So, I finally got discharged this past Monday. It came as a bit of a surprise, actually. I’d been taking Coumadin (in addition to the Heparin drip they’d immediately put me on) since Thursday evening to thin my blood. The hope was to get the thickness of my blood from a 1 to between 2 and 3. I was under the impression that I wouldn’t get to go home until that happened.
On Sunday it had finally crept up to 1.3. Monday morning I was told that it had gone back down to 1.1. What?! Apparently blood’s thickness is very susceptible to diet and the day before I had inadvertently eaten some leafy greens, which are the full of vitamin K, which is the antidote for thin blood. So it was almost like having to start over and I thought, “They’re never letting me out of here!”
But fairly quickly after that I saw a swift succession of doctors, nurses, and techs who all indicated that since I basically felt fine and had passed my little P.T. test on my crutches (oh, remember THAT medical incident? Still can’t put any weight on my left foot!) they were preparing to discharge me … with a prescription for Lovenox that would hopefully kick start the effect of the Coumadin. Lovenox, by the way, is injected into your belly. (More on that in a minute!) The nurse gave me my first shot with a higher dose of Coumadin, and let me go.
So I got home late Monday afternoon and despite my feelings of having been on a vacation, it was certainly great to be back in MY home. Heather had cleaned, aired, and spruced it up the day before and the weather had gotten a little cooler (with MUCH lower humidity) so I was quite comfortable.
The BEST part, obviously, was the shower – a full week overdue!! I took my merry old time and finally got to properly shave my poor old atrophied leg (they wouldn’t give me a razor in the hospital because of the blood thinners; I’ll have to be very careful for the next 6 months). The second best part was getting to sleep in the next morning way past 5:30 with no rude awakening (literally) via needle jab (into arms that look a bit like a drug users!).
That afternoon I had to go back to the hospital to have my blood checked again (so I didn’t escape the needle jab for long!) at the Coumadin Clinic. Not knowing exactly where that was we asked the information desk in the main lobby and were told it was “just around the corner.” In reality, it was around the corner … and another corner … and another corner … and ANOTHER corner … and then down a long corridor. CAN’T YOU SEE I’M ON CRUTCHES HERE?!?! Amazingly, (truly) I was barely winded by the time I got there so thank God for even a little thinner blood!
Speaking of which, my blood was still at 1.1!! Apparently I’m not just thick-waisted, thick-boned, thick-headed, and thick-skinned, I’m thick-blooded as well! Seriously, my body is NOT quick to change – it loves hanging on to the status quo (some evolutionary holdover, I suppose, that probably served my ancestors well but is starting to tick me off!). So I was told to double up on the Coumadin and come back on Friday.
Then I got to go home and give myself my first injection of the Lovenox. I know diabetics do this all the time but it was a first for me. The actual insertion of the needle doesn’t really hurt; it’s the psychological mind game you have to play with yourself to willingly stick that needle into your flesh! I did it, and everything was fine … until I read the ingredients of Lovenox, which are derived from porcine intestinal mucosa. I’m no scientist but to me that sounds like snotty pig innards. LOVELY! No wonder my blood wants to stay thick … look what it’s having to contend with!
When I finally got to my hospital room at 3:00 a.m. last Thursday morning, I was acutely aware that there was someone else already in the room on the other side of the curtain. And I was a little embarrassed by how loud we were all being, completely disregarding any need she may have had to get a good night’s sleep. Ah … life in a hospital!
The next morning (i.e. a few hours later!) we introduced ourselves. Her name was Cora, she was 91 years old, and she’d apparently been admitted only a little while before me with the same condition: pulmonary embolism. She wasn’t a big talker, and I was often busy with my laptop (frequently with my ear buds in) so it’s not like we chatted up a storm. But there was an immediate connection and we instantly hit it off.
We commiserated with each other over how frequently we had to have blood drawn. “Uh oh, Cora, here come the vampires again! I thought they were only supposed to come out at night? Do you think we have any blood left to give them?” And she’d just cackle, agree, and cheer me on.
