After around 36 hours in ICU, the room was a welcome break. Windows to see out, some one from family always stays in.
Brother during the night, and wife during the day.
Relatively more degrees of freedom, with the catheter out. I can get down from the bed, sit on a chair. Stand up once in a while.
Put on music on my phone, and dance to some of the tunes, with micro movements of the body and eyes (that's all I could manage). That was pretty amusing to the staff. A man, with several tubes, out of a fresh complex surgery, trying to dance !!!
Talking had become a little less difficult. But my new found love with writing down every thing that comes to my mind, and communicate via the paper was in fashion.
Nurses, doctors looked forward to my long list (of mostly negotiations - "do I need Clexine injections because I am not bed bound now ? I do not have sugar issues, and last 2-3 days its stable, why do I have to go through the prick for the sugar test every day ?") on every visit.
There were pages being written when my wife was around during the afternoons. What I would like to do, when I get well. How it would be a much cleaner life. No life style issues. How, we will re-prioritize simpler pleasures of life, over the societal ones. Punctuated by multiple "I love you" in the written musings.
The hospital front desk, ran out of rough papers.
However, the human brain is really crazy. Before I thanked my luck enough for being out of the ICU earlier than planned, and moving in to my own private room with a TV, AC and window view and attendant bed, I found myself missing the right channels on the TV. It was lousy cable service, not that I ever watch TV.
As the legs started moving, and I could walk, I was missing home now. The expectations of getting to do the actions I have always done, ran ahead of that of doctors. That started causing some of the stress building up. But I knew, I was being irrational.
I started enjoying the small walks in the hospital corridor with the physiotherapist. Long afternoons with wife. Pages of writing down for basic communication. And I dreaded the TV and the ill placed AC duct right on the head of the patient bed.
The continuously leaking toilet that made enough noise of water leakage through out the day and night to keep me awake.
I followed up in each of these complains, and the hospital took actions on many of these. Plumber, with multiple tries fixed the toilet. The hospital provided a standing fan, in case the AC made the room too cold. TV, I just stopped using and started depending more on FM radio and music on my phone.
Some visitors on the first day of moving in to the ward too. My ex-boss and mentor and my direct staff. My friends and classmates. They would all come, sit there and talk among themselves for hours.
I would not be able to participate, but was intense listener. A very rare phenomena. This provided much needed distraction to the head and amicable environment for the mind to start healing.
I got on to company instant messaging on phone and even e-mails once in a while.
The only trouble was during the night I did not get any sleep at all. With all the tubes and needdles in the body, and a worked up head, no sleep at all. This started being the top-of-the stack issue.
I begged the doctor to give me some sleeping pill for a day or two for me to rest. And they obliged and prescribed for 3 days.
I am sure I would have slept that night, even if the nurse had forgotten to give me the anti-anxiety sleeping pill, along with rest of the medication :)
Brother during the night, and wife during the day.
Relatively more degrees of freedom, with the catheter out. I can get down from the bed, sit on a chair. Stand up once in a while.
Put on music on my phone, and dance to some of the tunes, with micro movements of the body and eyes (that's all I could manage). That was pretty amusing to the staff. A man, with several tubes, out of a fresh complex surgery, trying to dance !!!
Talking had become a little less difficult. But my new found love with writing down every thing that comes to my mind, and communicate via the paper was in fashion.
Nurses, doctors looked forward to my long list (of mostly negotiations - "do I need Clexine injections because I am not bed bound now ? I do not have sugar issues, and last 2-3 days its stable, why do I have to go through the prick for the sugar test every day ?") on every visit.
There were pages being written when my wife was around during the afternoons. What I would like to do, when I get well. How it would be a much cleaner life. No life style issues. How, we will re-prioritize simpler pleasures of life, over the societal ones. Punctuated by multiple "I love you" in the written musings.
The hospital front desk, ran out of rough papers.
However, the human brain is really crazy. Before I thanked my luck enough for being out of the ICU earlier than planned, and moving in to my own private room with a TV, AC and window view and attendant bed, I found myself missing the right channels on the TV. It was lousy cable service, not that I ever watch TV.
As the legs started moving, and I could walk, I was missing home now. The expectations of getting to do the actions I have always done, ran ahead of that of doctors. That started causing some of the stress building up. But I knew, I was being irrational.
I started enjoying the small walks in the hospital corridor with the physiotherapist. Long afternoons with wife. Pages of writing down for basic communication. And I dreaded the TV and the ill placed AC duct right on the head of the patient bed.
The continuously leaking toilet that made enough noise of water leakage through out the day and night to keep me awake.
I followed up in each of these complains, and the hospital took actions on many of these. Plumber, with multiple tries fixed the toilet. The hospital provided a standing fan, in case the AC made the room too cold. TV, I just stopped using and started depending more on FM radio and music on my phone.
Some visitors on the first day of moving in to the ward too. My ex-boss and mentor and my direct staff. My friends and classmates. They would all come, sit there and talk among themselves for hours.
I would not be able to participate, but was intense listener. A very rare phenomena. This provided much needed distraction to the head and amicable environment for the mind to start healing.
I got on to company instant messaging on phone and even e-mails once in a while.
The only trouble was during the night I did not get any sleep at all. With all the tubes and needdles in the body, and a worked up head, no sleep at all. This started being the top-of-the stack issue.
I begged the doctor to give me some sleeping pill for a day or two for me to rest. And they obliged and prescribed for 3 days.
I am sure I would have slept that night, even if the nurse had forgotten to give me the anti-anxiety sleeping pill, along with rest of the medication :)
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