I think I have lost two weeks of my life. This is not a concern so much as a puzzle. All I can attribute it to is drugs. And to that I say. " THANK YOU VERY MUCH !"
I managed to survive the 60's without ever having tried any illegal substances. (God knew what he was doing when he kept me out of temptation. Or perhaps it was just that I was too dumb to need drugs or too dorky to know anyone who had drugs.). What ever the reason I have made it 80 years without ever being stoned.
Until now . . .
Open heart surgery was almost 4 weeks ago and the more time that passes the more I realize that I have NO IDEA of where I was or what was real for the first 2 of those weeks. Every day the fog fills my brain just a little more until I suspect the only evidence I will have of my hospital adventure will the the scar on my chest.
It is an extremely weird feeling to have "memories" of something but not be sure if they are in fact memories of things that happened or some psychedelic random wanderings of my brain. I remember bits and pieces of things . . . The pattern of the tiles on the floor of what I assume was my hospital room. Is that not a strange thing to have stuck in my. head? I vividly remember a painting hanging on the wall at the foot of my bed. I remember this because I was endlessly entertained by the people in the painting who were moving around all the time. (I am told by my children that the painting contained not a single person. But I swear to you there were people and a flock of seagulls flying around.). I apparently spent a lot of time laying in the bed with the painting to entertain me. I have no idea if this was in the ICU or cardiac recovery. It's all a blur. Each day in the hospital I thought I was perfectly fine. No pain, no worries and now no memories. One of my friends has told me the doctors probably had me pretty well drugged those first weeks so that I would rest and recover. I remember being up and walking around. Sitting up in a chair each day to eat meals, (which I did not eat because I had zero appetite). This is really strange ! I don't remember individuals . . . doctors, nurses, aides. It seemed there was a constant stream of people coming in and out of my room but I can't picture the room. I remember thinking I was in a hotel. A very old hotel with green tiles on the floor.
I would really like to see a video of myself those first 2 weeks after surgery. I can only imagine how entertaining that would be. I know my son Kyle was with me every day even though I don't have a single memory of him being there until I went to the rehab facility. That was when the cloud started to lift and I began making some sense of what was going on and where I was.
One thing I DO remember is how freaking cold I was. Perhaps it is kept so cold in hospitals so that if you should die the body will not decompose too quickly before the nurse answers the call button. I have never been in a meat locker but I imagine the hospital rooms are at least twenty degrees cooler,
I also remember the day about half way through my hospital stay when I had had enough and told the nurses I was going home NOW !!! I was cold, tired, in need of some bathroom privacy and sick to death of nurses telling me I can't get out of the bed!!!! My kids and the nursing staff managed to keep me from getting dressed and leaving, (as if I could have walked out on my own power.) We came to an agreement that if I stayed one more day they promised I could leave after that. I have a feeling they may have bumped up my medication right after that.
WHY anyone would choose nursing as a profession is beyond me. I guess it has its rewarding moments but as far as I could tell the poor nurses are overworked, underpaid and definitely un appreciated. For the little I can remember I wouldn't want me as a patient.
Hopefully the "nightmare" is over. Not that there was anything horrible that I had to endure but that sense of helplessness, frustration and fatigue really wears on you.
Did I forget to mention the strange clock that was in my hospital room ? Every night I would go to sleep around 8:00 PM. (The time was determined by the staff so that they could fit in rounds and the changing of the shift.). Everyone would get tucked into bed, given medications and lights out. There I would lay staring at the clock on the wall. (The moving painting was now a past memory). I SWEAR to you I would look at that damn clock and it would say 8:02. The next time I looked at the clock it would say 8:01. HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE ????? This would go on all night long. I would look at the time only to realize it was earlier then when I had checked it before. I would watch the clock, doze off,, check the clock again and finally fall asleep at about 3:30 AM. Just in time for the nurses to come busting into the room at FOUR in the morning to get me up and ready for the day. The door would slam open, all the lights would go on and a cheerful, sadistic evil nurse would say "Good Morning! Would you like to get up ad sit in the chair?" There is no correct answer to this question. No matter what my response I ended up in that freaking chair, freezing and waiting for 7:30 AM when I might be fortunate to have something hot served for breakfast.
Sadly these are the memories I have managed to retain.
