Chapter Seven – Monday, May 6, 2024
Early in the morning on day five I had a breakthrough.
Dr. Tyler Cardinal was the neurosurgeon who assisted Dr. Urakov with my spine surgery. Tyler, as he asked to be called, made rounds very early every morning, before or just at sunrise. The morning after I was cut off from the narcotics, I was depressed. I was hurting. I was frustrated and felt stuck. Mentally, I was in a bad place.
No one really sleeps in the hospital. They bother you all night long, so I was up. It was still dark outside when Tyler walked into my room, carrying his usual backpack. He set it down on the chair and approached my bed. He asked me the same thing every morning.
“How are you today?” he asked.
Usually, I’d describe some progress I made the previous day. This time I answered, “Not good. I am in a lot of pain. It’s constant. I can’t get comfortable because I can’t stop lying where you operated. It hurts and I’m getting really tired of it.”
He thought for a moment and replied “You did just have back surgery. Of course it’s going to hurt.”
I looked at him with disdain. That was not the answer I was looking for. I asked him to do something. Prescribe something. Knock me out. Make me sleep until the pain went away.
He offered nothing but said he would speak with Dr. Urakov.
First off, I knew Head Guy Dr. Green told Dr. Urakov that he had spoken to me about my obnoxious attitude. I knew Dr. Urakov knew not to give me any more drugs that would make me mean. And I knew that Tyler was not the guy in charge. None of this improved my mood.
***
After he left, I spent a lot of time thinking about what he said. I didn’t like it at all. I felt betrayed. The doctors told me my prognosis was for a 100 percent recovery. What they didn’t tell me was how much it was going to hurt until I recovered and how long I had to suffer. That was when the realization hit me. While Leslie was lying next to me uncomfortable in his makeshift bed, there was nothing he could do to make the pain go away. I was in this by myself.
No one was going to help me any more than they already had. I could beg for more pain meds, but I wasn’t going to get them. I could scream and holler at the nurses but that was only going to make matters worse for me. I’d been spoken to already by the man in charge. He was not going to tolerate any more shit from me.
I had a choice to make. The only thing I had any control over was my attitude. My perspective. My way of thinking. I could not bend anyone here to my will. That jig was up. I threw as many fits as they were going to tolerate. It was time for me to come to terms with my predicament and make things better for myself.
I had one objective: get better and get the hell out of there. Even if I had to fake it. It was suck it up time.
I started to think about the progress I had made, enumerating the positives. I no longer had a catheter. I was no longer chained to the bed. I could move about. I had a back brace. I had a walker. I had Leslie. I could shower. I could wear my own clothes. I had the PT ladies every day, teaching me to do things with this brace on. I had a pic-line in my arm, so I didn’t have to get stuck every time they drew blood or gave me a shot.
The choice was clear. I could wallow in my pain, or I could just figure out how to make myself as comfortable as possible until I was discharged.
I started using ice bags on my back. Long, thin, white hospital-grade bags that held one layer of cubes. I laid on it in bed and had some relief. I tied it to the brace and walked around with it.
I asked for melatonin to help me sleep. I asked for Xanax to help keep my anxiety at bay. Then I asked if I could be allowed to go down to the hospital cafeteria for food. All my requests were granted. In fact, it was Tyler who granted those requests.
The pain was still there but my attitude toward it was different.
***
Day five was a big day for Leslie too…
Not only was he seen in the ER two days ago, gotten a legitimate diagnosis from our now-shared neurosurgeon and was fitted for his very own matching back brace. He also had a specific plan of care and a timeline to mend his compression fracture.
After all those days in the hospital, we had sort of settled into a routine. I was able to shower with minimal supervision. The PT ladies took me for a walk. Some days they arrived while I was still drying my hair and gave me pointers on how not to bend the wrong way or twist while doing it.
Each day, Leslie and I put on fresh clothes, our braces and had breakfast together. The nurses were kind enough to have ordered him a tray for every meal. Then we’d go for a walk in the hall.
After a very rough start, yelling and cursing at everyone, I made amends. I apologized to all the nurses I bitched at. Pretty soon after that, they came to enjoy us. I had gotten significantly stronger and was walking pretty well. We still kept the walker with us as a precaution as we buzzed around corners and sped down the hall straight aways.
On this day, we walked the entire hallway multiple times and met new people. Everyone knew our story. We were hard to miss. One of the people we met on that walk was Elena. She was the head nurse for the neurosurgical wing. She was very happy to see me out of bed. She was equally thrilled at how well I was walking. Seeing me in street clothes she remarked that I looked like a visitor rather than a patient. That made me feel very good. Progress! And progress noted from a professional. Elena became a wonderful person to know. She would prove to be instrumental in not only my well-being but Leslie’s as well when the time finally came for him to be taken care of.
In the meantime, she made our comfort and progress her business. She heard how uncomfortable Leslie’s previous hospital bed was with the deflating air mattresses. So, she ordered one of her staff to do some redecorating. That night, a lovely woman came to our room wheeling a real, freshly made hospital bed for Leslie. She moved things out of the way. Set up the room so we could get around and asked if we needed anything more. It was a definite bright spot in our long stay.
Thanks to Elena and her staff, Leslie was finally comfortable. With all the focus on me and my recovery, it was hard to remember that Leslie was hurt too. Thank God his injury was not life threatening, or we’d be in an even worse situation.
The Reddy Life 