On Thursday, since I was on the mend, I tried to convince the doctor to let me go home. He declined saying that although I was getting better, I still needed to finish the antibiotics and acyclovir IVs and needed watching since I'd had a terrible infection, they needed to make sure I was going to STAY better. One more day in the hospital was preferable to being readmitted in a few days if things didn't go well because of an early release.l
My anxiety was pretty high, especially since I had stopped taking my antidepressant the Saturday before because I was afraid of drug interaction with the meds from the minor med clinic and (mostly) because I forgot to take them. They didn't accompany me to the hospital because I never thought I would be admitted. I didn't bring my purse or my bra either. So by Wednesday I was not in my happy place the celexa makes for me, and asked if it was okay to have my daily dose. Good for me, celexa doesn't interact with the meds I was being given, and the little pills were added to the plastic cup with everything else.
But I still had a pity party or two or five before my happy pills kicked back in and a couple of crying jags in the dark hours alone. Waaahhh!! I want Dr. Cooper!! I almost called him, but talked myself back from the edge when I realized it was 3am. My last session was back in the middle of December and I had to move my next appointment due to a conflicting attendance in court to get the divorce finalized. I feel like I have made a huge step forward in dealing with emotional upset on my own, but I have been seeing him for four years, sometimes once a week, mostly every other week. It's been almost six weeks, so he better hold onto his hat when I get in his office next week!!!
I think it was Wednesday night I decided to do something I never do, since I had so much free time, and stayed up all night watching tv. Saw lots of Modern Family reruns, a cop movie, and a very interesting program on PBS. It was the story of the first forensic laboratory in the New York City administration back in 1920 something. Mostly stories of poisoning and alcohol abuse connected to prohibition. Crazy stuff like you can't make up. So around dawn, I was ready to snooze, but noooo.....here comes everybody at shift change to draw blood, change IVs, take my blood pressure, take my temperature, give me some pills, and fuss at me for not drinking water. Just as all that settled down, the parade of doctors began, bringing students to have a look at my shrinking lip and asking me if they could have a look at the pictures on my phone. There's nothing like documentation, I must say.
So between the fitful snoozing and interruptions, my mind wandered to silly places like it does when I need to entertain myself. The whole time I was in the hospital, there was a constant white noise close by and a couple days into the stay, I figured out it was the bed. But why did the bed make a constant noise? Soon after that discovery, I realized the bed was in constant motion as well. Every time I moved to adjust myself to a more comfortable position, the bed moved too. When I asked the nurse, she explained it was to relieve pressure points so the patient would be less likely get bed sores. Oh, okay.
So lying in the bed was really laying on top of a robot.....hmmmmm. That would explain the bizarre dream form Tuesday night that I had been abducted by aliens and wrestled with one of them. I pictured myself tossing and turning, from pain and meds, and the bed responding to each and every movement with its own motion to try and compensate, trying to keep me from getting bed sores. That was its job!!! A step further in my imagination, I concocted a scenario, of a robot bed with artificial intelligence, that would learn from the movement of the patient and it's own responsive motion. Because I have a goofy sense of humor, I thought about the bed getting frustrated in its attempts to comfort such a restless patient and just dumping me on the floor. The bed was named the Skynet Model 647 in honor of one of my favorite science fiction movie franchises, The Terminator. I want to write that story, too, someday. I did find out about thirty minutes prior to leaving, there was a way to turn the bed off. Grrr.
Thursday dragged on and the doctors said they would spring me from the joint on Friday, since the surgeons had signed off and the infectious disease guys seemed to think the abscess was draining sufficiently on it s own. The course of IV meds was complete and I was to take similar meds by mouth according to the directions. Thursday afternoon, I called my friend and had her bring clothes since I had nothing but one pair of clean undies since Tuesday morning and she had taken my shirt to wash. I certainly did not want to ride home with my coat over my bare bosom. The nurse wrapped up the place on my arm where the IV port was sticking in me, and I showered and washed my grubby hair. Aaahhhh....I slept like a baby Thursday night. Don't remember too much of the periodic jabbing and recording of vital signs. Friday morning, the doctors came by to declare me fit to return to the world and resume my valiant march towards improved health. I called my good friend Sam to give me a ride to my vehicle, which was at his house since Tuesday, when he and his wife, my long time besty, had come to visit and retrieved my truck from the ER parking lot.
Papers were ordered and signed in quick time and I gathered my plants, candy, and magazines, got wheeled to the automatic doors, where my ride was waiting. Soon I was back in my house, in my jammies, cuddled in my bed. My lip still looked pretty rough, but the pain was much abated.
As much as I didn't want to be there, the hospital stay was a very good experience. The nurses, aides, and even the doctors were kind and concerned with my well being. Everyone was nice to me and I tried to be pleasant and grateful for how well they did their jobs, helping to make me feel better.
The other lesson I learned from this is to NEVER touch a booboo and to wash my hands a thousand times a day!!!!!!!