Day 12

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My Grandmother has been hospitalized with heart failure, I’m in a nursing home, and my parents are basically raising my child.

It’s been twelve days since my hair has been washed, twelve days since I’ve last eaten, and I really, REALLY have to pee.

Now I find out that the nursing home doesn’t actually have a pharmacy at its disposal; it takes time to order and receive prescriptions.

And the nurse’s assistant spilled the contents of the bedpan all over my skirt AND the bed. She put a pad over the bed and said they’d change the sheets tomorrow.  The skirt she threw in with my clean clothes.

And these motherfuckers are supposed to reteach me how to walk?

To top it all off, I have a roommate. More on that later, I’m sure.

Hosptial Day 11

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I’ve spent the past three hours stuck in my room, unable to get out, unable to find the ‘call’ button, which must have slipped beneath my bed.  My body is nearly dry of pain medication and on top of that, I’m dehydrated.  At least bedpans and catheterization are actively encouraged here; at F. Hospital, I was told it would be easier to just piss myself and clean it up.

Yes, I was indeed told by one elderly Asian woman there was “too much pee” in me to use a catheter (I hadn’t peed in 0ver 24 hours).  Lucky, the doctor on call (who turned to have gone home around dinnertime) was able to convince the crazy bitch that catheterization was preferable to bedwetting