Surgeon who did reconstructive work swings by at midnight. Peels off five mega-adhesive dressings from tummy, pulls out the daiquiri drain, does a quick stitch, replaces dressings with clean, slimmer ones. Says pain will subside, and is partly because he took my appendix out while in there. ‘It was in the way’. Tells nurse to remove final (unused) plastic IV device from arm. Free of these repulsive encumbrances at last.
They had just moved a new patient into a nearby bed. Even a non-medic can diagnose his condition: sleep apnea. Like a geyser erupting in a regular cycle of silence, approaching tremors, a massive whoosh, and a full-on 80dB explosive warthog snort, then a sort of spluttering subsidence. Over and over. When I complain, nurse gives me a sleeping pill. My first one ever. Another revelation – never realized how effective these things are.
Still clueless about how a hospital works. Most nurses have limited functions, like emptying bags of urine or taking blood pressure, and know nothing about your case. One or two will helpfully explain what is planned for you, but they’re basically guessing. Occasionally a busy one comes in and makes an executive decision – let’s remove that second plastic IV attachment. There is a hidden power guiding things somewhere out in the corridor. In terms of presence, doctors make up about 0.02% of the staff.
And on cue my colonoscopy guy drops by. Ten minutes to organize some meds, two hours to add up the bill – and I’m out.
Enjoying the view one last time…