October 12th, 2021 - 2351 hours
This was Monday (before my P.E.M. nemesis crushed me full-on into the mattress)
Mundane Morning
I suddenly came into consciousness at 4:44am for my inconveniently scheduled blood draw. Thankfully, Mr. Phlebotomist spiked me right in the wrist, piercing the vein dead center. Total success!
I had briefly used my illegally owned and operated heating pad beforehand, as a means to inspire greater blood flow and a rapid vein expansion response within the region.
They also whisked away my urine, per my original request, and much due to recent irregularities. Heavy sedimentation, kidney pain, right side only bladder irritation, urine dark for days consecutively, and then the opposite with a nearly pale translucency (this result has been typical in-between Dark Urine Events).
Nurse First, Weights and Measures
Post-dawn, the Assistant Nursing Director covered my area. She's wide-eyed, open-ended, and absolutely full-on saturated with endless inertia (and prone to being described in terms commonly hyphenated).
She desperately wanted to weigh me. Several people did, in fact.. utilizing something called a Hoyer Lift. But that's an apparatus I likely cannot tolerate, because direct pressure on the muscles is to be avoided. Having my head needlessly dangling off the edge at a difficult angle would also be ill-advised. Then there's my circulation to the extremities potentially being disrupted.
So after some going back and forth business, and perhaps some rough eyeballing, the braintrust agreed to list me at 130lbs.
Gosh, this is super-duper BORING stuff.
So, how about a story problem instead?
If Howard weighed 87lbs in early 2019, then weighed-in at a much heftier 114lbs by early 2020, can you extrapolate what his current weight is today?
Shower Hour
The Shower Dude came into my room, ready to whisk me away for my weekly shower. But I refused his offer, explaining to him that I only take one shower per decade. He stared at me dejectedly, then left the room. Then came back minutes later, asking me again. And that was that.
Hours later Mr. Shower Dude came back and asked me if I'd like to hop on the Hoyer to be thoroughly weighed. Again, I refused. What must he think of me now?
Commode Mode
I got totally killed, but didn't fall down to my depth. Close call though. Wibble wobble. Lunge dive twist.
Heart pounds and pounds. Body done in. Light is pain. Sound is penetrating. Muscles ache.
I know you understand.
Physical Therapy Bee Enters the Fray
Black bandana pulled down over my eyes. Earmuffs set in place. I am locked into a semi-permanent bodily position. A statuesque pose with a slight left side pelvic tilt, keeping direct pressure off of my coccyx. Then I allow the extraneous noises to pass through me, pass through me.. offering no resistance...
Knock, knock. She greets me. Her name is Bee, the Therapy Goddess. I listen to her voice. I can tell that it's going to be okay. She means no harm.
Priority #1 - make the commode transfer far less dangerous
Priority #2 - make shower event workable
Priority #3 - better organize my area, items within immediate reach
I explained to her in graphic detail my physical limitations. She was kind, considerate, and uncommonly understanding. So much so, it brought tears to my eyes. She even stated that she wished to make my life easier. I mean, who the hell ever says those kinds of things? In my life experience.. nobody.
She will schedule two specific shower specialists to work with me each and every time, learning how to transfer me directly to the shower cart (from my bed), then clean me without utilizing physical touch (of course, after wheeling me down to the shower room).
The Therapy Goddess explained to me that she'd had previous experience working with a young person like me, in his 30s, with a similar condition. Haha! I let it pass.
Note: several other people attempted to weigh me and/or shower me throughout the day - no comment on what the latter suggests
Director of Activities
The Activities Director came to visit. Impressive title, right? Except that she's only the "acting" Activities Director. Why? Because their department is extremely shorthanded. More regularly, the department employs a cast of nine. Right now, she's it. She's the entire department. Her alone. All 97lbs.
The apparent problem? No one is interested in applying for the job(s).
Oh, and Bee told me that lockdown restrictions had just been lifted. That would allow my roommate to actually… leave the room from time to time. Well earned pieces of quiet for me. You know that's what I seek. Plus, it'll be good for him, too. Maybe my near constant state of silence offends him somehow (we do chat sporadically).
Responses to Recently Asked Questions (previous comment section)
"Didn't you have a therapist once upon a time?"
I still do have the online therapist available, the one who has been volunteering to talk to me free of charge these past few years. But I have absolutely no privacy here. Besides that, his strong suit is mindfulness (not coincidentally, the only thing allowing me to remain sane during these recent years in bed). But neither relationship related stuff, nor emotions, are his particular thing. He's more focused on non-things.
In that regard, I feel I need to invest more effort into the specific things I've been obsessively writing out in recent days. The pointed observations involving my place in all of this needs to be evaluated. Addressing my role and involvement, yes, that too! And hers. I need to find my truth.
