Week #3

Besides telling individual people, I decided to post a picture of the IV in my arm on my facebook wall to show where I was, and to give them a hint of what had happened to me. At least one person found out about it through that picture, namely Mimi (and through her, Maia). Messages from other people were also coming in, but in my mind I kept a list of special friends with whom I do not sure social groups, and so would not find out by themselves. I have been telling these people individually as it feels right. I was most amazed, however, by a message that I got from a person whose name I didn’t even know.

I did not bike the entire way from Chicago to Lafayette – a man and his wife picked me up on the way and gave me a 30-mile ride on his truck, possibly saving my butt from permanent numbness or extreme pain. I gave him a note of thanks for the ride with my name on it, and we said goodbye when he dropped me off at a gas station. I never got his name, so I was quite surprised when I received a get-well card from a certain David Sell. It was a most pleasant surprise to know that this man had given me a ride on his truck, and had learned of my accident from his daughter on the local newspaper. I haven’t responded to his letter yet, but I plan to do so soon. I appreciate his card and concern maximally.

I was supposed to be discharged from the hospital on Nov 1st, exactly 2 weeks after coming in. That same day, however, I complained of chest pain when breathing deeply, so the doctors ordered a few more tests. After x-rays of my chest, ultrasound of my legs, and a chest CT scan, the doctors diagnosed me with blood clots in my legs and a pulmonary embolia in my left lung. They told me I would now have to stay in the hospital for a few more days until the problem was controlled, so my discharge date was postponed. Although then the rental car my brother had gotten from the airport was now useless (he was planning to drive me to Chicago that day), I was very happy to stay in the hospital for a few more days. This was partly because the nurses that took care of me were funny and caring, and many of them also very pretty, but mostly because I did not feel ready for discharge. My legs and arm still hurt tremendously, and I only felt painless after receiving my dose of Delaudid, which immediately made me feel warm and woozy, and distanced the pain from my mind. Man, I miss my Delaudid.

Speaking of nurses, man, there were really some pretty ones. Most of them were married or had children, but only recently so. Young, kind, and taking good care of me, I easily became attached to several of them as good friends. I remember several very kindly. Bethany had a plump, smooth, pretty face, very midwestern-looking, and took care of me efficiently, but taking care not to hurt me, and always agreeable to a little conversation. Nita was a larger, older black woman who always talked to me while she changed my sheets or washed my body. I could tell she was fully dedicated to making me feel better. Edna, with asiatic features, was caring and/but efficient. Then Dymphna, an older greek-seeming woman with glasses took care of me a couple of times. Mallory, whom I sometimes mistook for Bethany, but chattier. Then there were John and Matthew, both of them black men on night shifts – very kind and always happy to answer my questions. There was Matt Humphrey, my first physical therapist, then Tammy who first helped me get to the bedside commode (that was such a relief), then George, who helped me stand up fully on my left leg. Dr Crozen knew spanish and explained my surgeries to my heart’s content before going into the operating room, Dr Jelen was my primary surgeon, and Alyssa, Jelen’s assistant, stopped by regularly to evaluate my legs and arm, removed bandages, and changed my dressings.

So many people that I met – and I’m not counting my case manager, my discharge manager, the housekeeping service, or the food delivery people. There were other nurses whose names I can’t quite recall now, but out of all them, Trina was my absolute favorite. She was always concerned about my comfort and kept my sheets and body clean. She was very pretty, always smiling and in a good disposition, she drew a cute smiley face next to her name on the whiteboard in my room, she gave me sponge baths (ALL over – that was nice), and our conversations frequently slid into quasi-flirting. She said I was a handsome guy, with dark hair and skin like she liked them, and I told her what I thought of her pretty face and fair skin. I wasn’t thinking of going anywhere past flirting, of course, but it gave me a nice thing to look forward to during my hospital days. It was especially nice to see her drop by sometimes just to talk with me – we enjoyed each other’s company.

At the end of my third week, my chest pain subsided, my blood thinner took full effect in my body, and my case manager thought it was a good time for my discharge. They wanted to discharge me on thursday, but I told Vanessa my dad couldn’t pick me up until saturday, so she allowed me to stay a few more days in the hospital. Which was nice. During these days, I was able to train on my wheelchair with my physical therapist George, and I re-learned to stand. Finally, on saturday morning, my dad appeared in my room, along with my uncle and cousin, and after some packing and George’s help, I was wheelchair’d out of the hospital and into the rental van, which brought my tired and nauseated self (car travel can be very nauseating after not doing it for a while) to my parent’s place here in Chicago.