All the phone calls I got were on my cell phone; Cora, not having a cell phone, relied on her room phone to make and receive calls. Well, our phone lines got crossed so every call she got initially rang on my phone first. I’d have to tell them the correct number to call and they’d call back. She got a LOT of calls so I started calling her Miss Popular. My phone would ring and I’d say, “Gee, I wonder who THAT could be for??” And she’d just cackle away. (Of course, the one call I DID get through the hospital system went to her phone and she got great pleasure in turning the tables on me!)
Every morning, after the “vampires” had left, she’d be the first to ask if I was doing OK. We’d compare notes about how we slept, anticipate what we might enjoy for breakfast, and wonder aloud how long it might take for the tech nurse to bring us water to wash up. I got to meet her two sons and several other visitors (including visiting nuns who brought her daily Eucharist — I’d follow along with the liturgy even though I didn’t partake). At one point she asked me what I did for a living. When I told her she said, “Hm … well you sound real smart” (which led me to replay the various conversations I’d had with family and friends that might have come across as particularly “smart” to an outside observer!).
She was a perfect roommate who made the time there much more tolerable and even enjoyable. Having heard some of the other more obnoxious patients on the hall, I was very grateful for Cora! But the most interesting thing about this is that our whole relationship developed sight unseen; we could only HEAR, not see, each other through the curtain that separated us.
So, when the physical therapist decided to have her walk around a bit to see if she was ready to be discharged, I got a little excited. I was finally going to see my P.E. Buddy (as the nurses called us). It was a little like those reality TV shows where someone has gone through a big makeover of some kind (weight, hair, clothes) and there’s the BIG REVEAL. I sat up expectantly in my bed and when she came around the curtain I exclaimed, “There she is! There’s my girl!” And she smiled shyly at me and cackled some more.
Turns out she doesn’t live far from me … but I’ll probably never see her again. They say that some people come into your life for a reason, others a season, and still others a lifetime. I think for Cora and me it was the first: a reason. We were there to make a potentially unpleasant, stressful, scary five days less so for each other. I tried to do that for her; she definitely did that for me. Thanks, Cora!
OK, I’m just going to say it: I’m weird! I’ve been saying this in one way or another for a long time. In many aspects of my life I don’t tend to fall within the bell part of the curve. I don’t say this to brag or to elicit sympathy; I’m just stating a fact.
The latest incarnation of my weirdness? I’m getting ready to spend my fifth night in the hospital and I kind of don’t mind it. In fact, I sort of feel like I’ve been on a vacation!
Don’t get me wrong … this ain’t Club Med! I’m awakened each morning (assuming I’ve been able to fall asleep in the first place — more on that in a minute) around 5:30 for a blood draw (I’m not sure how much blood I’ve got left!) and pretty soon thereafter the day is started with routine checks of vital signs, the doctors starting to make their rounds, breakfast delivery, etc. In my normal world, 5:30 would be close to the middle of the night!
I didn’t actually sleep at all the first night. This was due to a number of factors: I was admitted at 3:00 a.m. but by the time the night nurse went through her list and got me settled it was closer to 4:00; I was hopped up on adrenaline due to the “excitement” of the evening—passing out, calling 911, the ambulance ride, various tests in the ER, finding out I wasn’t going to go home that night and probably not the next, trying to figure out on the fly what I might need and sending Jamie home to retrieve those things for me; my IV monitor playing a duet with my roommate’s monitor all night (seriously, the nurses would no sooner get hers to shut up than mine would start up, and vice versa); while the lights in the room were out, they left the door open and since my bed was the closest to the door I was clearly affected by the lights in the hallway, not to mention all the sounds—some night nurses do NOT know how to whisper … and then there was the patient who apparently didn’t know how to use his call button and kept calling out, “NURSE! This place sucks on ice!” (whatever THAT means!); and shortly after 5:30 the next day began!
