Ammonia and Dials
This morning I woke up with a headache. Not a migraine, but one of those annoying ones that tries to drive you slightly mad with pounding. But I go to the hospital every day. So I went back to sleep for a little while, made some lists of things that I know I still need to get done, and tried to will it away before I resorted to taking anything. Then I succumbed, ate something, took meds and even went ahead and put contacts in so I could wear sunglasses since meds weren't completely effective.
The city had some bike/walk/run thing going on today and part of my normal drive to the hospital was shut down, so it took me longer than normal to get there. My sister is visiting this weekend, so she was already down there to see my dad with my aunt. I got updates from the nurse and the main doctor and hung out for a while. They had let me know they wanted to do another bronchoscopy to try and clear out his lungs, check for signs of pneumonia and also to get a sample to see if there was any actual pneumonia. So after my sister and aunt left, they kicked me out to do the bronch. I went to the family waiting room with my knitting to hang out and wait.
When you've been a daily visitor in the ICU for over three weeks, you start to recognize faces. Especially when there are other families with loved ones who are in beds nearby. Some of them keep to themselves, and some of them are more outgoing. I smile politely at most of them, and talk to others. I outright ignore some. I smiled at those I recognized. The ones who probably look as weary as I do. The ones who I've seen too often. The ones whose doctors and nurses I can't help but overhear and see too much; the ones who maybe aren't making good or quick progress. We all look the same. We know the drill. We know the phone number to call back to the nurses station by heart. Those families we all smile at one another, but we don't normally say too much.
The newcomers lately are a whole different matter. They've MOVED INTO the waiting room. I mean they've brought in bedding, suitcases, cases of water, moved the furniture and seem to only ever be in the waiting room. There are two groups. One group is comprised of the entire family. They have changed the thermostat from a reasonable 70 degrees up to 75 degrees and still sit around wrapped in blankets, while their belongings are strewn all over half of the chairs in the room. They spend their entire time staring at their cell phones. They are mildly irritating. Mostly because families are forever being kicked out of the patient's areas and have to wait in this room for periods of time while tests or procedures are being done, and taking up 6 or 7 chairs for cases of water, pillows and suitcases is just an asshole move. But they have nothing on the mother and fiancee duo.
I got to meet the mother and fiancee duo today. They were sitting across from me while I was knitting and they were on their phone, on speaker phone. The entire conversation was to explain that they were in the city from outlying area after their loved one (keep in mind this is the son of one of the women and the fiancee of the other) was LIFE FLIGHTED from another hospital. They were complaining because they had to pay someone $100 to drive them there, they had someone else pack them clothes, they've been sleeping in the waiting room, they haven't really been sleeping, they need to get back to pick up a check and their son/fiancee is such an idiot he thought he was just constipated. Also he was such a big baby that when they tried to leave him at the hospital, he bawled like a sissy baby. And they had better things to do then sit there while he was sick with ammonia and getting dials for his kidneys. It took everything I had not to shout "It's called pneumonia and dialysis, you fucking, cold hearted bitches." But I didn't. I just sat there knitting trying to ignore them.
After about 20 minutes of this, they get another call and it's the nurse for their son/fiancee asking for them to come back in the room. Apparently they snuck out while he was sleeping and when he woke back up, they were gone and he wants them to come back in. So they gather their stuff back up and are complaining to each other about how he has no consideration for them and what they are dealing with; they don't even have a minute to themselves to make a few phone calls. As they are walking out they stop to compliment my knitting then tell me they've probably been driving me crazy, then recount the whole story to me again! I just nod and try to be polite, really hoping that will hurry them along. And wouldn't you know, they live in the same town as the crazy lady from the surgery waiting room from the week before!
At the end of long days being in Dad's room, I'm tired and frustrated and ready to leave too. And I'm beyond lucky to have family in the area who opened their home to me. I have a bed to come home to every evening, no matter what time I finally leave the hospital. But even on the long days, the days when Dad is having a particularly rough day and either he or I are cranky, I cannot even imagine behaving in that manner. Especially not in that room. Not in front of people who may be waiting for news of their family's latest test. Even when I'm dead on my feet and I'm being asked to wipe his forehead with a cold rag for the 8 millionth time that hour, and really all I want to do is lay down on the floor and take a nap, I still could not dream of behaving in that manner. My parents raised me better than that. And if I was the one in that hospital bed? If I was the one who couldn't speak? Who couldn't get up? I'd be scared too. I'd probably be bawling too if that's the only people I had to call family or loved ones. If I was laying there and I realized those were the two people I had to count on, you better believe I'd be bawling too, but not for the reason they may have assumed. I see people like that and I can hear mom's voice in my head, "the world doesn't revolve around you, little girl." Apparently no one bothered to teach that lesson to those women.
