We all know that hospital time is completely other-dimensional. Depending on what’s happening, one minute can feel like an hour or an entire week can pass without me realizing it. I don’t even know what day it is unless I look at my Google calendar on my phone.
Last night, as I was attempting to write an email to one of my outside peeps, I tried to give a summary of the past three weeks. You know, just to say ‘Hey, here’s what’s happening…if you’d like to leave Ohio for a little while to play Cards Against Humanity with me, that’d be great. Oh, and if you’re feeling particularly saintly, bring me a quarter ounce of that crappy ditch weed your husband may or may not smoke.’
Try as I might, summarization is really fucking difficult. When I finished, it looked like everything happened this week. Geez-louise. I got side-tracked and was trying to figure out when each glitch happened and I’m still confused. Really. I eventually need to come back HERE and write about some things in more detail, but I’m running into the same problem. When there are twenty things going on at any given time, it’s impossible for me to make sense of any of it or find any sort of way of organizing my thoughts when my brain is in a far-off land, soaking up the sun and slamming daiquiris.
It’s not that I’m actually forgetting everything, because I remember small, non-essential details, aka the stupid shit. Like that one day the pulmonologist came to see me and I couldn’t stop staring up his nose because there was a giant booger just waiting to abandon ship. I didn’t hear anything he said because I was too worried about getting attacked by a renegade boogie.
My timeline is fucked. It’s loopy, like me.
What I do know is what has happened in the past few days because I’ve been bored out of my wits and also a little disheartened (so to speak). I kinda choked out my vital organs two weekends ago(ish?). Pleuritis, hypoxia, acidosis. It wasn’t pretty. I forget when I was approached by the nephrologist about getting listed for a kidney transplant, but that happened. Post-respiratory failure, early this week, I had another echo. My left ventricle is seriously hypokinetic, which means the muscle isn’t contracting as forcefully as it should. I’m not exactly moving in the right direction to GTFOutta here.
I got another heart med added on Wednesday night after I got a swan cath put in to monitor my heart pressures. It’s like crack, dudes. I’m seriously wound up! It’s not necessarily bad, minus the fact that I feel like spinning around in circles until I fall over. I didn’t sleep much last night, even after a little zolpidem action. I did have a dream that I was running away from demons in a medieval town. I had a tiny dragon in my bag. I had to keep my dragon safe, so I hid under a vendor’s cart. The vendor was a goblin, by the way, because that’s normal. Goblins are all con-artists. Ye hath been warned. It would have been nice to see where this dream went, but some d-bag woke me up to get my weight.
This crack drug will either kill me, or fix me. We shall see. I actually feel a little better today, despite not getting much sleep. I’m not quite as exhausted just sitting here as I have been. That’s nice, but it also means I’m getting antsy. I’m ready to move back into a normal room so I can have my balls (of yarn) again.