The room had two beds, but I was fortunate enough to not have a roommate. The staff couldn't guarantee it would stay that way, but I remained optimistic. Cautiously optimistic, anyway. Throughout my stay, every noise in the hall outside the room would grab my attention, and I'd strain to hear whether I was going to have a new visitor.
Anyway, once we were settled in, someone on the staff (don't recall if it was Dr. Oro, Kimberly, or one of the recovery nurses) took the dressing off of my wound, and the Frankensteinian horror was laid bare for all to see:
Just add bolts...
Although it isn't obvious from the picture, the back of my head felt very "puffy". When I pressed down on the skin around the suture, I would hear a squishy sound. For this reason, I didn't partake in this activity frequently.
I was on the recovery ward for the next two days, and the schedule was very routine. I would receive a call in the morning to order breakfast, a call in the afternoon for lunch, a call in the evening for dinner. The food was surprisingly decent, although you can only eat so many pancakes before you're ready for something else.
The nurses would change shifts between 7am - 8am and 7pm - 8pm. The shift change meant a new nurse and nurse's assistant would come in the room to introduce themselves, and the new team would familiarize themselves with my dosage schedule (and I'm sure any particular idiosyncrasies). The staff was very nice and accommodating, and even though each nurse had a 5:1 nurse-to-patient ratio, I was never made to feel like a burden.
Being able to rest in the bed for hours was great, and Stacey would stay in the room during visiting hours (8am - 7pm) -- probably bored beyond belief, but she never said anything. She would keep herself busy reading, watching tv, and ordering my meals for me.
My only complaints I had while on the recovery ward -- and yes, I do understand I wasn't on a retreat -- were the early, early wake-up calls to take my medicine, and the IVs. The 1am, 3am, 5am, etc. wake-up calls really weren't all that bad, because the stuff was strong enough to knock me right back out inside of 20 minutes.
The IVs, on the other hand, I was not a big fan of. I hate needles to begin with, and I had more IVs stuck in me during my entire hospital stay than I've had in my entire lifetime. More on that later, but lets just say if I never have another IV put in one of my arms, I'm still ahead of 90% of this country on IV points.
During these two days, I'd get up every few of my waking hours and take a lap or two around the square-shaped ward to keep the blood flow moving and stretch out the neck muscles. I was shuffling at first, but by the second day was moving around at a pretty good pace, and with the help and suggestion by one of the physical therapists on staff, even went up and down a couple flights of stairs.
I also had the privilege of taking my first shower-with-wound. I tried to put it off as long as I could, but eventually had to go through with it. You get the water running at a comfortable temperature, and very cautiously sit yourself down on the stool already present in the shower stall. They give you baby shampoo for your entire head, but I wouldn't go near the wound, so the back of my head -- what little hair there was anyway -- was probably pretty greasy by the time I left.Although it isn't obvious from the picture, the back of my head felt very "puffy". When I pressed down on the skin around the suture, I would hear a squishy sound. For this reason, I didn't partake in this activity frequently.
I was on the recovery ward for the next two days, and the schedule was very routine. I would receive a call in the morning to order breakfast, a call in the afternoon for lunch, a call in the evening for dinner. The food was surprisingly decent, although you can only eat so many pancakes before you're ready for something else.
The nurses would change shifts between 7am - 8am and 7pm - 8pm. The shift change meant a new nurse and nurse's assistant would come in the room to introduce themselves, and the new team would familiarize themselves with my dosage schedule (and I'm sure any particular idiosyncrasies). The staff was very nice and accommodating, and even though each nurse had a 5:1 nurse-to-patient ratio, I was never made to feel like a burden.
Being able to rest in the bed for hours was great, and Stacey would stay in the room during visiting hours (8am - 7pm) -- probably bored beyond belief, but she never said anything. She would keep herself busy reading, watching tv, and ordering my meals for me.
My only complaints I had while on the recovery ward -- and yes, I do understand I wasn't on a retreat -- were the early, early wake-up calls to take my medicine, and the IVs. The 1am, 3am, 5am, etc. wake-up calls really weren't all that bad, because the stuff was strong enough to knock me right back out inside of 20 minutes.
The IVs, on the other hand, I was not a big fan of. I hate needles to begin with, and I had more IVs stuck in me during my entire hospital stay than I've had in my entire lifetime. More on that later, but lets just say if I never have another IV put in one of my arms, I'm still ahead of 90% of this country on IV points.
During these two days, I'd get up every few of my waking hours and take a lap or two around the square-shaped ward to keep the blood flow moving and stretch out the neck muscles. I was shuffling at first, but by the second day was moving around at a pretty good pace, and with the help and suggestion by one of the physical therapists on staff, even went up and down a couple flights of stairs.
Before I could be discharged, the nurses needed to confirm that my... "intestinal plumbing was in order". I'll spare you the details, but they collect everything -- and I mean everything -- to confirm you've done your part. I was having no problem on the front end of things; in fact, I was probably driving the nurses crazy, because whenever I was hooked up to the IV, I'd need to buzz them to unhook me before I could use the bathroom. I'm sure by the time I left, they were happy to be rid of "the guy in Room 305".
As for the business end, not so much luck there. By the end of the second day, with a large degree of effort on my part (and a clearly poor effort on the part of my large intestine), I managed to produce enough to qualify me as "dischargeable". After a final check-up from my doctor and his team, I was given the okay to go home.
Fortunately for me, home was temporarily a hotel only a few miles away, and although the hospital stay wasn't bad by any stretch of the imagination, I was looking forward to being free of dangling IVs, some regular food, and my own schedule.
Stacey gathered up all of my things in the room, and hurried off to bring the rental car (a Jeep Liberty -- a wise choice for Colorado in November) to the pick-up area. I was finally given reprieve from world of IVs, and was wheeled down -- first class -- to the car. They helped me in, and we drove off to the hotel for four days of non-hospital rest and recuperation.
Finally, the hard part was over. Or was it?
Coming up Next: You Have GOT to be Kidding Me
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