Logic dictates a specific course of action be taken… but I am finding logic altogether unappealing. I'm seeking out a loophole.
For me, almost all of the difficulty has to do with being in limbo. That's the problem. Where the hell am I? Or it's all about suffering in denial. I feel I need an interpretation from an unfamiliar outside source. Validation. Something tangible to chew on, then spit right back out.
"What's the Deal with the Dental Work?"
As they need to pull out all of my teeth, I need to first decide if their plan will work for me. The drugs they'll use. The risk. Having to be there by myself without an advocate. Having this done in the dental office, rather than in a hospital. How I'll handle coming back to the nursing home. What'll happen without me having any teeth for 30-days (dentures eventually). Will I be able to communicate my needs?
I suppose my primary concern is being able to speak clearly and intelligently with doctors (assuming Dr. Woo Woo sets me up with the much needed referrals to a variety of specialists). It may defeat the purpose of me being here, if I can't get the help I think I need.
"A Crooked Clock?"
Yes yes yes - definitely tilted
Or the building is askew
Bullet holes, too
"A Hug Thing?"
Someday someone is going to hug me because they want to. If/when I get better. After I've taken a shower or two.
Cheers,
H
THIS was my original blog entry opening (FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT) - It's something fraught with emotion. And I was going to delete the whole damn thing, but this is as close as I'm going to get to actually talking or expressing my current stance to somebody.
*Days okay, nights suck.
I've started today's blog entry on five separate occasions already.. a hundred words here, two-fifty there. Each and all attempts have been scrapped, as neither my head nor my heart was in the right place. Right now I am officially 60-hours into a dreadful experiment. An effort that's gradually tearing me apart from the inside out.
*No, it's not really. Not literally. Surely I am over-dramatizing, right?
< Also, I realize that everybody suffers. And know that suffering is all about perspective, one's mindset. But I do not seem to be able to get there just yet. Acceptance? What the hell is that? >
The Experiment
My objective is to NOT text, call, or otherwise initiate contact with my wife under any circumstances. I am curious to know how long it'll be before she even notices, or cares to check-in. Really, how many days shall it be?
Or perhaps it'll be weeks. or other larger units of measured time. I suppose it's yet to have crossed her mind, "How is my husband doing there?"
So that's weighing on me right now. Heavily. Making me insane.
This was Monday (before my P.E.M. nemesis crushed me full-on into the mattress)
Mundane Morning
I suddenly came into consciousness at 4:44am for my inconveniently scheduled blood draw. Thankfully, Mr. Phlebotomist spiked me right in the wrist, piercing the vein dead center. Total success!
I had briefly used my illegally owned and operated heating pad beforehand, as a means to inspire greater blood flow and a rapid vein expansion response within the region.
They also whisked away my urine, per my original request, and much due to recent irregularities. Heavy sedimentation, kidney pain, right side only bladder irritation, urine dark for days consecutively, and then the opposite with a nearly pale translucency (this result has been typical in-between Dark Urine Events).
Nurse First, Weights and Measures
Post-dawn, the Assistant Nursing Director covered my area. She's wide-eyed, open-ended, and absolutely full-on saturated with endless inertia (and prone to being described in terms commonly hyphenated).
She desperately wanted to weigh me. Several people did, in fact.. utilizing something called a Hoyer Lift. But that's an apparatus I likely cannot tolerate, because direct pressure on the muscles is to be avoided. Having my head needlessly dangling off the edge at a difficult angle would also be ill-advised. Then there's my circulation to the extremities potentially being disrupted.
So after some going back and forth business, and perhaps some rough eyeballing, the braintrust agreed to list me at 130lbs.
Gosh, this is super-duper BORING stuff.
So, how about a story problem instead?
If Howard weighed 87lbs in early 2019, then weighed-in at a much heftier 114lbs by early 2020, can you extrapolate what his current weight is today?
Shower Hour
The Shower Dude came into my room, ready to whisk me away for my weekly shower. But I refused his offer, explaining to him that I only take one shower per decade. He stared at me dejectedly, then left the room. Then came back minutes later, asking me again. And that was that.
Hours later Mr. Shower Dude came back and asked me if I'd like to hop on the Hoyer to be thoroughly weighed. Again, I refused. What must he think of me now?
Commode Mode
I got totally killed, but didn't fall down to my depth. Close call though. Wibble wobble. Lunge dive twist.
Heart pounds and pounds. Body done in. Light is pain. Sound is penetrating. Muscles ache.
I know you understand.