On a better note, Dad's USMVMC Brothers brought us shirts yesterday and we hung his up for him. We put it on one of the moveable IV things, so they can move it around when they move him back and forth from his bed to the bed/chair contraption thing. He was super pumped about it.
The city had some bike/walk/run thing going on today and part of my normal drive to the hospital was shut down, so it took me longer than normal to get there. My sister is visiting this weekend, so she was already down there to see my dad with my aunt. I got updates from the nurse and the main doctor and hung out for a while. They had let me know they wanted to do another bronchoscopy to try and clear out his lungs, check for signs of pneumonia and also to get a sample to see if there was any actual pneumonia. So after my sister and aunt left, they kicked me out to do the bronch. I went to the family waiting room with my knitting to hang out and wait.
When you've been a daily visitor in the ICU for over three weeks, you start to recognize faces. Especially when there are other families with loved ones who are in beds nearby. Some of them keep to themselves, and some of them are more outgoing. I smile politely at most of them, and talk to others. I outright ignore some. I smiled at those I recognized. The ones who probably look as weary as I do. The ones who I've seen too often. The ones whose doctors and nurses I can't help but overhear and see too much; the ones who maybe aren't making good or quick progress. We all look the same. We know the drill. We know the phone number to call back to the nurses station by heart. Those families we all smile at one another, but we don't normally say too much.
The newcomers lately are a whole different matter. They've MOVED INTO the waiting room. I mean they've brought in bedding, suitcases, cases of water, moved the furniture and seem to only ever be in the waiting room. There are two groups. One group is comprised of the entire family. They have changed the thermostat from a reasonable 70 degrees up to 75 degrees and still sit around wrapped in blankets, while their belongings are strewn all over half of the chairs in the room. They spend their entire time staring at their cell phones. They are mildly irritating. Mostly because families are forever being kicked out of the patient's areas and have to wait in this room for periods of time while tests or procedures are being done, and taking up 6 or 7 chairs for cases of water, pillows and suitcases is just an asshole move. But they have nothing on the mother and fiancee duo.
I got to meet the mother and fiancee duo today. They were sitting across from me while I was knitting and they were on their phone, on speaker phone. The entire conversation was to explain that they were in the city from outlying area after their loved one (keep in mind this is the son of one of the women and the fiancee of the other) was LIFE FLIGHTED from another hospital. They were complaining because they had to pay someone $100 to drive them there, they had someone else pack them clothes, they've been sleeping in the waiting room, they haven't really been sleeping, they need to get back to pick up a check and their son/fiancee is such an idiot he thought he was just constipated. Also he was such a big baby that when they tried to leave him at the hospital, he bawled like a sissy baby. And they had better things to do then sit there while he was sick with ammonia and getting dials for his kidneys. It took everything I had not to shout "It's called pneumonia and dialysis, you fucking, cold hearted bitches." But I didn't. I just sat there knitting trying to ignore them.
After about 20 minutes of this, they get another call and it's the nurse for their son/fiancee asking for them to come back in the room. Apparently they snuck out while he was sleeping and when he woke back up, they were gone and he wants them to come back in. So they gather their stuff back up and are complaining to each other about how he has no consideration for them and what they are dealing with; they don't even have a minute to themselves to make a few phone calls. As they are walking out they stop to compliment my knitting then tell me they've probably been driving me crazy, then recount the whole story to me again! I just nod and try to be polite, really hoping that will hurry them along. And wouldn't you know, they live in the same town as the crazy lady from the surgery waiting room from the week before!
At the end of long days being in Dad's room, I'm tired and frustrated and ready to leave too. And I'm beyond lucky to have family in the area who opened their home to me. I have a bed to come home to every evening, no matter what time I finally leave the hospital. But even on the long days, the days when Dad is having a particularly rough day and either he or I are cranky, I cannot even imagine behaving in that manner. Especially not in that room. Not in front of people who may be waiting for news of their family's latest test. Even when I'm dead on my feet and I'm being asked to wipe his forehead with a cold rag for the 8 millionth time that hour, and really all I want to do is lay down on the floor and take a nap, I still could not dream of behaving in that manner. My parents raised me better than that. And if I was the one in that hospital bed? If I was the one who couldn't speak? Who couldn't get up? I'd be scared too. I'd probably be bawling too if that's the only people I had to call family or loved ones. If I was laying there and I realized those were the two people I had to count on, you better believe I'd be bawling too, but not for the reason they may have assumed. I see people like that and I can hear mom's voice in my head, "the world doesn't revolve around you, little girl." Apparently no one bothered to teach that lesson to those women.
On a better note, Dad's USMVMC Brothers brought us shirts yesterday and we hung his up for him. We put it on one of the moveable IV things, so they can move it around when they move him back and forth from his bed to the bed/chair contraption thing. He was super pumped about it.
Comments