I’m back, I’m beaming, and I’m blessed.
Folks and friends: I was released from Queen’s Medical Center yesterday and finally home after eight days. I daresay it was a learning experience in real time.
Yes, I contend that a hospital is a hotel for folks who need fixing; it’s not the staycation you want or plan, but the level of repairs and fixes depend on the severity of your illness. Rest, recovery, and a return to the normal of the recent past are part of the goal.
Mine is a work in progress; home free, but lot to arrange, like home service kokua, several follow-up doc appointments.
- I checked in without luggage; now, I have two companions which will be close to me and go anywhere I go. It’s a pair of drainage pouches, one to collect for scrutiny, from the abscess in my liver, the other to gather rather gross bile from my gall bladder. Miraculously, a tube has been placed in my problematic zone, and this is something I have to do endure for several weeks.
- I also received a walker to support my wobbly mobility; have had in-house training down the corridors of Queen’s. Have to diligently include this in my recovery phase, but walkers never have been part of my life. You know, walkers that were integrated in the hilarious hit Broadway musical, starring. Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick and a cast of walker dancers ingeniously choreographed to show the potential fun you can have with your aluminum gizmo involved with your care home or neighborhood seniors. But seriously, this is no joke, a moment of truth.
- I also had my Queen’s wristband on, when I returned — this was the golden key to anything and everything for two weeks.
Don’t make a big deal about it, but I can tell you that Queen’s has had two malfunctions with their fire drill alarms. Two nights in a row. Could. Not. Shut. It. Down. The last one, at 1 a.m. the last morning of my stay, was roaring and ringing for 70 minutes.
Most patients were up, natch, and the piercing noise sucked.
Ask the Moaner across the way, who shouts and yells stuff I cannot comprehend; I believe he thinks he had to compete with the malfunction, so he was noisy but not as loud as the efferent bells.
Hospital neighbors are valuable for sustaining a peaceful visit to fix what you have broken. I may be niele, but I never ask neighbors because like me, I believe they value the own privacy. Guy 1 was in the bed over the nifty dividing curtain, for four days; we exchanged hellos, but while I could hear over the curtain, I never discovered what his issues were. Guy 2 replaced him and while I dodged conversation, we chatted briefly on two occasions. While friendly, he was a noisy dude with six daughters and a son, and something like 17 grandchildren and one on the way; there were birthday calls for him, and except for one daughter, there were no visits. However, business associates were unintentionally loud with no concern for their own privacy.
This is why I told dear friends and family not to visit, knowing it’s a genuine note of concern, so I appreciate the kind words of support from ya’ll. Cha and Jack sent lovely, sweet-scented yellow roses; my cousin Loreen and her hubby Butch sent a gorgeous card comprising a fab bouquet; when squeezed, it transformed into a bowl blooms. Both items provoked positive responses from the health staffer.
Stuff I’ve learned during the hospital sojourn:
— There’s always an angel to guide you through the dark times. Mine is my devoted wife Vi, the only “visiitor” I had daily, and she helped get me through these tough times. Thanks, hon!
- Worry not about your open gown flashing your derriere; the first time is uncomfortable, there might be brisk rear wind, but go ahead and flaunt it. Only you feel the embarrassment.
- Dunno about the women, but the creator of the bedside urinal did a bum job; it’s virtually impossible to not leave a drip on the bedding. I did the urinal thing, but also had diapers (again, no shame), plus a device that swooshed up the pee…but the buggah when leak.
- A huge mahalo, too, the medical team led by Dr. Rho, skippered this journey of wellness for me.
- Can’t send enough thanks to the crew of nurses, who serve timelessly, night and day, with a smile and joy… It would be proper to tip ‘em, but uncomfortable and inappropriate if he/she wiped you after No 2. Awkward!