. . . OF five.
Let's bury this dead horse already! Not that the saga isn't continuing . . . still. But my inspiration around writing about it is somewhat waning and I'm sure you're totally tried of hearing me snivel over it!
Suffice to say, the "rapid dilution" plan worked, as you've no doubt guessed by now. Else how would I be sitting here writing this? After which, how would you be sitting there reading it? Right? Right.
During the course of the night and well into the next day, I offered up so much blood that I began to wonder whether the lab had more of it than I did. We all watched as my sodium level jumped around, finally settling at around 127. Which was acceptable based on where it'd come from.
Tuesday the nursing staff changed and I was watched over by the lovely, caring team of Tracy and Nikki. Here they are here:
Fred popped back into my room a few times just to check on me. I heard a couple comments about myself from outside the door. Something about not being your typical ICU patient since, instead of lying there watching T.V., I'd again rearranged the room so that I could sit at the desk and work on my laptap.
Dr. SP came in a couple times for more "serious" conversations, at one point offering a mildly disguised warning of steering clear of too much on-line reading about my symptoms and such, lest I start thinking I have everything I find.
I thought . . . wait a minute. You haven't really given me a lot to go on here. Why wouldn't I want to do a little checking on my own? He introduced me to his daughter who is interning there and he told me that sometimes, people just get SIADH for no apparent reason. That was a tad reassuring.
The Rons came back and spent some more time with me, fooling around with stuff they could find:
And we all added our own little missive to the board Nikki had penned so neatly for me earlier that day:
Tuesday night I slept sort of okay. But for the few times I had to shuffle out of bed, tilt my heart monitor such that I could drag my leads over to the tiny bathroom and feed them under the door which let me close it to pee in private. The leads were about ten inches shy of allowing me to sit up straight so I sorta had to lean to the left to get-er-done.
In the wee hours of the morning as I unfurled my leads from the bathroom door and waddle back to bed, I happened to glance up at the monitor. My heart rate was 84! From the excursion of going to the bathroom?! C'mon. What had I become in those short seven days? Some kind of weenie?! I've always had a very low heart rate and this was alarming, to say the least.
The rest of the morning I spent in meditation, trying to relax my errant aorta, which, for some reason, caused some other doo-dad to go off and sent the night nurse in to check on me.
"Nope, just trying to get a little OM time," I'd say and she'd leave me alone.
My mind went someplace pretty dark that morning. I suddenly got it into my head that I'd done what I never wanted to do: I'd allowed myself to be a guinea pig for modern medicine. And, by doing so, possibly locked myself into a life of doctors, hospitals, tests and illness. Those of you who know me, know that I do not like doctors. And hospitals. And tests. And especially illness.
So, at some point that morning, I finally broke down and started to cry. Something I didn't stop doing for the rest of the day. When I cried in front of Ron he told me to stop.
"There's salt in those tears and you need all of that you can get!"
I laughed, stop leaking for a while and looked forward to discharge (more than a little!) It was a wonderful feeling! The lovely nurse insisted on taking me out in a wheelchair and then waiting while Ron brought the car around.
"Are you kidding me!" I said, "I'm walking out of here." And I did:
After that we went to Walmart for a couple prescriptions then on to LOWES for a few needed items. Going home to the house on the mountain was like being folded up in a soft, warm blanket. I breathed in the air, played with my dogs and then decided to take that much needed shower.
Now here's a thing . . . I had not been naked in front of a mirror in a week. It was somewhat of a shock to see how much weight I'd dropped just lounging around doing nothing! I got to thinking how my visit very well could have been just an expensive trip to a fat farm . . . not that anyone wants to lose weight that way. But GOSH!
And when I looked into my face I had to start crying all over again: eyes sunken into my face, and when I tried to smile, well . . . it just looked plain creepy!
That night made up for it though. I slept for nine hours straight and woke without tears, absent the creepy smile and sporting a whole new outlook on things. I was free! Finally! And I had two glorious days to enjoy my two weeks vacation. We spent them slowly and really (REALLY) enjoyed the little time we had left at our lovely mountain home.
Saturday morning we packed up for home, taking our usual two days to drive:
So ended my glorious Hospital Vacation. It's certainly an episode in my life that I'll never forget!
Things are still happening now that I'm home and my local doctors are working with me to see if they are side effects or somehow related to what put me there in the first place. Or (heaven forbid) something altogether new!
But, remembering my earlier disclaimer - how I've grown uninspired over writing about it and YOU'VE certainly grown tired of hearing it - I'm ending the continuing saga here.
Thanks for listening everyone! Have a wonderful, healthy, joyful life! I'm going off to work on that same thing myself. Wish me luck.
Linda
No comments:
Post a Comment