So, on Thursday, I sent Heather home to get my iPod ear buds. That night I drifted off to sleep listening to classical music, oblivious to duets from IV monitors and irate (and irrational?) patients. The following day, I remembered that I had a bandana in my purse so I fashioned a sleeping mask of sorts and with my classical music had a rather lovely sleep the last two nights.
Again, I don’t feel like I am at a spa, but this hasn’t been all that bad, either. First of all, having my laptop and wifi has been a life saver. I never get bored and between emails, a little work, surfing the Web and staying caught up with Stewart and Colbert (not to mention all the doctor consultations and tests and routine vital sign checks and meals and sponge baths and getting sheets changed and phone calls and visits) the days go by pretty quickly.
But the biggest “perk” has been not having to do anything myself! I’m getting all my meals planned, prepared, and cleaned up for me (and we’re not talking jello; I’m eating rotisserie chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy and chocolate mousse …). I have a not-uncomfortable bed whose head and foot can be raised and lowered to my liking. I’ve got AC! Daily, I’ve got someone changing my sheets and mopping the floor and emptying the trash. Heck, I’ve even got someone to deal with what I deposit in my bedside potty (and even caring that I make regular deposits there!). No matter what I need, help is always just a call button away. (“May I help you?” “Yes, I just had a bowel movement. Could someone please come take it away?” And they do! Without complaining!!)
As someone who has lived alone for over 20 years and who has had to do EVERYTHING for herself for so long, this is a real treat, believe me!
My only discontent is the shower situation. I can only take sponge baths at this point and that’s just not the same. I’m coming up on a week and it’s my hair, especially, that’s bearing the brunt of this neglect. Today’s nurse happened to overhear me mention that and she said, “Oh, I’ll bring you a shampoo cap!” I had no idea what that was.
Well, it’s a shower cap with some sort of “shampoo” in it. You heat it up, put it on your head, massage your scalp, take it off, towel dry your hair, and comb through it. Voila! Granted, it’s not as good as my own hair products and regimen (see below) but after almost a week of neglect, my scalp was ecstatic!
Like I said, I may literally be in Union Memorial Hospital, but I sort of feel like I’m on vacation. Yes, I know … I’m weird!
It Takes a (global) Village
I have been amazed — and delighted! — at the number of foreign-born doctors, interns, techs, and nurses who have taken care of me. I would have expected a couple (maybe from India?) but they’ve definitely been the majority, not the minority. I’ve been seen by Russians, Iranians, Armenians, South Africans, Lebanese, South Americans, Romanians, Filipinos, Nigerians, Indians … and a few Americans. I love it! As a proud member of the global community (and with a surname like Radosevic!) I was thrilled to be taken care of in such a … universal … way. I couldn’t wait to see which country would next be represented and as soon as a new consult would appear around the curtain I’d excitedly exclaim, “And where are YOU from?”
[Editorial Note: Amidst all the hue and cry for immigration reform, we tend to forget about THESE kinds of immigrants–not that I have a problem with the migrant workers (I mean, *I* wouldn’t want to do back-breaking work all day long under a blazing hot sun for minimum wage, would you?) or other low-end blue-collar workers who, again, are doing menial work most of us wouldn’t care for. But that’s a rant for another time …]
It truly took a (global) village to heal and care for me and for that I’m immensely grateful.
Part of my delight in all this has to do with the accents. I’ve always been a sucker for them! So when the little Russian intern came in and first opened his mouth, I was hooked. Then, he further endeared himself to me by admitting it was his first day. (He also shared a piece of conventional wisdom: don’t ever go to the hospital in July. That’s when all the interns are just beginning their year-long rotation so they don’t know anything yet; and the ones who DO know things have just left. NOW they tell me!!) But what he lacked in experience he made up for in attentiveness, taking careful notes of everything I said because he didn’t want to miss a thing. Darling!
