Hospital Memories

I’ve begun to schedule my life around my medications. And, realizing that it is only Monday has brought to my attention that I took my medication a day early. I feel like a failure at life. It won’t hurt me, just throw off my schedule a bit. But if it was any other day, and other injection day, I would have had to call the pharmacy and would have gotten an overdose…. Which would be bad…. No wonder my parents are trying to control my life, I can’t do it for myself. 

First of all, I want to apologize to anyone willing to read this blog or remotely interested in it for taking so long to start back up. I have a horrible habit of starting enthusiastically and then slowly fading off. Then coming back and doing it all over again. I can’t promise to keep up with the momentum, but I will try. I promise I will. 

News on progress.

I have started my injections without the injector, something I thought I’d never have the courage to do. No matter how cowardly it sounds, needles were my fear. Not any more. The needle doesn’t hurt. The medicine burns though, sorry to say. It really sucks. Thankfully, I haven’t had any new symptoms, or at least no lasting, uncomfortable, hard to go through life ones. 

That’s all I have for today. 

I ended the last one with a picture of pain and familial comfort. It may not have looked it but it is one of the clearest moments I have of my journey through the great sterile building that I lived in for so long. I am trying my hardest to bring up my past memories. They are few and far between which may worry my mother if she starts to read this, as she is kinda under the impression that I remember a lot. And some things are very clear. Others, not. 

I remember my dad’s coworker praying over me. What should have brought me comfort brought my regressed adolescent mind instead into a rage. But I wasn’t talking and could only use body language at that point to convey my feelings. But my mom got it, and shoo’d the poor man on his way.

I remember my cousin Tiffany, not always, but a lot. She is often there as a comfort in my mind. I have never felt so close to her as I did during this time. She brought me a card everyday. I don’t remember all of them looking at them now. But I remember opening them with a feeling of comfort and joy. 

I remember my friends from work visiting me. I remember Shep holding my hand and explaining to my mom that it would be okay. I remember feeling myself for the first time when my mom finally met my friend JP and the first words out of her mouth were “Oh, you’re the one with the foot fetish.” 

I remember my boss visiting me and giving me a robe and slippers. Pink, not my favorite. But I treasure those slippers and they are very comfy.

I remember my Aunt D and Uncle David bringing my little cousins to visit me. I remember getting the biggest hug I had ever gotten from my younger cousin David. Not once, but twice. 

I remember Ronnie. Always paying attention to my facial cues and making the nurses leave me alone. Giving my mom a break from the stress.

I remember throwing pillows at my mom at 2 in the morning because I had to go to the bathroom. I remember my dad sitting there standing there. There, where I needed him. 

I remember my brother, looking nervous and trying to joke but not quite making it the one time I remember him visiting. It hit him very hard and it was easy to see. 

I remember Annabelle, my big, fat, black lab whom the staff had graciously allowed to visit me for a whole 2 hours, in which she laid on my bed and got hairs everywhere and made me feel normal again. My mom likes to say that I truly got better when I saw Annabelle. 

I remember a lady sticking a lemon ice in my mouth. 

I remember zooming around in a wheelchair in the hallways. Ronnie taking me for walks in the chair, with me sucking on a wash cloth to hold the drool. 

I remember walking with a walker, wanting to kick the stupid person for insisting I walk a whole nother round in the hallway.

I remember my mom trying to write a paper while I wouldn’t let her turn the light on, or the tv, or any music cause my senses couldn’t take it. 

I remember the Hell-awful plasma ferieses. The act itself wasn’t so bad, but the ladies running it seemed to assume I was starved for company and constantly wanted to chat and touch me when alls I wanted was to be left the hell alone so’s I could try to sleep through the loud ass machine.