I was in the ICU of the neurosurgery department for 5 days. Daily operation at such a place is virtually continuous supervision and care of patients by all staff on a 24/7 basis. At that moment, patients are real bedbugs requiring help in every way.
Every change in position always caused me to vomit. As well as any food or liquid I ingested. The first time they tried to put me on the bed was the day after the operation. On the third day after the procedure, they tried to stand me up. On the fourth day, accompanied by me, they walked ten steps to the shower, took out my catheter, and I remember this very moment as another target. My legs were shaking, they didn’t want to listen. My head was spinning and moving my body along the corridor was a superhuman task for me. Even so, for the first time I felt that I was a bit more human than zombie again.
I continued to refuse all depressants, opiates and sleeping pills. It earned me a comment from the staff every time the shift changed. I was the lady on two who could stand a lot. I was no hero. I just had a panicky terror of putting more strain on my injured brain than necessary and prolonging its recovery. It made me feel like I was in purgatory. But I believed it was the least I could do to speed my body’s recovery.
There were men lying on their left and right arms after head surgery just like me. The only thing separating us was a retractable blind that remained permanently open. The fact that we were naked or in angels and the fact that all necessary activities were somehow shared by all of us in such a place was of no concern to us. One gets to a state where nothing of any importance matters. He just wants to get through another day and night. I used to spin bags of ice every day and put them on my wounded face. The swelling in my face and eye was enormous. I couldn’t open my mouth and any food was an ordeal. I could not see well in my eye. The ear on the operated side was completely covered.
The first scar dressing was meta next. There was a plaster on the wound, gauze on it, a constricting bandage and a kind of pressure cap. My hair was peeking out of it, full of iodine and blood. I looked like an onion. When the nurse took off all the layers, I asked her for a picture. And damn….. I look like I had a lobotomy…..
On the sixth day, I was transferred to inpatient neurosurgery. I slept six hours the first time. No night lights, no noises, no machines, quiet. Next base will be when they let me go home. I’m both excited and scared. I’m scared to be left home alone and without medical staff for this. You see too much in the hospital and know that what is fine today may be completely different tomorrow.
Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass. Life is about learning to dance in the rain. Seneca
