Adventures in ICU and the Geriatric 5th Floor

Hospitals can be awful, smelly buildings where no one rests or eats.

After almost 22 hours in the ER, we were told I had a room in ICU.  "ICU?  That's for people with tubes and on life support.  I'm not even on oxygen".  I suppose I had taken the day's events a little lightly.  Up to ICU we went. 

Since I was shuttled around during the day for tests and the procedure, by default I ended up being one of the ER hallway creatures.  As I entered my new home away from home, I let out a grateful "thank you".  I was desperate for a better bed and some quiet.   As I looked around the modest room, I noticed something missing.  "Excuse me.  Where is the bathroom?" I softly asked my ICU nurse.  "Oh, in ICU most patients use a bed pan or a commode.  We can get you a commode". 

Say what now? 

The nurse brought in the commode and placed it near my bed.  I was mortified.  I had 3 large windows in my room facing the nurses station and only a small movable curtain.  Not to mention, whatever happened in that commode, a human being would have to remove it from my room, clean and return the bucket.  I thought for a moment.  "Do you have any strong plastic bags"? I asked.  "Sure, let me see if I can get some for you".  My nurse brought back a small stack of clear patient belongings bags.  I thanked him, got out of bed, took a bag, lifted the commode seat and securely placed a bag in the commode bucket.  "Oh no, that's my job to clean after you" he insisted.  "As long as I'm capable, no one should have to do that" I said.  It ended up working perfectly during my ICU stay.  I'd take care of business, securely seal the bag, replace it and I retained a little dignity.

I was in ICU for a couple of days.  My nurses were fantastic.  On Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving, Dr. G, the lung specialist, and the head of ICU paid me a friendly visit.  They had put me on the transfer list for another floor the day prior.  Unfortunately the hospital didn't have a non-ICU bed available.  Since I was on the transfer list however, and my vitals were great, they could try and discharge me.  Lou and I were overjoyed.  My friend Yvette, who happens to be a nurse, was up for a visit. Even my day nurse was cheering.

Then my Dr. P walked in.  

We all greeted him with excitement but he wasn't excited at all.  In fact, he appeared a bit concerned.  He wanted my blood pressure and temperature checked.

Blasted!  He knew.  I had a fever the night before.  My friend Karyn came Tuesday night.  She brought me a sesame bagel with veggie cream cheese - it tasted glorious.  Then things started to get hazy.  I remember she gave me a cookie, organized my Ricola in a cup and read me a devotional.  I was fever loopy and don't remember much else. 

Following Dr. P's request, the nurse came in.  My temp was 101.5.  All medical staff quickly turned and exited the room.  Yvette looked at me with sad eyes and said very matter of factly "Honey, you're not going home". 

I had a word with my Savior.  "Jesus, I am tired, I am disappointed.  I am so disappointed.  If it's in my best interests to stay, I am not happy but I'll stay.  Thank You for my care and please heal me."

I heard my day nurse outside of my room speaking with the doctors.  "I'm not giving her the bad news!" she exclaimed.  The doctors shuffled back in.  Dr. P, in a very fatherly tone, firmly stated "I suppose you know I can't let you go home with a fever.  Your blood work is fine - it's the blood clots causing the increase in temperature".  I tried to plead my case but he wouldn't have it.  As the doctors shuffled back out, Dr. G stayed.  He pointed his finger at me from the edge of the bed and said "I'm here early tomorrow morning and I'm starting with you on the 5th floor.  You better not have a fever when I get there. I want you with your family for Thanksgiving".  We smiled and he left.

Soon after another test I was relocated to the 5th floor.  The geriatric floor.  My roommate was an 80-something year old woman who just broke her hip.  I never take pleasure in another person's misery but this was, what I perceived as "a gift".  "She'll be morphined up and she can't get out of bed.  I have a toilet with a door all to myself". 

We'll call her Helen. 

Around 9pm Helen called over to me.  "Ms. in the other bed, can you help me?  I can't call the nurses".  "Sure thing" I responded.  I got up and showed her the button to press to call the nurse.  Someone would be in for her in a moment.  She began to explain that she has a pacemaker and they didn't give her a very important, very specific medication.  "Can you call my daughter?  I'm very concerned" she asked.

Now, I had been in a hospital before where a nurse entered into my records that she gave me a medication that she never did.  I felt bad for Helen and for goodness sake, I can't have this sweet old lady's blood on my hands.

I picked up her phone and asked for the number.  Her phone hadn't been activated. A nursing assistant came in and Helen started to ramble.  "My son's going to beat you up!" she shouted.  Oh gravy.  Helen has dementia.  I turned around and went back to my bed.  Another nurse came in and reassured her that she has more medication at 10pm. Helen tried to con me to use my cell phone.  I lied and told her my husband had it.  God forgive me but I knew if I said yes once, she'd want to call the universe by morning.  Helen was relentless.  "I understand.  You just don't want to help me" she moaned. Nice Grandma guilt Hels but it's not happening.

Did I mentioned the patient in the room next door?  I'm certainly not making fun of the mentally ill, but imagine if you will a large desert cat eating a screaming baby for 15 hours.  Was I an extra in a horror movie? 

Helen liked to party.  Girlfriend was non-stop chatter for the better part of the night.  She was also incredibly gassy.  I begged God "please Lord, don't let me go insane". As frustrated as I felt, I couldn't help but listen to the conversations she was having with herself.  Helen was basically telling her life story in snippets for hours.  She mentioned her children and her old union job and relived conversations with her husband about household duties.  Although my heart broke for her, I was starting to lose it.  "Honey, please I need you to go to sleep" I would gently plead.   I think she finally passed out around 3am after scores of nurses and assistants had to beg her to be silent. 

Morning came and before I knew it Dr. G was at the foot of my bed.  "Your temp was 99 - I'm discharging you!" he cheered.  It took several hours but before long, Lou and I walked out of the hospital and into the car.  The crisp fall air and bright sun on my face never felt so marvelous. 

Now in the entire experience this past week, no matter where we were in that hospital, God kept a steady stream of kind hearted, loving believers in our path.  A great lady who I just adore from my church was at the hospital for a treatment and heard I was there.  Although we missed each other, she managed to give a simple note to a nurse to let me know I'm in her prayers.  It meant the world to me.  We prayed with a couple in the ER who was facing a difficult health crisis.  One of my nurses hadn't been to church in years and was feeling lost.  Her and I had a great time in conversation together. 

So I had to use a commode and my roommate drove me a little batty.  There's always more to these trials of ours than meets the eye.