
lucky that I always carry an up-to-date list of all my medical and surgical
stuff. They had it all -- including my long list of meds, and the name of
my pain management doctor. I just drifted into a cocoon of vague images. I
had this feeling that being sick wasn't so bad because I could sleep, sleep,
sleep.
The next day, the doctor examined me and palpated my abdomen. My right
flank and mid section were very tender to touch. So, he orders an
Ultrasound the next day. The day after that, I had a CT scan, which was an
experience from hell.
My fever subsided and I became more and more aware of how uncomfortable I
was. You know that I've been sleeping in my recliner for several years, so
that hospital bed was a torture chamber. Even with head and feet
adjustments, it was horrible.
By Tuesday, I announced I was going home. They gave me the usual, "Oh! You
can't leave until the doctor sees you" stuff. I said, "Oh! Yes, I can."
It was 4pm and the doctor hadn't even made rounds. I told the RN that if he
didn't show up by 6, I was just getting up and going home. Getting away
from that bed was that important to me. She said she'd call him. He was in
my room at 5:30. He wanted me to have some more GI type tests, but I said
"No" and he said I could go. (Gee, thanks)
I've been taking my pills and sleeping pretty much ever since. In my
beautiful, blue velvet Lazy Boy recliner!!!! But while I was in the
hospital, I realized that I could never be a chronic bed patient. When I
get older and get to the point where I can't take care of myself, I'd find
the means to find my own way out.
It's not my depression, but my recognition of how much I can and cannot
tolerate regarding my pain and other ailments. In that one area of daily
living, I am absolutely positive that I cannot be expected to be on a
hospital bed longer than 4 days. I really don't believe in suicide because
of feelings of hopelessness. But I can believe in it because of feelings of
helplessness. There's a big difference.
René
.
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