Kaonashi Ga Suki

Read the first three Parts under “Scoliosis Story”.

July 1991
5 days in the hospital

I only stayed in the ICU for about a day and a half, but a few people came to visit me while I was there. They brought presents, which was cool. One of my relatives (my granduncle and grandaunt, perhaps?) gave me a pot of geraniums. I think that’s what they’re called. They had purple petals and a yellow core. I liked them so much that when I got out of the hospital and came home, I planted them in our front yard.

The ICU was pretty noisy, if I recall. Nurses were always in and out of the room. I suppose that was normal, considering that patients who were in ICU were under close surveillance. I was happy when they moved me to a regular room. It was a lot more quiet there, not to mention more private since I had only one roommate.

During the first couple of days I slept a lot. The invasive nature of the surgery, and side effects of the anesthesia had taken their toll on my body. There was also a lot of vomiting, another side effect of the anesthesia that I mentioned in my previous post. Every couple of hours I would feel queasy. Fortunately I wasn’t eating any solid food during the first several days, so most of what I was throwing up was just water, which came from my steady diet of ice chips. Mmmm. Those ice chips were a godsend that first night. They moistened my dry, cracked lips and revived my sore throat.

I don’t remember the events of my 5 days’ stay in the hospital in chronological order. Instead I’ll just recount the more memorable incidents and experiences.

A Typical Morning
After waking up (or being awakened by the nurses), the nurses would check my vital signs and then give me a sponge bath. They would then change my bedding, which was difficult since I was still in the bed. The nurses had this system of rolling me back and forth. They would tuck the sheet under me, roll me to one side, and then pull the rest of the sheet from under me, and then roll me back to the middle. Unfortunately, this rolling process was painful and tough for me, but I had no choice. After changing my sheets I would then have breakfast. When I was weaned off the ice chips, I graduated to a liquid diet which composed of clear soup, a tiny can of lemon lime Fanta, and a sweet, thick, orange colored jello which was supposed to be full of vitamins and minerals or something like that. Since I was on a liquid diet, the orange jello was the only way I could get nutrients. To be honest, it didn’t taste that bad. I would then spent the rest of the day either watching TV, talking to my guests, or sleeping.

Needles
Ah yes, the needles. There were lots of them, poking and prodding my poor, poor skin. Every night the nurses would take a blood sample, and every couple of days they had to reposition the IV needle somewhere else to prevent infection. While I eventually became used to having my blood drawn, I hated and dreaded being stuck with IV needles. Because they were connected to a tube, they were significantly larger than regular needles and thus required an extra plastic “guide” that was also inserted in one of my veins. It was painful enough to be stuck with an IV needle. You see, IV needles are usually stuck on top of the hand, which is quite bony since there’s little meat there. For some reason, it hurts more when a needle is near the bone.

What made it worse was that sometimes I would get a nurse who couldn’t hit the vein on the first try. Adding to this problem was that my veins were so small and collapsed, which means that the nurse would often miss the vein and have to try again…and again…and again. It’s not fun being a human pincushion, people. Eventually the last place with a good vein would be in a really painful area, like the part of the wrist that’s right below the thumb- a very flat and bony region. I remember that sometimes I could feel the fluid from the IV flowing through the needle in my hand, and it would hurt, probably because my vein was having a hard time with a needle stuck inside it. Other times I would just feel that the fluid was cold.

Modesty, Shmodesty
One of the things that I quickly learned while staying in the hospital was that modesty goes right out the door. As I mentioned, every morning the nurses would come in and give me a sponge bath. I was embarrassed at first when these strangers would come in and wash me, cleaning my private areas. It was even more embarrassing when I had to use the bathroom. Since I was bedridden during the first several days, I had to use a bedpan for uhm, #2. A nurse would come in and place the bedpan under me and when I was done, she’d come in and clean me up. After a while I decided to just chalk it up to hospital experience and deal with it.

My “dealing with it” attitude was severely tested when the doctor recommended that I get an enema. I don’t remember if it was because I wasn’t expelling gas or because I hadn’t been able to use the bathroom. The next morning a cute young male nurse comes in with this machine that looks like a glass cylinder with a tube attached to it. At first I felt extremely self-conscious and shy because of the cute nurse, but when I realized he was gay I felt a little more at ease. Cute gay male nurse then sticks the tube up my butt to suck out the trapped gases. Yes, pleasant picture isn’t it? It was quite surreal to have a tube up my ass, watching, along with my mom, the glass cylinder get filled up with bubbles.

Morphine
Ah morphine, how I loved thee. You made me feel all better when I used you. It was a shame that you were available only every 20 minutes, but that didn’t stop me from pressing that dispense button like a crazed “Jeopardy!” contestant when the pain was especially bad. It also didn’t stop me from watching the little timer on the machine count down to 0 so that I could take my next hit.

Learning to Walk Again
I learned how to walk when I was about a year and a half old. In the hospital, I had to learn how to do it all over again. I had to train my leg muscles to stand up and support the rest of my body, for my feet to move forward one after another. The physical therapist was very kind and patient over the next several days. First I had to get used to just sitting up on my own, without resting my body on anything. Then I had to get used to standing up; after all, I hadn’t used my legs in days. I felt like a newborn pony, shaking and wobbling as I held on to my bed rail. I then practiced standing up from my bed and moving over to the nearby chair, and then moving back to the bed.

I was excited when the PT said that I was ready to take a short walk outside my room. I was feeling claustrophobic and couldn’t wait to leave my room. She tied a short belt around my waist- a leash, if you will- and suggested that I hold on my IV drip stand (it had wheels) for support. Slowly, gingerly, I made my way to the door, with the PT holding me tightly by the belt/leash in case I fell. When I opened the door, it was as if I stepped into another world- a busy, noisy world bustling with people. I looked around for a few minutes and soaked up the atmosphere. It was great. Unfortunately I couldn’t stay there for too long since I started feeling weak and had to return to my bed. However, by the fourth day I was walking back and forth the corridor all by my little self.

My Mom
Although my mom and I aren’t really as close anymore, I’ll never forget the sacrifices she made for me during that ordeal. She would often spend the whole night at the hospital, sleeping on a chair next to my bed. She’d come during her lunch breaks to give me little presents and to keep me company. She constantly asked the nurses what kinds of medicine they were giving me, and what they were for. She watched over me when I slept. When I was able to eat real food again, she’d sneak me some pizza and burritos from the “outside world”. I really owe her a lot.

Bath? What’s That?
Since I had a ginormous bandage that covered my whole back, I wasn’t allowed to take a shower the whole time. Then again, even if I could, I wouldn’t have been able to stand up long enough to do so. As great as the sponge baths were, they weren’t enough to keep me completely clean. After all, they were only cleaning my body, but not my hair nor my back. I was still getting sponge baths for a while when I was already back home. I don’t remember how my hair ever got cleaned. I guess my mom helped me wash it in the sink.

The End of the Road
I was so excited to go home. I missed my family and my house. I missed sleeping in my room with my own bed and my clothes. I didn’t want to be surrounded by strangers anymore, by people who came in every night to prick me with needles. I wanted to go home. And finally, I did.

It felt great to be home. Granted, I was still in a lot of pain and admittedly missed the morphine doses but it was definitely better than being at the hospital. I basked in the warmth and love of my family and rested as much as I could during the remainder of the summer. After all, another obstacle was yet to come that fall: returning to high school.

Stay tuned…