It’s day five in the zoo. I’ve been moved from the step-down floor, with its myriad of wires attached to my body and slot machine heart monitor ringing JACKPOT at four in the morning, to the hospital’s CF wing, which makes it sound more exotic than it is. But I am excited to be here and out of the monitored room.
My new room has some choice furniture, including a fold-out sleeping chair and wood chair I can use as a work chair. The rolling table has a pull-out section, which I’m using right now as a workstation. In the previous room I had to sit at the edge of the couch chair to type on my iPad or laptop. It’s amazing how a piece of plastic with fake wood covering can make all the difference. The pull out part is something I missed on previous visits.
The blood has stopped and so far no plans for an embolization. I believe the blood will be back in the weeks when I’m out. I don’t think they caught the correct bleeder. They do and believe this is a new one. Let’s agree to disagree. It hasn’t stopped me from pushing their buttons a little about the fact I’m in again for bleeding. However, they are sympathetic.
Before the visit two months ago, I wasn’t multi-drug resistant. Now I am. Did I pick up something in my 20-day stretch? Who will ever know. I need a rubber suit and mask for all of my stays from this point on – and David Blane’s ability to withstand torture over stretches of time.
I’m on a triple cocktail of cipro, tobra and zosyn. Yum. They infuse zosyn for three hours now. Three f**king hours. I’m on IVs all the damn time. They’ll kick me loose soon to do them at home. I have to admit, three will be a chore. I’m not sure which is worse, the three antibiotics or staying in the hospital. The evening doses are the hardest at home. I like the nurse coming in at night trying not to wake me and giving me a gentle kiss on the cheek to help me sleep.
The hospital has gone Chinese Government crazy with web access and now blocks a ton of sites and most blogs, including mine. I’m using the iPad WP app to get around the censors.
This stint has had its share of mishaps. First, my left hand is swollen and hurts a lot because the IV site went bad. The site looked like I had inserted it when compared to the new site on my right hand, a proper insertion. I took a picture for a future post.
The PICC line placement didn’t go well. It got stuck at the critical juncture of going up or down – down is the correct path. All of sudden I couldn’t breathe and my heart went lottery-winner crazy mad. Luckily, I was on a monitor and the nurse came in and they watched over me. Even after the procedure, which resulted in a mid-line and will lead to me getting a port, my heart wouldn’t settle down because of atrial fibrillation. Bring on the EKG and today’s heart echo test.
One bonus of the failed PICC was a vascular scan for clots. I know the woman who does them after many scans in the past for a clot in my neck. I let her train on me. So, she gave me a gel bath and scanned me with her wand, and no clot – yet.
I told a good friend that CF is not just about surviving CF. It’s also about surviving hospital stays. Bad stuff happens here. You leave with something you didn’t have when you came in. Or they beat the living daylights out of you with tests and procedures. This is a game of Survivor without a safety net.
During this visit and the last few, I find myself escaping into more entertainment – movies and video games – than reality like blogging and reading. I feel like Sigourney Weaver in “Aliens” walking into the middle of dozens of Alien eggs. Luckily, she had a flame-thrower with grenades. I don’t. So, I’m choosing to ignore as much of my surroundings as possible because I know all of this is a bad dream and I’ll wake up at home soon.
(Typed on my iPad. Please excuse typos.)