I have been more irritable than usual these past few days, so I've been compiling a list in my head of all the minor irritations that have gotten under my skin. I'd like to share this list with you now.
I hate when I'm trying to get a wipe out of the package of wipes, and I can't get just the one I need. A second one always wants to sneak out, or get all bunched up in the package. I hate when my slippers get pushed under the bed far enough that I can't reach them. I hate when someone knocks on my door and waits for me to tell them to come in. They can never hear me the first time, so I end up having to shout, "COME IN ALREADY WHY DON'T YOU?" I don't actually say this, but that's what's going through my mind. I hate when my nurse doesn't wait long enough for the alcohol to dry before giving me a shot in the belly. I hate when I moisturize and the very next day my skin is peeling off again. I hate when the drawer in my bedside table gets stuck, and I have to use both hands to get it to open.
The other day I was waiting for the elevator and another patient getting wheeled around saw me and said "Oooooh, it's a spooky man!" To be fair, I was wearing baggy black clothes, and I was bald. And I had my mask on. So yes, I think I did look like a spooky man. But I don't particularly like being referred to as a man. Not sure how I feel about the spooky part.
Yesterday I went for a long walk around the park, very slowly because I was extremely tired and my blood pressure was abnormally low. I came back inside the long way because it was the weekend and the doors closest to the park are closed. I stood waiting for the elevators for an eternity. There are four elevators in the lobby of the hospital. Three of them never left the eighth floor, and the fourth never left the fifth floor. The two other ladies who were also there waiting for elevator mistakenly thought they saw one of the elevators go from the ninth to the eighth. They got very excited, saying "Look, it's finally moving! Won't be long now." The elevator never moved. I eventually took the stairs. But I really wasn't in the mood for the stairs. I was out of breath after the first couple flights. As I reached the fourth floor, I was just hoping no one would come along and see how slowly I was going and ask if I needed help. Wearing my mask and looking pale and sweaty didn't seem like a pretty picture. When I got to the fourth floor I tried the elevator again because one more flight of stairs seemed a little out of my reach. Another man in a wheelchair was waiting on the fourth floor for the elevator that never came. Once I caught my breath I trudged up the last flight to the fifth floor. When I opened the door off the stairwell, a familiar voice caught my attention. It was Dr. Patil, waiting to check in with me before he left the hospital for the day. Neither of us mentioned it, but Dr. Patil is rotating off the team here and going back to the university. I don't like goodbyes. So we just stood in the hall and talked about the usual crap while I tried not to look so pale and sweaty.
I think I could have called this post "First World Problems." Because really, besides having the whole blood cancer thing, I've felt very privileged being here. There are so many places in the world where my diagnosis would be an instant death sentence. But I was diagnosed pretty early, by a team of people who called me in and had all the drugs and tools and plans to cure my disease. I am lucky enough to be a veteran, and get treatment through the VA, and not have to wonder how many thousands of dollars a day I'd be spending to sit in a private hospital. I'm lucky I'm the one female patient I've seen so far in this unit. Which means I get my own room with a private bathroom, and all the nurses love me. I'm lucky I have so many people visiting me and bringing me presents and making my room cozy and caring about me. Besides the blood cancer thing, I'm a princess.
I feel terrible for all the people who don't get their diagnosis until it's too late, or have to go through it alone, or as an older person, or as a weaker person. I feel terrible for people who don't have the kind of insurance or health care I have, and end up losing everything for being sick. I'm pretty sure these people are everywhere.
I'm a lucky girl.
I hate when I'm trying to get a wipe out of the package of wipes, and I can't get just the one I need. A second one always wants to sneak out, or get all bunched up in the package. I hate when my slippers get pushed under the bed far enough that I can't reach them. I hate when someone knocks on my door and waits for me to tell them to come in. They can never hear me the first time, so I end up having to shout, "COME IN ALREADY WHY DON'T YOU?" I don't actually say this, but that's what's going through my mind. I hate when my nurse doesn't wait long enough for the alcohol to dry before giving me a shot in the belly. I hate when I moisturize and the very next day my skin is peeling off again. I hate when the drawer in my bedside table gets stuck, and I have to use both hands to get it to open.
The other day I was waiting for the elevator and another patient getting wheeled around saw me and said "Oooooh, it's a spooky man!" To be fair, I was wearing baggy black clothes, and I was bald. And I had my mask on. So yes, I think I did look like a spooky man. But I don't particularly like being referred to as a man. Not sure how I feel about the spooky part.
Yesterday I went for a long walk around the park, very slowly because I was extremely tired and my blood pressure was abnormally low. I came back inside the long way because it was the weekend and the doors closest to the park are closed. I stood waiting for the elevators for an eternity. There are four elevators in the lobby of the hospital. Three of them never left the eighth floor, and the fourth never left the fifth floor. The two other ladies who were also there waiting for elevator mistakenly thought they saw one of the elevators go from the ninth to the eighth. They got very excited, saying "Look, it's finally moving! Won't be long now." The elevator never moved. I eventually took the stairs. But I really wasn't in the mood for the stairs. I was out of breath after the first couple flights. As I reached the fourth floor, I was just hoping no one would come along and see how slowly I was going and ask if I needed help. Wearing my mask and looking pale and sweaty didn't seem like a pretty picture. When I got to the fourth floor I tried the elevator again because one more flight of stairs seemed a little out of my reach. Another man in a wheelchair was waiting on the fourth floor for the elevator that never came. Once I caught my breath I trudged up the last flight to the fifth floor. When I opened the door off the stairwell, a familiar voice caught my attention. It was Dr. Patil, waiting to check in with me before he left the hospital for the day. Neither of us mentioned it, but Dr. Patil is rotating off the team here and going back to the university. I don't like goodbyes. So we just stood in the hall and talked about the usual crap while I tried not to look so pale and sweaty.
I think I could have called this post "First World Problems." Because really, besides having the whole blood cancer thing, I've felt very privileged being here. There are so many places in the world where my diagnosis would be an instant death sentence. But I was diagnosed pretty early, by a team of people who called me in and had all the drugs and tools and plans to cure my disease. I am lucky enough to be a veteran, and get treatment through the VA, and not have to wonder how many thousands of dollars a day I'd be spending to sit in a private hospital. I'm lucky I'm the one female patient I've seen so far in this unit. Which means I get my own room with a private bathroom, and all the nurses love me. I'm lucky I have so many people visiting me and bringing me presents and making my room cozy and caring about me. Besides the blood cancer thing, I'm a princess.
I feel terrible for all the people who don't get their diagnosis until it's too late, or have to go through it alone, or as an older person, or as a weaker person. I feel terrible for people who don't have the kind of insurance or health care I have, and end up losing everything for being sick. I'm pretty sure these people are everywhere.
I'm a lucky girl.
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| Getting chai at Rose |
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ReplyDeleteWhat is up with those elevators? That is some freaky shit. I hope that the elevator fairies fix that.
ReplyDelete