Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Wednesday August 12th, late evening

And then there’s the shift change. Enter a nurse named Greta. She looks exactly like my good friend Kristi (Carleton) which is comforting.

She’s no Kristi.

As soon as we interact I immediately sense something a little bitchy about her. Good thing she’s on the night shift.

I start to feel dizzy and nauseous. The hospital is all slanty again. I have no idea if these feelings are normal or if something has gone awry. Nobody mentioned this type of reaction to the angiogram.

I send a one word text to Adam:


It would have been funnier if I texted “scary” but I think I left my sense of humor in the angiogram room.

A few weeks after the fact when I’m watching West Wing I note this is the same word Donna scribbled to Josh when she was in the hospital.

Adam calls. Of course he does. What kind of Ja-erk wouldn’t respond to a text like that?

I want information about what’s going on more than I want comforting. I was little incoherent but I remember repeating the word “Diane” several times. She can provide information, reassurance and comfort.

At this point, I go from thinking the nurse is kind of bitchy to actively disliking her and wondering if I can still be friends with Kristi.

I feel really fucking weird over here and I’m getting nothing from her.

Most disconcerting of all is tingling in one side of my body. Isn't that the classic predecessor to a stroke? Gwen is nonplussed. And in a way, I kind of already had a stroke.

Diane and Adam arrive bearing a Steig Larrson novel, orange flowers, a card, and InStyle magazine courtesy of my trivia team. Team Bob Saget gathered at my apartment with the intention of visiting me but my current condition precludes it – but I still get the gifts!

The nurse tells me “Try not to vomit.” And with that, quite a bit of vomiting begins and goes and goes and goes. It’s all chicken parm from Bella Monica. Most people would swear it off after having it on the way up like that. But not me, I’m devoted. I will want chicken parm again tomorrow.

Diane looks at my leg where the incision was made for the angiogram. I haven’t brought myself to look at it yet.

A few weeks after this happens Diane tells me that the sheets were bloody, the dressed is soaked and my bruise is swollen to the size of a soup can. Diane pointed it out to Greta who casually agreed the dressing should be changed. Greta started to change it without warning me and when she pressed down on the bruise apparently I yelped. I remarked to Diane “Man, I was such a wimpezoid.” In this case, Diane agreed my yelping was warranted. Knowing this, I’m glad I decided not to look!

Diane and Adam are superstars. Diane does a great job just letting me know that the way I feel isn’t indicative or any sort of problem or mishap. Greta was making me feel like I was being a wimpezoid, which is true, but a little reassurance would have gone a long way.

Diane takes charge of the situation and I can feel Greta’s eyes hating on her a little bit.

Diane gets wet towels on my forehead, a fan on me, and makes sure I have a fresh receptacle every time something comes up.

Our friendship just got taken to the next level, for the first of many times.

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