The Lost Months...Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

Making our escape, and not a moment too soon.

I have tried to block out most of my hospital stay, because it was truly traumatic.  I think I had post traumatic stress disorder for a few weeks, and even though I laugh about it now, it was truly awful.  

I'm amazed I made it out!  My roommate was a woman who was clearly in need of psychological help...she had been in the hospital for 38 days.  How do I know this?  Because at 5 pm every night, she would start her round of phone calls, recapping her entire situation to every single person she knew...just in case they had forgotten a single detail in the 24 hours since they last spoke to her.  This is how each call started:

Crazy Roommate "Hi, it's me"
Other person "How's it going?"
Crazy Roommate "Not good, not good."  (Then launches into update.)

It was truly a nightmare, and makes me have a carcinoid flush just typing about it!!  It wasn't just the phone calls.  It was the fact that she said she couldn't eat, but then would eat the hoagies that her family brought in to her (and chewed them like a cow chewing her cud).  When the doctor or nurse would ask what she had to eat that day, she would say "saltines."  She apparently had part of her stomach removed (didn't know that was possible) and anything that went in did not come out.  Our favorite day was the day that she needed to get an enema.  The nurse came in to administer it at 4:45, seconds after my dinner had been delivered.  The nurse came in, said "it's time for your enema" and Rod, my mom and I bolted out of the frigging room.  No joke.  AN ENEMA AT DINNERTIME!!!!

She was also clearly drug seeking, and would buzz her nurses a good hour before her next meds were due.  Then she would insist that she couldn't take them orally and needed them in her IV.  Then the nurse would have to explain to her that the doctor hadn't ordered that. it was a lovely dance that they would go through every night, with Crazy Roommate eventually winning.

One night, a patient across the hall was having a really rough night.  
She was an older woman and from what I could tell stuff was coming out of her from all orifices.  She had a special trauma nurse with her all night.  Crazy Roommate was putting up her usual fuss, and I guess the nurses didn't feel like dealing with her with this crisis situation across the hall.  When it came time for her meds, they came in with three bags of liquids, hung them on her IV, and she fell into the deepest sleep almost instantly.  It was wonderful.  But about 4 hours in, she started to have crazy nightmares, and yelling in her sleep.

The trauma nurse from across the hall came in to see what all the fuss was about.  Crazy Roommate was somehow sitting up in bed, and even in her drug addled haze, said "Could you tell the nurse it's time for my pain medication."  (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)  About 5 seconds later she passed back out, and when our nurse came in I said she had just had a nightmare.

I believe that living with Crazy Roommate seriously hampered my recovery in the hospital, as nurses were reluctant to come in the room because they would have to deal with her.  If my mom (a nurse) had not been there with me the entire time I don't know what would have happened to me. (one time I texted her at 3 am and she happened to be up and came over from the adjoining hotel) And yes, all this is in my letter to the hospital patient relations staff.

People told me not to go to the hospital I went to.  They said it's a terrible hospital.  They were right.  My surgeon and his staff were great, but the hospital and nursing staff, not so much.  Oh well! There really are a million more stories, like the guy that wheeled me out when I was discharged wheeling me so fast that my mom had to RUN to keep up with us!  But I'll save those for another time.  See, I can complain with the best of them!