And by it, I mean me!
I’m home, appendix free and with my brand new semi colon. There is still a lot of pain and swelling, but I have never been more grateful to be home in my entire thirty-eight years of life.
Home is nothing short of pure bliss right now, and I promise to never complain about my kitchen again.
Okay. I promise to never complain about my kitchen again at least until the end of the month.
Here’s
what I need to tell you about hospitals; (I used a semi colon there just for
irony – thanks A!)
There
are many wonderful people inside hospitals.
Hospitals
are one of the most horrible places on earth.
I
spent three and a half days in a highly reputable Atlanta area hospital, 24
hours of which I was so strung out on anesthesia and pain meds I slept and
vomited my way through them. And I NEVER
WANT TO GO BACK.
We
have excellent healthcare available in America, and I am fully aware of the
lack of healthcare many people face in developing countries. My surgery and consequent hospital stay were
in a facility I’m incredibly blessed to have such easy access to, and there were
hundreds of others there receiving quality care at the same time I was. The doctors and nurses were trained
professionals, educated in some of the most widely respected medical schools in
the world. I had my own recovery room,
complete with a bed, full bathroom, and a television, and I had access to any
medicines or health products I could have needed at the push of a button. Someone came in each day to clean my room,
and offered to use only soap and water because of my nausea. Someone came in each day to deliver my liquid
only meals, and didn’t say a thing when he had to remove them an hour later
untouched. Someone delivered me one foot
away from the car door in a wheelchair upon my discharge.
I.
Am. So. Grateful.
And yet,
I NEVER WANT TO GO BACK.
I
know there are children who will not get a meal today, liquid or
otherwise. I know there are babies who
won’t get the medicines they need. I know
they are people who haven’t showered in three days and feel as disgusting as I
did but won’t get to shower for how knows how long because they don’t have a
shower or a house or food or a bed or a television or a hospital. Please know I KNOW these things and I am so
grateful.
But
y’all, hospitals are truly horrible places, and after three and a half days in
one, I think America can do better.
Hospitals
are supposed to be places of healing.
How
can healing come when medicines are being pumped into a body that can’t take
them? When the patient, in fact, has to
be the one to suggest perhaps all the heavy-duty pain meds on a continuous drip
into a body that hasn’t consumed food in days might be what is causing all the
nausea? When the patient, who thankfully
was coherent enough to speak and think for herself (not always the case in
hospitals) has to ask if we can just try something by mouth instead? (Advil is working just fine, my friends, and
the nausea was gone almost as soon as that pain pump was removed – I really
should have gone to med school, don’t you think?)
How
can healing come when one person enters a room where a patient is trying to
rest every couple of hours to listen to her heart and bowel sounds (it sounds like a hot tub down there in case your curious - the neighbors can hear my bowel sounds right now without a stethoscope), and then another person comes in every couple of hours, BUT
NEVER AT THE SAME TIME, to take the patient’s pulse, blood pressure, and
temperature? Thinking maybe that could
be the same person, since the entire process would then take a total of three minutes instead
of two minutes but everything would be done at once, instead of every stinking hour
throughout the entire stinking night?
Just a thought.
Along
those same lines, they could use a few more classes on time management
and multitasking in nursing school, in my opinion. Please be aware that this very humble opinion
comes from someone totally and completely inadequate as a caregiver who could
never be a nurse in her life and thank you to that wonderful man who held the
barf bag for me and cheered for me every time I vomited into it like I had just
finished a marathon. Still, I’m pretty
sure there is someone out there who could train nurses to be able to get both a
bandaid and a cup of ice at the same time, preferably within less than seventy
minutes. (Just so you understand I'm not trying to be ungrateful - this was not a one time incident - this happened with every nurse, every time, with everything I needed.)
How
can healing come when the food given to someone who just had almost a foot of
her colon removed is full of artificial colors, flavors, preservatives and even
sweeteners? Seriously? Italian Ice and orange Jello for someone who
wants to get healthy and never have to go back to the hospital – are you
kidding me? I'm home, and although I know it is wrong, I am finding great joy in my circumstances today. I’ve showered. I’ve brushed my teeth and combed my hair and even had a cup of coffee with my creamer that has nothing whatsoever artificial in it. I’ve taken a few more Advil and I’m resting comfortably in a chair in my home, and I am so very grateful. There are people in downtown Atlanta who didn’t get to leave that hospital yesterday. There are people all across the world who don’t have a hospital and need one.
I
will remember the man who held the bag and cheered for me as I threw up into
it. I will remember the woman who
offered to clean my room with only soap and water. I will remember the nurse who told me I looked
so much better when I could only have looked so much worse. I will remember the boy who delivered my food
and encouraged me to eat my grits. I will remember how lucky I am to have access
to doctors with the amazing abilities to provide a higher quality of life
for me. And when I look at the six
incisions across my stomach, I will forever remember what a true blessing
it is to have wonderful friends who cared enough to pray for me, and a family
to come home to when the worst was over.
Thank
you, God, for hospitals. Thank you for all
the nurses and doctors who work in them.
Thank you for those unseen in the hospitals – the ones who prepare food
and deliver equipment and test blood and stock rooms. Thank you for medicine. Thank you for life. Thank you for friends, for family, and today,
maybe more than any day I’ve ever known, thank you, God,
for home.
