Recovery

2

I’m here; I’m alive.  Been back at my parents’ house for the past ten days or so, and I haven’t really bothered charging my cell.  Whatever time I’m not spending with Ev is largely occupied by BBC America: Orphan Black, Doctor Who, and of course Star Trek TNG.  (The upside of being here is that there is cable.)

Doing home PT and looking forward to trying crutches next week.  Had the staples taken out on Wednesday (all 55 of them), and the surgeon says everything looks great.

As for my memory of the second hospitalization, I’d say it’s spotty, but mostly intact. I remember becoming aware of the fact that I missed out on an entire 24-hour period (I think it was a Thursday) and at one point waking up not knowing who I was or why I was in the hospital (which was scary) Dilaudid is some nasty shit.  At least I wasn’t acting like a total madwoman the second time around.  (In other words, I was nice to people.)

About ten more weeks until I can put weight on my new leg!  June cannot arrive soon enough.

Hosptial Day 11

0

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