Today is day eleven in the hospital. I’m noticing things.
You grow more comfortable with discussions about bodily functions.
My dad has always had a flagrant disregard for the concept of polite conversation. Now, it is even worse. I have be party to more fart and poop conversations than I ever want to go through in my life. This isn’t the normal “when was your last bowel movement” conversations. This man brought up his lack of pooping at least twenty times a day and when he finally did go, you would think he saved a bus full of children, puppies, and nuns.
Oh, and he thought it was funny to make jokes every ten seconds about my snoring and flatulence when the Viking was in the room last Friday. Awesome.
You begin squirreling away food like winter is coming.
I have stashes of food. I have a little cubbyhole with a desk and a couch bed thingy. It is my nest. I live here. Yes, I fully acknowledge that it isn’t sane, but I’m living in a hospital. Stop judging me.
Bitch, you touch my muffin, I might stab your ass.
Your ‘give a fuck’ about your appearance is < zero
I smell funny. I am wearing badly mismatched clothes. Sometimes I leave the hospital room without shoes. I don’t have a ponytail holder so my hair is tacked up messily with three little hair clips I found. I stick my cell phone in my bra strap before I go anywhere. I’m a red hot mess, and I give less than zero fucks about it.
Sleep should be claimed whenever it can be.
Here is the thing about hospitals: they wake your shit up all the time. Last night we had some radiology guys bust in like the motherfucking SWAT team at 3am. I think I woke up and screamed at them.
I have become the master of the “screw y’all I’m sleeping” nap. If my dad is settled and I have been fed, my ass curls up and sleeps. Who know when you will get to sleep again and for how long.
Most of your day is spent doing nothing, but the second you try to do something, someone comes in or needs something.
I started this blog post at noon, and it’s now 8:49pm. I’ve had a solid twenty minutes to work on it. I’m a little frightened.
You find yourself playing stupid online games.
My Farmville 2 farm is bitching, and I’m unashamed. Don’t judge me. It is something to do that it doesn’t matter if I have to walk away from. I can’t do that with an MMO, and sometimes I get pissy about having to put down a book. I will walk my ass away from some digital chickens without remorse.
The outside world become like legend.
Okay, straight up, my sister and brother in law have been saints. I simply would not have made it through this without them. They keep offering to let me go over to their house to do silly things like showering and laundry while they stay with Dad, but honestly, I would rather nap. I’ve left this place four times. Once to go home for two days last weekend, once to go to the Target for medicine for my snotty head, and twice because Tina and the Viking picked my ass up and brought me into public.
Leaving sounds daunting. Things could happen here. Also, what the hell is the outside world?
(Lesson of the story: if you know someone in my position, go pick their asses up. Don’t give them an option. If things are calm with their loved one, make them leave with you.)
“Maybe Tomorrow” becomes a sick and twisted phrase to instill hope and then rip it away.
Typical conversation with nurse I haven’t seen in a few days:
Nurse: Y’all are still here?
Nurse: How is he doing?
Me: (Abbreviated status report, normally including a comment about him being a pain in the ass)
Nurse: Well, maybe he will be better enough to go home tomorrow.
You learn your medical equipment.
I can read a monitor like no one’s business. I know how to silence the damn beeping IV machine. I am a master at putting on those legs squeezy thingies.
On a side note, I grossed out a cardiac rehabilitation nurse today by noting how the blood in a transfusion bag looks like tomato soup. I count it as a win.
You learn that nurses and aides are the most wonderful people on Earth.
Good nurses and aides make the all the difference in how your day or night goes.
I have bitched, whined, complained, and thrown mini-tantrums about everything for the entire time, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You take care of family. I mean real family, not so much the people you share DNA with but the people who care for and love you. Also, margaritas help relax the hospital stress.
Okay, well I have some digital sheep to feed.