Tracie Fights Back

Well, it’s hard to write here. But now I have access to a computer on Day 3 of my Stanford stay. It’s Thursday, and I’ve been basically bedridden for a week and a day. I’m getting stronger, but probably would feel better if I could actually start walking somewhere again. But first they must solve that pesky drop in blood pressure that occurs when I stand. At least they have ruled out all of the life-threatening reasons.

My first hospital stay has been interesting. First I spent 36 hours in an intermediate cardiology ward strapped to heart monitors. This was not a good place for a cancer patient on chemo. The smells were horrendous, and smells are magnified 1,000 times on chemo. Worse, it was was a co-ed ward, and the men of the unit had aim problems so I constantly complained about the bathroom. Until… a poor sick woman arrived in the bed next to me. I don’t want this to sound like I’m making fun or have no compassion, because I said many prayers for this elderly woman who had no control over her bowels. It started at 2 a.m. A horrible stench wafted my way. Kim and I began to gag. Then 3 a.m. Then 6:30. When my medical team arrived at 9 a.m., I begged them to get me out. They understood my sensitivity to smell in a way that the cardiac nurses did not. They promised a quick transfer back to the cancer floor.

It finally came at 4:30 p.m. on crap No. 7. By this time we had been given a box of surgical masks to wear during the crap attacks, with limited effectiveness.

When it came time to leave during the 7th attack, the gagging transport team had to work mightily to get my bed squeezed past the woman’s curtain-shrouded bed.

Alas, our attempt at allowing the woman a modicum of modesty would be temporary. My bed caught the curtain and began to open it as the hospital techs kept pushing, oblivious. I grabbed the curtain and tried to pull it closed, but by then end of the bed had caught the other curtain and dragged it open, too, like curtains opening on a stage.

Bryan was traumatized by what he saw that day.

Finally we were delivered to my peeps on the oncology ward and were lucky to score an empty room and the bed by a window overlooking a garden. Alas, our luck would not hold. A roommate was delivered, an older Russian woman that staff thought would understand better if they spoke to her more loudly.
Here were the first instructions:
“You’re not to get out of bed,” they yelled. “If you have to use the bathroom, call us. You’ll have to use this bedside commode.”

Oh, shit I thought. But it got worse.

“You’ll have your colonoscopy tomorrow morning so we’re going to give you some Golytely to help clean out your bowels tonight.”

Kim, Bryan and I collectively dropped our jaws. What kind of hell am I trapped in?????!!!

A couple of hours later Michelle arrived. She would have none of this and somehow managed to charm the nursing supervisor into moving me to an empty room. Thank God.

I know the universe must be trying to teach me something but I cannot for the life of me figure out what is the lesson of the mad crappers? So perhaps it’s a lesson for Bryan or Kim…

Any ideas?

Kim, me and Bryan during one of the crap attacks

10 Responses to “Life in the Hospital (or attack of the mad crappers)”