Walk , Don’t Run

You’d think a nurse would enjoy the opportunity to express her thoughts about what it’s like to be on the other side — to be a patient, but it’s hard to be objective when you find yourself feeling sympathy for the frazzled looking fifty- something nurse who’s dragging a wheeled computer table into your room.

It wasn’t my first rodeo, but last week I spent some time in a hospital bed, then on a table( when the mattress is actually a foam pad I call it a table) then back in a bed long enough to have a better understanding why the geriatric population has a true appreciation for laxatives.

I slept, ate a little, got woken up at 4 am and 6 am each morning, and tried hard not to get my IV tangled in the sheets.

Service was great. Funny how that sounds like restaurant talk.

I never had to push my call light because someone was always checking up on me. * Not that I would have probably needed to push the button, my sister or parents were always there. And, I went home feeling much better than I did before going in.

Here’s the thing …I know from my own work that there are some aspects of the whole hospital experience that we can’t take care of with a pill, a warm blanket, or even a foot massage — it’s all the thoughts that run through your mind. Mine leapt and spun because they were the only thing allowed to move. Thank God for my family. They somehow instinctively knew when to initiate some idle chatter, when to glance at the newspaper. I love that they had respect for the quirky chaos that goes on in my head.

I was discharged and rolled out in a wheelchair even though I wanted to walk.

Then I wrote a nice letter to the hospital about all the nurses that took care of me.

 

 

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