Physical Therapy Bee Enters the Fray
Black bandana pulled down over my eyes. Earmuffs set in place. I am locked into a semi-permanent bodily position. A statuesque pose with a slight left side pelvic tilt, keeping direct pressure off of my coccyx. Then I allow the extraneous noises to pass through me, pass through me.. offering no resistance...
Knock, knock. She greets me. Her name is Bee, the Therapy Goddess. I listen to her voice. I can tell that it's going to be okay. She means no harm.
Priority #1 - make the commode transfer far less dangerous
Priority #2 - make shower event workable
Priority #3 - better organize my area, items within immediate reach
I explained to her in graphic detail my physical limitations. She was kind, considerate, and uncommonly understanding. So much so, it brought tears to my eyes. She even stated that she wished to make my life easier. I mean, who the hell ever says those kinds of things? In my life experience.. nobody.
She will schedule two specific shower specialists to work with me each and every time, learning how to transfer me directly to the shower cart (from my bed), then clean me without utilizing physical touch (of course, after wheeling me down to the shower room).
The Therapy Goddess explained to me that she'd had previous experience working with a young person like me, in his 30s, with a similar condition. Haha! I let it pass.
Note: several other people attempted to weigh me and/or shower me throughout the day - no comment on what the latter suggests
Director of Activities
The Activities Director came to visit. Impressive title, right? Except that she's only the "acting" Activities Director. Why? Because their department is extremely shorthanded. More regularly, the department employs a cast of nine. Right now, she's it. She's the entire department. Her alone. All 97lbs.
The apparent problem? No one is interested in applying for the job(s).
Oh, and Bee told me that lockdown restrictions had just been lifted. That would allow my roommate to actually… leave the room from time to time. Well earned pieces of quiet for me. You know that's what I seek. Plus, it'll be good for him, too. Maybe my near constant state of silence offends him somehow (we do chat sporadically).
Responses to Recently Asked Questions (previous comment section)
"Didn't you have a therapist once upon a time?"
I still do have the online therapist available, the one who has been volunteering to talk to me free of charge these past few years. But I have absolutely no privacy here. Besides that, his strong suit is mindfulness (not coincidentally, the only thing allowing me to remain sane during these recent years in bed). But neither relationship related stuff, nor emotions, are his particular thing. He's more focused on non-things.
In that regard, I feel I need to invest more effort into the specific things I've been obsessively writing out in recent days. The pointed observations involving my place in all of this needs to be evaluated. Addressing my role and involvement, yes, that too! And hers. I need to find my truth.
Logic dictates a specific course of action be taken… but I am finding logic altogether unappealing. I'm seeking out a loophole.
For me, almost all of the difficulty has to do with being in limbo. That's the problem. Where the hell am I? Or it's all about suffering in denial. I feel I need an interpretation from an unfamiliar outside source. Validation. Something tangible to chew on, then spit right back out.
"What's the Deal with the Dental Work?"
As they need to pull out all of my teeth, I need to first decide if their plan will work for me. The drugs they'll use. The risk. Having to be there by myself without an advocate. Having this done in the dental office, rather than in a hospital. How I'll handle coming back to the nursing home. What'll happen without me having any teeth for 30-days (dentures eventually). Will I be able to communicate my needs?
I suppose my primary concern is being able to speak clearly and intelligently with doctors (assuming Dr. Woo Woo sets me up with the much needed referrals to a variety of specialists). It may defeat the purpose of me being here, if I can't get the help I think I need.
"A Crooked Clock?"
Yes yes yes - definitely tilted
Or the building is askew
Bullet holes, too
"A Hug Thing?"
Someday someone is going to hug me because they want to. If/when I get better. After I've taken a shower or two.
Cheers,
H
THIS was my original blog entry opening (FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT) - It's something fraught with emotion. And I was going to delete the whole damn thing, but this is as close as I'm going to get to actually talking or expressing my current stance to somebody.
*Days okay, nights suck.
I've started today's blog entry on five separate occasions already.. a hundred words here, two-fifty there. Each and all attempts have been scrapped, as neither my head nor my heart was in the right place. Right now I am officially 60-hours into a dreadful experiment. An effort that's gradually tearing me apart from the inside out.
*No, it's not really. Not literally. Surely I am over-dramatizing, right?
< Also, I realize that everybody suffers. And know that suffering is all about perspective, one's mindset. But I do not seem to be able to get there just yet. Acceptance? What the hell is that? >
The Experiment
My objective is to NOT text, call, or otherwise initiate contact with my wife under any circumstances. I am curious to know how long it'll be before she even notices, or cares to check-in. Really, how many days shall it be?
Or perhaps it'll be weeks. or other larger units of measured time. I suppose it's yet to have crossed her mind, "How is my husband doing there?"
So that's weighing on me right now. Heavily. Making me insane.