WebKittyn Warbles
Monday, November 10, 2008
Killing Time at Albany Medical Center
I spent a lot of time in the hospital pissed off. Pissed off that I was there. Pissed off that the hospital was two hours from my family and four hours from my friends. Pissed off that my mother could only get there once or twice a week. Pissed off at the world. There was one ten-day period where I unplugged my phone, sent my mother home when she showed up and didn't talk to anyone. I sat up all night reading and watching tv and slept all day, pissed off. They kept trying to offer me Xanax but I didn't want it, I wanted to be pissed off.
I don't know what snapped me out of it but I woke up one morning and I was tired of being pissed off. I knew I was stuck there and would be for a while so I decided to stop being pissed off and deal with it. I started going down to smoke a cig once in the morning and at night, it was enough exercise to get me off the heparin shots (in the lower abdomen, not fun). In the beginning I had to practically drag my ass back up the stairs on the way back but it became a way of measuring my progress. I'll never forget the first night I had the strength to make it up the stairs without using the banister, I knew I was getting better.
I got to really know the nurses on the floor and the assistants and the aides who really did all the work. I had a great medical student assigned to my case and I spent a lot of time talking it out with him. I found small ways to amuse myself like flashing the chest catheter at small children in the lobby and knowing that when Darkstar or my mother made it up it meant contraband pizza from the cafeteria.
I spent all of Easter Sunday in the hospital wearing a silly plastic pink bonnet with a plastic pink flower. I had some good friends send me fritos and blow pops in the mail and I always had something to read.
If I had only thought to stockpile all the Xanax they tried to give me I could have made a killing selling those things! I didn't want to numb any of it, I wanted to feel and I wanted to act on those feelings. I had a right to be sad, let me cry and go away and I'll get over it.
I slept well there, surprisingly. The bed was comfortable and I had no problems tuning out the world during the day and sleeping. They bothered me less during the day, it worked out well. My room was right across from the Nursing Station so at night it was always busy and the hours flew by. The phlebotomists came around 3:30 AM three times a week and on the rare nights I didn't have a roommate the nurses would escape into my room for a blow pop and some conversation.
There were occasional bouts of pissed off here and there, it got frustrating towards the end and being so far away from my dad while he was in the hospital made it even harder. It's true though, if one searches hard enough one can find inside the strength to get through damn near anything.
Eight weeks is a long time, especially after the three weeks in Hell Hospital and the lost week I don't remember. You have to find some way to pass time time or you end up accepting the Xanax and numbing out for the whole time.
I hope I never have to spend eight weeks in a hospital again, even one as great as Albany Medical Center.
<-- Steal me!
