Forced Downtime

When the hospital tech who brought me up to my room said "I'll put your clothes in the closet," I thought, "don't bother I'm not staying that long." Famous last words.

The last Saturday night in September, I had my whole week planned out. What I was going to read, which reviews and blog posts I was going to post and when, even a list of new posts I wanted to write. I had spent more time than I probably should have immersed in Canva over the last couple of days so the posts would all look pretty. And then, smack! The Universe delivered a lovely sucker punch, right to my gut (literally), in the form of fever, chills, dizziness, and nausea invoking pain in my abdomen. Did I want to spend my Sunday night in the ER? Nope. Did I plan on being admitted to the hospital with an "infection of unknown origin"? Nope again. Is that what happened? Yep. And did all the great things I had planned as of Saturday night happen as scheduled? Yeah, that would also be a nope.

Get-all-the-things-done people never plan to be sidelined by injury and illness. And when you are that type of person, the best laid plans can create havoc with your psyche when you can't see them to fruition. I knew the blog posts would get posted, just later than expected. My reading and review timeline shifted, and it would be okay, too. But that didn’t really make me feel any better. I had a schedule, dammit! And it didn’t involve remedying a medical issue I was sure could be pushed back until after the holidays. Message received Universe! Something is really wrong and I need to get it taken care of. Now. Forced downtime started whether I wanted it or not. And I couldn't even be happy about the unscheduled, unplanned, unintended break because I was in too much pain to enjoy & appreciate it.

After the first 24 hours it became clear that I was, in fact, leaving my clothes in the closet for a while. Maybe it was the 3rd IV that made it clear. Maybe it was the confused looks on the doctors’ faces. Or the continual blood draws, MRI, CT scan, chest x-ray…. The blood transfusion was definitely a clue. At one point, I even became “that patient” and yelled at a nurse when she tried to draw more blood. I told her I was done, and I cried and screamed about how much everything hurt. I think I even called her a vampire (I had been doing that in my head, and in messages to a friend, but not out loud yet). In my defense, this was right after the MRI (which was noisy, and intimidating, and scary), and a few hours after another nurse tried to draw blood and it was determined with a fancy vein-finder that I did not, in fact, have any more accessible veins in either arm. Either way, I felt horrible. I apologized after I stopped crying and we talked for a long time. We wound up having a really great relationship the rest of the time I was there, but I still feel bad that my first interaction with her was me being my worst.

At some point, maybe it was right after that encounter I decided it was time to embrace the suck. I obviously wasn’t going anywhere. I needed to just accept it and try to find whatever bright side I could. So, I read. A lot. And I messaged friends and family. A lot. And I had The Hubster bring my computer so I could write. And I wrote a lot, and at really weird hours of the day and night. Not much sleep happens in a hospital. The nurses and techs still came in every 4 hours for something (vitals, meds, more blood draws), so I dozed on and off. And I read some more. I focused on the super cool bed that had a random massage feature that would activate when I hadn’t moved around for a while. Totally freaked me out the first time. I sat in appreciation of the fact that the hospital is one of the best around, in an affluent county, and I had my own room, with a desk, a couch, and flat screen TV. I never did turn the TV on the entire time I was there. 5 days, never touched the remote. I didn’t want to. I had my books.

My family checked in with me often via phone and text. And in addition to my local besties who came to visit me and brought their companionship, artwork to brighten the room, Starbucks iced tea, and a gourmet cupcake from a local bakery, I had my on-line book framily checking in on me. They sent me messages to keep my spirits up. They created a KudoCard to collect well wishes I could read and cry or giggle over. They listened to my frustrations, fears, and pain. And they distracted me with TikToks and IG reels, and booktalk.

And the hospital staff. Damn, they were freaking amazing. The nurses and techs were seriously incredible. They were patient, understanding, amusing, kind, gentle, everything I needed while I was frustrated and terrified by what was happening. The team of doctors put together for my case were in constant communication with me and each other. And they seemed to understand I needed answers, even when they knew they couldn’t give them to me. They were open about that. Especially the infectious diseases doc who did extra research to make sure he really understood what was happening and didn’t blow off my concerns or sweep things aside because they didn’t fit into his narrow area of specialty. One incredible bright spot to my days was when Carolyn from housekeeping would come in. She was a seriously bright spot of sunshine. Always smiling, always with a fun or funny little tidbit to share. We laughed about the absurdity of our bodies making arbitrary decisions for us. And she commiserated with me on the fact that sometimes we’re so used to always doing all the things that when we can’t we really don’t know what to do with ourselves. And between all the visits for vitals, the blood draws, the tests, the meds, the infusions, the result information… I had my books. I had my escape. My distraction. Another world I could delve into to stop the reminders of where I was and why I was there. And stop the mind spiral of what ifs, and how longs, and now whats.

So after all of that, I leave you with the most bizarre and hilarious event of my entire stay. The icing on the cake happened just as I was waiting to be discharged that last day. The hospital has a pretty extensive kitchen and room service (their title, not mine) menu for patient meals. (Word to the wise: skip the turkey and mashed potatoes). They would call each day around 7am, noon, and 5pm for meal reminders and orders, so it wasn’t a surprise when the room phone rang around 11:45am. I answered it completely prepared to tell them I didn’t need a lunch meal because I was going home (woohoo!!). But it wasn’t the kitchen. I shit you not, it was a robocall trying to reach me about my car's extended warranty. Go ahead, laugh. I did. Really loudly. And it felt really damn good.