This is the cold and flu season. Not the best time of the year to start a new job. I worried as my start date, today, approached that I would catch a bug and develop a few sniffles and start my new job not at my best.
I would consider the sniffles a goddamn Christmas gift right now.
My last day at my old job was Friday. I posted my farewell to Priscilla, and settled in to enjoy my weekend before starting my new job. We Skype with our mountain friends on Friday evenings because we’re party animals. I didn’t feel great, but decided my upset stomach was nothing more than anxiety about leaving my old job and starting the new one.
While we were chatting with our friends, my upset stomach became more insistent. I left Randy alone and got into bed. It went from bad to worse in minutes. I learned that even a sip of water would trigger massive vomiting.
We’re going to skip ahead about 8 hours now. Trust me, you do not want to know what transpired over that time frame. It’s disgusting.
Around 4:00 AM, I told Randy it was time to go to the ER because I was positive I was no longer made up of 50% – 65% water and I was in danger of turning into a mummy.
I thought they would slap a few bags of saline in me, give me some anti-nausea medication and send me on my way. My blood work, however, convinced them otherwise. I had a fairly severe infection of some sort and they admitted me.
I was worried I’d get the sniffles before starting my new job. Instead, for the first time in my entire life, I was being admitted to the hospital for an illness. The fucking ridiculousness of this timing would be annoying the fuck out of me if I didn’t still feel so bad.
I probably would have had a lot of funny stories to tell you, but I got morphine every four hours, so it’s already fuzzy. I know my daytime nurse looked like a cross between The Rock and one of my nephews and he was nice. The nighttime nurse wasn’t as pretty to look at, but she did bring my morphine on time, which is more than I can say for Dwayne Johnson. I do remember that the first thing I had to do when I got into my room was to poop in a pilgrim hat. I could have gone my entire life without collecting my own poo. It was horrifying. And it was just the beginning of an array of indignities.
My dad liked to use scare tactics when I was a kid. For instance, I went to pet a stray dog one time and he lost his shit. He told me that stray dogs were rabid and if it bit me, they would have to cut the dog’s head off and send it off to be tested and that I would have to get 21 shots in my stomach.
That fucking horrified me. Kids hate shots anyway, but the thought of getting shots in my stomach sounded like medieval torture.
On Saturday, The Rock told me that he needed to give me an injection of a blood thinner since I wouldn’t be moving much. It was to prevent blood clots. Then, as casually as you would say that you needed to tie your shoe, he told me that he would be injecting it in my stomach. IN MY STOMACH!! I thought he was fucking kidding. They only do that for rabies! I’m sure of it!
It didn’t really hurt. I got one on Sunday as well.
I think a good motto for the hospital I was in should be ‘For fuck’s sake, don’t let a patient fall asleep’!
Someone came into my room at 5:30 in the goddamn morning, flipped on the light and then jabbed me with a needle to draw blood. I had been asleep for about an hour, which was a record. Between the alarm on my IV going off every hour, and other various alarms and beeps and wheezing machines, sleep wasn’t much of an option. Except for immediately after morphine time. I slept then.
I was on a clear diet, so I had broth, jello, juice and lemon ice. Basically, flavored water at different temperatures. They weren’t fooling me. Honestly though, I knew what food could do and I didn’t want anything to do with food. I ate take out pizza Friday night. For all that is holy…I’m pretty sure I will never eat pizza again. I think bacon might even be ruined for me.
I didn’t really want anyone to be there with me. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so horrible. I was too sick to watch TV, I was too sick to sleep. I mostly just laid in that bed and stared at the ceiling tiles. The good thing was, until they determined what my infection was, I was in an isolated room, so at least it was just me.
My baby boy, Joey, stopped by to see me Saturday evening. I had been drugged up about an hour earlier and felt good enough to form a few words. And what did I do? I talked shit about the woman working at the nurses station. While the speaker was still on. I’m surprised I made it out of there alive.
In my defense, she was horrible. I pressed the call button when the alarm on my IV started going off. She answered with this deep sigh and ‘Can I HELP you’? her ‘can I help you’ sounded very much like ‘I don’t care about your problem and I hope you die’. I called a second time because The Rock was over an hour late with the anti-nausea medicine and morphine and was greeted the same way.
Joey volunteered to go across the street to a drugstore to get me a pair of readers because I was having a hard time facebooking on my phone. We weren’t sure when visiting hours were over so I said. “Hey, I’ll buzz the nurse’s desk and ask. Wait til you hear how goddamn annoyed she is that I exist”. She responded just as I thought she would. I asked my question and she responded that there were no visiting hours. People could come when they wanted. But she didn’t disconnect. I mean, in my mind, the conversation was over, but apparently it was not. I looked at Joey and said “Seriously, have you ever heard anyone sound more goddamn annoyed than that”? Then I hear her say “Ma’am, can I HELP you”?
I bet it was her that decided I would get a green popsicle when I asked for one. Giving a person a green popsicle is an act of hostility.
On Sunday, they said that I could be discharged after I successfully ate something for lunch. I guess 6:00 pm is technically after lunch. I waited 3 hours with no one coming into my room at all (why couldn’t they have ignored me like that in the middle of the night?) and then The Rock came in and read a few things to me and I was wheeled out the door.
I still felt like death when I got home last night.
I did not start my new job today. I’m going to need all your collective good thoughts, because I told my new boss that I would be there tomorrow.
I should have said Wednesday.
Now? Now I am going to go take my first shower since last Thursday evening. My hair has fused together into a solid mass and I smell like a barn full of sick goats.