Part III: The discharge (no, not that kind...)
19 March 2009, 15:37
On Day 10, I was moved into the “regular” ward without all the 24/7 attention and 2am drawing of blood (taking blood out of me is like getting it from a stone and it had taken one nurse 6 tries, including an attempt in my feet before she gave up…)
After the “Marge” incident the night before and the chronic lack of sleep I’d had in HDU, the nurses were practically high-fiving me on the way out.
I was in a ward of 3 beds with two lovely middle-age ladies who were both poised to start chemo, poor buggers, and I was relieved that they were both quiet and self-possessed. At 3pm, one of the ladies was transferred out. Have no idea where she went. She simply disappeared.
At 5pm, I had a couple of friends visiting when a bloke was wheeled in to my ward. He was moaning pneumatically in pain at roughly 100 decibels – and every 15 seconds or so he’d let out this awful sobbing sound – he was clearly suffering. My friends and I traded looks of “You. Have. Got. To. Be. Joking”.
I’m sure this does not cast me in a good light, after all he was in undisputed pain, but fuckit, I hadn’t slept in 10 days, could they not have put him in a private room? I thought maybe he might stop once the painkillers kicked in, but alas, no. Being in a ward with a loud moaner was one thing as I’d had plenty of those in HDU, but having to listen to someone in incredible pain and not be able to do anything about it is Hell. So I did the only thing a self-respecting, sleep-deprived subarach could do.
I had a meltdown.
I fled to the nurses station in tears sobbing that I felt really sorry for the bloke in my room as he was in obvious pain but pleeeeease could I be moved to another room as I haven’t slept in 10 days. The father of the bloke had followed me, and asked the nurses why was I crying? I couldn’t work out if he was upset for me or angry at me that I was blubbering to the nurses.
A half-hour later the nurses came in to say that they were swapping bloke with a lady from another room. But I felt awful then as that would mean someone else would have to listen. Even when they moved him I could still hear the moans from several rooms away.
Although a nurse woke me at 2am for my 4-hourly nimodopine, I actually got some sleep. In a blissfully dark room.
I was only in the ward for a day before they transferred me to the MediHotel – a sweet section of RMH where patients are expected to be independent (taking their own meds etc.) but still with nursing staff on hand just in case.
My discharge seemed to happen really suddenly. One moment I was in HDU experiencing sometimes overwhelming attention, the next I was advised that I’d be going home the next day. My recovery was going well and I seemed to have no cognitive or motor deficits (apart from predisposition to tantrums) so they were confident I’d be OK at home.
I don’t mind saying that I was shitting myself about going home. I wanted to get out of Regan-farm but I was worried that something would go wrong at home. Not ever having had an aneurysm before, I didn’t know what symptoms of stroke or delayed complications to look out for.
So it was with mixed feelings that I headed home on Wednesday the 18th, 3 days before McG’s birthday. He’d put in his birthday request that I be home by his birthday, and he got his wish…
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