Last Sunday, I entered the ER and assumed I'd receive some medication and be kicked to the curb. For the next week, I laid in a hospital bed. The first few days, in severe pain, but the last few, just itching to leave. During the time, I had many thoughts and feelings, but they were different than most times.
As I lay there Monday morning, Demerol pumping through my veins, I felt like life outside had stopped. I asked friends who inquired about a visit to stay away. Part of is was a desire to sleep, part embarrassment by my situation, but lastly, I don't like putting people out. People came in an out, at what seemed like an unreasonable rate, but I quickly realized it was Tuesday morning. The second day was much like the first. In an our of consciousness, not so much as a sip of water to wet my dried out lips and tongue. It was a slow torture, but the pain killers made me get through it.
The third day, the pain started to subside, but would flare up. I thought I'd be home, but I was not. It didn't bother me much, but I wanted answers. I started to think about what life must have been for my mother, who spent so much time in beds like these. Hooked to tubes, for longer than anyone deserves. There was sorrow, but there was the reality of strength, hers not mine.
The fourth day was one of complete coherency, the pain killers were gone and the prognosis looked good, but time started to slow. This is when I started to think. I started to think about those around me. The nurses, housekeeper, food service workers and the many assistants. So much on their plate and for so many. My comfort was their concern and it showed. I appreciated them more and more with each passing second. Do not think one is more important than the other. That woman who brought me a fan on the first day was as important to me as the nurse who injected my painkillers. The woman who changed my sheets, no less important than the doctor who stopped by for two minutes a day to let me know my fate.
Day five, I knew I was there until Monday. Time slowed, but a roommate added occasional chat. He too was important too. Levity and a someone to share discomfort and pain stories were funny and therapeutic at the same time. He was Dominican and talk about his wife's rice and beans dishes made my mouth water as I slurped my fruit cup. A few friends stopped by during the week and the days seem to blend, but Friday my brother and his wife stopped by and it was a nice time. My brother, for all my criticism of him at times, was stellar this week. A big help and consistently came and spent long periods of time and offered many things I declined.
Saturday I started to get antsy. The beautiful day outside and the weekend had me down. Physically I was ready to leave, but I knew. I started thinking about how our country runs and how people are against hand outs as they like to call it. So my unemployment status and lack of insurance must seem to some as my slacking. A week sick and people probably see me as some moocher. If it was up to me and the hospital, I would have been out of there in a minute. I learned some things about how billing works and I'm amazed at how about 1% of the country understands it. If they did, if they took time to read, something other than headlines, they might educate themselves. In today's world, sadly, that is too much to ask. We're too busy judging others to understands their plight or predicament.
Sunday I knew it was one more day. At least that was the doc's word. The nurses warned to be optimistic, but said to expect the unexpected. Numbers had to line up before I would be released. That night I couldn't sleep. I had thoughts of other times. Better times.
I left Monday and was happy to be home. I learned some things while there and they are few and simple. Knowing people care about you matters. Knowing people love you, even when they don't always say it means the world. Finally, I realized that nobody should die alone. While my situation wasn't dire, but it could have been. It could have been serious, it could have been something else. I thought about those who die alone and how awful it must be. I remembered my mother's last breaths. She died at home, my father, myself, my brother and his then girlfriend now wife. She was surrounded by love in sickness, in health and death. None of us deserve anything more or anything less than to have that. Love!
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