Today – Aug. 10 – marks the first anniversary of my hospitalization in Queen’s Medical Center. I spent 10 days in the hospital before being released Aug. 19.
My wife Vi insisted I go to the ER to seek treatment and establish a diagnosis. I had developed fever, chills, lost my appetite, and did little else but sleep.
A year later, the memories remain vivid:
- It was the first time I rode an ambulance, its siren wailing all the way to Queen’s ER.
- It was my first hospital stay, and my team of doctors discovered I had a problematic gall bladder, with its abscess spreading and contaminating my liver. The medics wanted to operate to remove the bladder, but noticed my medical files indicated I had minor heart issues, so instructed me to see my cardiologist first.
- It was my introduction to the ubiquitous open-back hospital gown. Goodbye, modesty; welcome, a chilly rear wind.
- It was my first experience with hospital food. Truly, much of it was initially bland (salt-free, tasteless broth, Jello), but the burger sandwich midway through my hospitalization was delish. Because you need to order breakfast, lunch and dinner – with many items not allowable for my situation. I was surprised you could order a meal any time of the day, according to needs.
- Nights were wicked; difficult to sleep; nurses (bless ‘em) routinely checking on me, monitoring my pee, taking the plastic bedside urinal and flushing its contents into the toilet, and repeatedly returned to dispose. Temperature and blood pressure checks were constant, disrupting sleep.
- Overnight, the hospital was chilly and cold, so I regularly asked for two extra blankets. Just a tip. And on two successive nights, the fire alarm rang at 2 a.m. No fire; but an errant alarm.
- The lingering memory: the TVs in the hospital were all tuned in to the inferno of the out-of-control Lahaina wildfires; the orangey flames were frightening, glowing like lava nighttime.
- On Aug. 13, my birthday, a nurse brought me a Jello cup with a candle stuck in; guess my data indicated my birthdate.
- I had two roommates over the two weeks. The first, a quiet dude, left midweek; the next occupant was loud, always on the phone doing business, had grandkids who visited, but relocated to another room.
- Hospital protocol meant no shower or bath, just infant-type wipes, but oversized. Nurses did the body scrubbing; yeah, down there, too.
- I could walk to the toilet, for No. 2, but my tubes and the wheeled rack accompanied me. Felt there were some things you should solo, if you could.
- At the least, tubes attached to me dripped insulin. But along the way, my docs inserted two additional tubes into my body, one to drain the nasty gall bladder, the other to remove gook from my liver, both with mini-drainage pouches that came home with me. Sleeping with this tangle of tubes and pouches was not pleasant.
- A day or two before my release, a doctor brought me a walker, to practice walking in the hallways. I later dubbed it Mr. Walker, my walking mate at home and on outings, and it accompanied me to New York this past June, its first-ever but my umpteenth visit to take in Broadway shows. To friends and others, trust me, a walker becomes you best buddy.
- Throughout my stay, Vi opted to get a cab ride to and from the hospital, linking up with a sweet, dedicated driver every day. He’d pick her up to go home, too, and process continued for 10 days. She’d charge my iPhone and laptop overnight, and deliver both the next morn, along with the daily newspaper, enabling me to chat and check on developing news. Oh, and deliver clothing as needed.
- Finally, friends and colleagues said post-surgery removal of the gall bladder might have two major after-effects when you are back home: diarrhea or constipation; I was lucky, I had neither…
Parting thoughts: I’m still wondering and hoping if I’ll ever be able to manage to walk without Mr. Walker’s support, since I still have mobility and balance issues. Hope the intent of sharing my experiences openly might perhaps help you if and when you have a dilemma like mine. Mahalo for listening …
And that’s Show Biz…
