This was the Friday before last at the T-Mobile store, about an hour before I ended up in the emergency room. This, as my mother documented, is what I look like when I’m 100% out of spoons.
This is the second weekend in a row that I’ve spent in the hospital. And I have to tell you, it’s been a pretty shitty two weeks. First my heart medicine was off, then my stomach medicine, then my body pretty much just refused to keep working. And I can guarantee you it didn’t care that I haven’t worked in a few weeks, or that I finally had some promising client meetings—it didn’t care that Rush Hashana was starting today, or that R.J’s birthday is on Tuesday. Nope, it was going to happen anyways.
So I’m trying to look on the bright side of things.
Like that my concierge doctor helped me to once again bypass the standard ER chaos.
The ER is the worst place you’ll ever actually want to be. And after forty straight minutes of dry heaving on Friday morning—I really wanted to be there. They were able to give me some medicine right away to help calm down my stomach and the straining muscles that were getting a pretty serious work out trying to eject the single pretzel I had snacked on. After the Ativan shot it all got pretty hazy, but I’m pretty sure we were only down there for about an hour.
Even though I had to share a room, I ended up with an awesome roommate.
I ended up rooming with another girl who I could exchange horror stories with. She was a Crohn’s patient—and a mom, which, as you can read below—always amazes me to meet. It’s hard enough managing your own dysfunctional body, raising children while living in one kind of blows my mind. It shouldn’t, because my mom had fibromyalgia and was taking care of my sister and I when we were screaming 5-year-olds before she had any coping techniques to handle the exhaustion. I think it’s good to have someone understanding who can really hear you when you vent about the stress and disappointment of chronic illness, but it’s also pretty inspiring to see just how much other people can do despite the obstacles their disease sticks them with. (She also wasn’t anything like my last hospital roommate who blared Law and Order on her bedside TV all freaking night so I had to listen to people being murdered while I was trying to temper a migraine.)
I had visitors.
As a matter of reality, most of the time I’m in the hospital I don’t get visitors. It’s not something I usually take personally, but sometimes it can be a downer. It’s not that people don’t visit because they don’t care/don’t like me/ I smell bad, I think it’s mostly that me being in the hospital is such a freaking frequent occurrence that most of the time it’s just not a big deal. And even if another friend was in the hospital for the exact same reason I was last week, it would still be less of a big deal for me than it would be for them. This time however, besides Mom, R.J, and Alan—I also had my grandparents and my friend, Margo visit.
And sometimes just get a singing stuffed animal, or gossiping with a friend for 20 minutes can make all the difference in the world when it comes to your attitude towards your disease. When I’m here I get so disconnected from my social life, I get really scared I won’t have any friends to come back to after I get out of the hospital. So knowing they’re still there, still wanting to hang out is a big relief.
Cherry Ices and Painkillers.
Need I say more?
After two weeks in and out of the hospital I only want a few things. I want to take a hot bath. I want to put on my clothes without having to disconnect an IV. I want snuggle up with R.J and Happy and watch Breaking Bad. Being home in your own bed after sleeping in the hospital is the best.
So can I ask? How long are you supposed to try and get used to it before you’re allowed to look up and believe it’s all just a phase?
EDIT: Some of the phrasing/spelling was a little off in this entry. Sorry, but there was a whole, crazy party going on in my IV the day I posted.
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