Saturday morning the Armenian surgeon inserted a filter into my inferior vena cava to catch any of the remaining blood clots in my left leg (they found a few) should they decide to break loose. This was a relatively simple procedure that involved a tiny incision in my groin from where they snaked the filter up through my femoral artery. Only took about 15-20 minutes, although prep and post added some time, of course.
That evening, an extremely handsome Latino surgical intern came in to check on me, making sure the incision wasn’t bleeding. He also listening to my lungs and heart (as they ALL do!). Finally, he made a classic rookie mistake. Because he, too, was brand new, he hadn’t yet learned how to properly ask questions. So before leaving he kindly asked, in an adorable accent, “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
I just couldn’t let it pass!
So looking him straight in his beautiful brown eyes and cocking my eyebrow I replied, “Aaaaaanything??”
Bless his heart … his colleague, who was examining my roommate on the other side of the curtain, burst out laughing and said, “Boy, did you leave yourself wide open for that one!” She was laughing, my roommate was laughing, I was laughing, and my poor blushing intern was desperately trying to figure out how to get out of there! I let him hang for another moment or two and then, giving him a wink, said, “No, I think I’m fine … for now.” He breathed a sigh of relief and made a beeline for the door.
I’m guessing he won’t make that mistake again!
And considering all that I’d received from my “village” the last couple of days, I was happy to give back, even in this small, humorous way. I figured it was the least I could do!
So, What You’re Saying Is …?Having been around death since a young child, I’ve always been fascinated by the euphemisms used for it: passed on or away, expired (like old milk!!), pushing daisies, gone on to his reward, gone to meet her maker, etc.
But people often tend to couch simply bad or serious news as well. No one in the hospital used the literal words “you almost died” to explain my situation to me. In fact, my first inkling to the seriousness of my condition was in the ER when I asked something along the lines of how much longer all this was going to take because it was late and my friend had to work the next day, and the doctor looked at me with surprise and said, “Oh, you’re not going anywhere; we’re admitting you!” It was the way he said it that got my attention, like, “DUH! Of COURSE you’re not leaving here! You are in SERIOUSLY bad shape. Don’t you realize that?!” Well, no. I don’t go to the doctor and I rarely get sick beyond a bad stuffy nose so, no, I DIDN’T realize that this was something that couldn’t be fixed with a pill or injection!
Part of my “cluelessness” was that I had no pain. As long as I was simply lying on the bed and not exerting any energy, I felt pretty normal, even able to breathe as usual. So the next day when the various specialists started to check in on me, I think they were a little surprised to find someone so … robust! They, of course, would have already reviewed my chart and history and found out that my pulmonary artery — which goes out of the heart and into the lungs, where it divides in two because of there being two lungs — had not just one but two HUGE clots almost completely blocking both of those openings into my lungs. (No wonder I hadn’t been able to get my breath the day before!)
So I’m guessing they were expecting to find an ashen, wheezing, rather pitiful specimen lying in that hospital bed. Instead, (full disclosure: I’m exaggerating here … but only a little!) they found me propped up in a sitting position with my shoulder holding my cell phone to my ear, typing away on my laptop, and holding a finger up to indicate, “I’ll be with you in just a second …”
Almost universally, their response was, “Uh … you DO know how lucky you are, right?!”
Which brings us back to the euphemisms.
The pulmonologist, after actually showing me the CAT scan images of the clots, said, “As you can see, there was BARELY enough room for any blood to squeeze by into your lungs.” Then he locked eyes with me, raised an eyebrow, and slowly shook his head as if to say, “You DO understand what I’m trying to tell you, right?”
Another doctor said, “If those clots had been just a little bigger, I probably wouldn’t be talking with you now.” OK, that was a bit more straightforward.
Then there was the doctor who said, “Apparently God didn’t need you just yet.” And I replied, “Well … maybe not up THERE.”
So, amidst all the euphemisms and gentle couching of phrases, what they were saying, in so many words, was: “You DO realize, don’t you, that apparently you’re still needed down here.”
But the question is … for what, exactly??