Titanium Hip, and almost a 3 hr drive, and I'm propped up like Nero, on my nest of 19 pillows, with a mountain of books arrayed within reach (but that I cannot yet read, due to Narcotics(!))
Reachers, Grabbers, a telescoping scratcher(prolly the most sensible investment I've ever made),a walker, with a little basket, and my usual trapeze.
Fentanyl, and Dilaudid, injected into my spine...as well as "Versed",
which makes ya forget...and I wake up after 10 seconds(actually around 2
hours) to Fog and a Sandy Beach with a hospital bed and a funny nurse
person, asking pesky questions.
I answer with a falling brook of metaphysical nonsense...and then(Time?what Is Time?)
I'm being wheeled...rather the bed is being wheeled(I am a passenger(il
Passant)) through corridors that all look strangely alike, going up and
down elevators...all to no apparent purpose.
Then we take a sudden hard right, fly right into the door jamb(crash! shudder!aaargggh!) and I am lifted(?) and...
I'm in room 419....fussed over by nurses and aides, and doctors, and cleaning ladies, and my wife and dad.
Dilaudid continues till next day...but it's effects continue even
now.(co-on-sti-pat-ion...sung to the tune of Carly Simon's
I take myself off of it, because I couldn't find my mind...and am remarkably pain tolerant.
I don't realise these other, horrible, effects, till the 3rd
day...after gorging myself on all manner of tasty vittles....thus making
I resolve, from 3rd day, am, to eat fruit, alone...Joe, the tube-Nosed Fruit-Bat.
"Post Operative Fever"....and then, according to the Doc, "Costipation
Related Fever" hits every afternoon...and abates 4 hours later with
3rd day, midday...I'm up, again...sitting in a chair by the window(I had a great view), and the Hospital's Chaplain walks in(an older woman(and it's a Catholic Hosp)).
I open with, "I'm a Secular Humanist/Mystic".She appears intrigued, sits
down and says, "Do tell...what do you mean by "Mystic"?...
Hour later...long after her appointed time(Time?),...she must go...says
she's glad she's met such an interesting individual....most well read
she's ever met.
Doc(all 12 feet of him, in his blonde, boyishness) comes bounding into
the room, at 7 this morning...looks at the "Wound"(google: Amfortas
Wound)...says, "Get out of here", and is gone.
Pretty nurses, for the most part...and all but one is nice, careful, and super attentive.
I sent a note , addressed,"to the Head Honcho"...encouraging him/her/them to give Raises, all around.
I was all but Nekkid for this whole period...those little backwards
dresses they give you are more trouble than they're worth...what with
IV, Walker,PulseOx, etc etc.
It was obvious that they were having a care for My Modesty(I have
none)...always pulling the damned dress this way and that...so the first
day, I said.."Y'all see horridly obese patients, every day, in the most
unholy positions...If my Nekkid doesn't bother you, it sure as hell
doesn't bother me." Thus, the futile attempts at Modesty in such an immodest situation, was dispensed with.
I am, by all accounts, a Model Patient.
Here endeth the Tale.
..we're pretty washed out.
I haven't slept for more than an hour at a time in 4 days.
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