it's been mostly a surreal time. going from the never-enough-time vigors of my first year of law school to this so fast. it's hard to make sense of it. one day i am going to wake up and it's going to hit me. a blood infection? REALLY? how did that happen? how many possibly fatal events must one person go through in a life time? i keep thinking experience will make the times in the hospital more palatable. but that's not true. i only hate it more.
spending a week trapped in a dark room tethered to an iv stand not sleeping because of the every 6 hour iv antibiotics and the 5 am blood draws and the dying woman in the next bed yelling hail marys to a woman named betty who is never there. and the interns and medical students and residents during rounds spouting such misinformation that at times i can't help but HAVE to correct them - both because their arrogance begs of it but also for the safety of their future patients.
i passed my time by asking questions i knew they couldn't answer and then answering them for them before requesting the attendee. and it is scary when the person responsible for your life doesn't even understand your heart disease.
(Shut Up Doctors. If you DON'T know the ANSWER Don't Just Make it Up. Are you Really So Arrogant/Ignorant that you Think You're Rudimentary Understanding of my Many Complex Health Problems is Better Than My Understanding? I Remember Your Faces and I Remember Your Misktakes and they Do MATTER. So Just SHUT THE FUCK UP if You Don't Understand My Disease. I Don't Need to Teach You When I am Laying in a Bed Trying to Fight an Infection that could Kill Me).
Usually the Attendee is the ONLY ONE who seems to understand anything.
and coming home was terrifying. visiting nurses, that creepy picc line, monitoring my temperature four times a day, feeling acutely aware of my partially collapsed lung every time my breath caught walking to the bathroom.
and the iv antibiotics. they weren't easy. the meds needed to be mixed, lines had to be changed, there was flushing and setting the speed of the infusion. and every thing really mattered. any mistake would have been serious. and it was every six hours. which was every 5 hours because each infusion took an hour. and that makes for very little sleep.
i would hold the connector out so joe could wipe it with alcohol swabs and i would watch in horror as air bubbles snuck their way up the tubing from god knows where and many times i spent the hour crying and begging and telling joe i don't want to DO THIS anymore. and he would say i know, i know but he would do it anyway because he had to. because those antibiotics would save my life.
and we took alot of naps. and drives. and we ate a lot of ramen.
and that was last month. things are normal now. but that's a weird thing to bounce back from. and i am still waiting for my leg to decide it's ready to walk again. and it is christmas and we have the most beautiful tree. and i am baking. and writing cards. and holding out hope for those miracles that everyone promises when the year ends and begins again.
