Been out for a full week now, recovering at my parents’ house. I have almost total amnesia of the three weeks I spent in the hospital, which is very disturbing to me. Not sure if it was the drugs or my brain just trying to protect me or both, but it’s like trying to recall the details of an old dream that I’d previously described to someone else. A memory of a memory of a dream, so to speak. What little I do know could more easily be converted into an itemized list than an actual visual memories.
Everything seems different now. Everything is strange. Foods I previously liked do not taste the same; I look in the mirror an see a stranger’s angular face. Even the scent of my own body is alien to me; it seems sterile and foreign, like the environment in which I was being kept. Not sure if this is a side effect of the anesthesia or the delaudid or what.
Much thanks to everyone who’s stuck by me and visited, called, sent care packages, etc. I’m very lucky to have such wonderful friends/family. I’m greatly looking forward to the 18th, when the reconstruction of my leg — with metal and cadaver bone, my mom’s been telling me — can finally be completed.
I was finally discharged today after three weeks in three different hospitals and one nursing home. I fell on February 15th, broke my femur completely IN HALF, and as a bonus was diagnosed with BONE CANCER. I go back in for another surgery on the 18th.
We live in a second-floor apartment, and my wheelchair is no match for the 19 steps it takes to get up there, so for the time being, my son and I will be staying with my parents.
Here’s a side-view of my right leg:
They sliced me open, scooped out a tumor the approximate size and shape of a facehugger, cut out the surrounding cartilage, bone, and muscle before stapling me back up.
The red dot you see near my Self-Made Man tattoo is from the screw they put in to keep my leg from falling completely apart, and the red dot to the right of the staples was used for post-op drainage — blood, lymphatic fluids, etc.
A set of x-rays taken of my lower body showed “significant deterioration” (their words — not mine) in both hips, so I have a feeling the bone scan will turn up even more fun stuff. 😦
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.
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
So I fell and broke my femur in half on Saturday evening, which led to the discovery of bone cancer. I’ll write about it when I’m feeling a little better and am NOT being kept severely dehydrated. Lots of “WTF Nurse?!” stories to share.
Yeah, I’m just gonna come out and say it: I’m at the hospital with my femur broken clean in half. Took a fall last night, and it turns out “my bad knee” isn’t arthritic; it’s a tumor. Can’t tell whether it’s benign until after they’ve done exploratory surgery.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Benign tumors don’t eat your fucking femur.