needs: Hospital- what I wish I knew.
Oh! for a time machine that switches out my small acts with streetwise moves I wish I made. I normally undertake each of these small things on auto-pilot, which is why I continued to do so, despite being in hospital with my girl.
I brought my big mama bag into ED.
I knew she was going to be admitted after the merry go ride that is ED and feeling pretty clever for having a hospital bag, I took it into ED. I didn’t realise then that there is no room (or rooms for that matter) in ED. There is only room for her, and the people that help her and the machines that help them do that. There is barely room for me and all my folds and curves to fit in the slithers of space around her. I moved the bag, I apologized for the bag, I shifted the bag and even though I needed the bag much later, I wished it wasn’t there.
I went to the toilet.
This is not a crime but the security in ED meant that after two winding corridors, my throbbing bladder cancelled the part of my brain that remembers the way back. I had crossed some yellow line, a barrier spell and forgot to leave breadcrumbs on the forest floor to find my way back to sleeping beauty. The return trip had me standing in line with waiting families at Triage, searching for elusive eye contact, to buzz me in. My girl was safe and sound, but she was without me for longer than a tinkle.
I went to get food.
It had been hours, and we were waiting for more tests and she was in and out of sleep. From the minute she went down, a trigger for chips, a burger and a shake (not the kale kind) had set aflame inside me. As a not so undercover Olympian comfort eater, I was constantly hungry in hospital so when a nurse said “You should eat, she will be fine”, I took her professional advice feigning indifference to the burger calling me. I pulled the curtain back on my return, bearing all kinds of sweetness and light, to find my girl and her bed had vanished into not so thin air.
I answered my phone.
All the people that loved her, and me and some that just wanted to know, and all the people who didn’t, were calling, flashing, vibrating. All the usual calls that I normally take, some demanding information and consolation, I took them all. I took the calls even though I was wired tight. I took the calls out of habit, despite the worry rippling over the contours of my wrecked brain. I assumed I could engage in my ordinary life and I could not.
I didn’t speak up.
She was admitted late, very late, just before midnight, 11 hours into our stay. The ED nurse rattled off the events that brought her into that bed, brace and blue gown and I remained silent. There was more to say, more for them to know and I was not sure if I should say so.
I had a shower.
In the morning, while she slept, I stretched my crumpled body and found a shower. There is nothing like that first shower. The water rolls down covering me with calm. Elation for someone’s left over body wash, a hospital towel, turning my undies inside out, making me feel fresh-er and new-ish. By the time my tell-tale wet hair arrives at her bedside, she has sunk low into her bed. My girl is surrounded by a gaggle of doctors at the end of rounds. Her panicked eyes settle on mine and with a woosh they are gone, and while I soothed her worry, I realise I didn’t have any of the wisdom they had had come to impart.
I said come and visit.
And they did. And it was too much. And it was not why we were in hospital or what she needed.
means: Hospital- frequent flyer hit list
I do these things because I need to know I have done what I can. I do these things because it empowers us in a situation where we have no power. I do these things because it helps her.
- I take a small go anywhere bag with my wallet (ID, card and cash), phone, headphones and water.
- I have her history, or at least a current review letter or list of medication in my phone.
- In ED, during the first round of observations, I ask where the closest toilet is.
- I observe a strict no eating rule while she is in ED. I don’t have head space for my food issues.
- When we are admitted to the ward, I listen carefully to handover from the ED nurse to the ward nurse and clarify anything that is missed.
- I fetch the hospital bag after she is admitted. This is usually when I cry.
- I ask the ward nurse when the doctor will come, when the tests will be requested and when Rounds will be in the morning. I record this in my phone.
- When she sleeps, I call my beloved, give facts, love and cry a little again.
- In the morning, I shower before Rounds.
- In the morning, my beloved brings her medication is in a clear zip-lock bag, with original boxes, detailing dose and prescribing doctor.
- During Rounds, I work out who the big kahuna is, I ask for a plan and write it in my phone.
- I know I cannot trust my brain. I gently pat my life, ask it to wait, and narrow my field of communication to the hospital, my beloved, my other dude and my friend.
That’s it. That’s how I survive.
