I’m woken up to the sound of the IV machine beeping. It’s on empty and won’t keep quiet until refilled. I feel heavy tingling in my hand and it’s spreading. I feel crappy and on top of that the “Mom” lady is full throttle across the hall.
I press the “Nurse” button. This doesn’t immediately send a nurse to your room but rather prompts the question “What is it?” Part of me thinks “This isn’t a drive through. If I’ve pressed the nurse button, I need a nurse.” but I state my business and patiently wait. I also note the time.
I know I’m not the only patient in this hospital and don’t have a dire problem but I get a little frustrated when 45 minutes go by and nobody has come to my room. Being the Account Person I am I write down the time when I pressed the button and will note the time when someone actually arrives.
Finally a nurse comes in but she’s there to check my vitals. At this point, the tingling has subsided. But, the woman across the call has started up again. This morning it’s “Dad, Dad, Dad.”
I feel desperate for information. I was given a one pager the other day but the information was thin. I’m a little afraid to try Google because there are a range of degrees when it comes to cerebral hemorrhages and I don’t want to needlessly scare the crap out of myself. I want more terminology. I want to know what to expect in terms of symptoms – what’s normal, what’s indicative of a problem - especially because I’m going home today.
I reach out to Carleton folks via the Health message board, I e-mail a friend of mine whose Dad is a Psychiatrist. I even send an e-mail to an ex-boyfriend who is a neuroscience post doc.
Fortunately, there’s a wonderful nurse working the day shift and she answers several of my questions. I am much more at ease. I’ve packed up my room and am ready to go.
Three hours later they remove the IV and I’m discharged.
I have Chubby Taco’s for dinner.
It stays down.
The worst must be over.