The hospital was a trip. I was told i had to pass the physical therapist's tests, be able to get up by myself, and be off the IV. I wanted to get home as soon as feasible so I decided not to use the IV pump painkiller on demand stuff the next day. Really bad idea. When the nurse assistant came to talk to me, I was pretty unhappy. She explained that:
1. I should have told them
2. When the pump painkiller thing (not her exact words) isn't being used as much they would give pain pills to bridge the gap.
3. It's better to keep the pain under control rather than fight to get it back under control.
Ok, after our little talk, I hit the painkiller button about 12 times. It would only give you a dose every 7 minutes but I didn't want to misjudge and go 8 minutes accidently. Better safe than sorry.
I would like to point out I would have died if hubby and Em weren't there. Em helped me with all night with everything, I had an IV, a walker, and I was out of it so it was a challenge. The night shift nursing team was a bit more lackadaisical than day shift, so good luck with that. The sheets at the hospital were made out of Velcro, clothing just stuck instantly to it, so that was fun. They were pumping gallons of fluid into me, I don't know why, so I had to use the bathroom every 2 hours. It took 30 minutes to de-Velcro from the bed, log roll and lift myself up, get the walker in place, Em had to unplug the IV machine, and we would trek 3 yards to the bathroom, then to the sink to wash hands. Every 2 hours, 24 hours a day. Good times. Some strange conversations occurred during our journeys. At one point, I said " wouldn't it be funny if this hand just ran away?" now, what is the correct response to that? She just looked at me. After a few minutes, I realized how bizarre that was and said as much.
On top of the bathroom trips, we were woken up so they could get blood from me, change the IV bags (that beeped like a fire alarm whenever they ran out), take my temperature, take my blood pressure, and to ask how I was doing. Overall, the hospital was exhausting. My poor hubby was stuck sleeping in the waiting room and I'm sure he slept like a baby too. I didn't get out the next day but everyone said I was doing well. On Saturday, I walked up and down the stairs with the physical therapist, saw the surgeon who cleared me, and got the staples out of my head. The staff was impressed with how responsive my family was to make sure I was ok, and I got cleared to go home. Yeah!
T stayed at the house and wrangled animals through this whole ordeal. That was great, no one had to worry about them so everyone could focus on what was important. ME, in case you were confused.
I slept upstairs in my bed all night for the first time in too long. I'm glad to be feeling better, if still sore and beat up.
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