Jul. 7th, 2017

mmegaera: (Default)
So. Another update of sorts.

They say my on demand narcotic painkiller isn't metered (monitored, yes, but not metered). They also say how pleased they are at how little of it I'm actually using. I don't normally have a high pain threshold, but painkillers do tend to linger in my system (and keep doing their job) about twice as long as the bottle would lead one to believe, and apparently IV narcotics work the same way. Not that I'm complaining about that little perk.

They send the vampires around at about 2 in the morning, which seems both appropriate and kind. It's a lot easier to get blood drawn when you're 75% asleep.

Oh, and I've gained 8 pounds since I arrived at the hospital -- all of it saline, since I haven't eaten a thing since the piece of toast I struggled down on Tuesday morning (and I'm still not hungry *at all* -- I notice my stomach growl once or twice a day in a sort of vague, abstract way, but that's about it. I'm told that's one of the requirements for them to spring me and let me go home (but not the only one). I normally weigh what I did when I came in, and I can really tell the difference in my sense of equilibrium. It's very odd. I may get *flavored* water today (not sure if it'll be juice or jello or something else). How exciting [wry g].

I *am* starting to feel better. Finally. I sat up most of yesterday afternoon (the hospital bed converts into the world's funkiest recliner), and I walked 3 1/2 times around the hospital floor (not all at once).
mmegaera: (Default)
Humor is probably the most singularly essential attitude. I’ve always loved it, but I never realized that it can help you through things you never dreamed (or nightmared) you’d have to.

Anyway, my IV went kaput today. It was my fault – it was in the crook of my elbow and I bent my elbow too far. But it couldn’t be fixed, so they had to put in a new one. They wanted to do two, but no, instead they’re doing something called a pick line which goes into a much deeper vein. Oh, joy. No, the proper phrase is oh, terror.

Anyway, the first (yes, the first) IV nurse poked me four times and finally got one to stick. It’s in an awkward position, and I’ll be touchpadding with my left hand for the duration, but at this point I’ll take what I can get. The problem is that my veins, never very visible or welcoming to needles at the best of times, have retreated and are hidden in a bunker somewhere deep in my arms, waiting for the artillery barrage to cease once and for all.

The second IV nurse had a much better technique, but had no luck at all.

And by then the CT scan people were like, can you get her down here sometime in this century, please?

So off I went in a gurney, with an exceedingly nice young woman pushing me along, who stayed to chat with me while they set things up, and was part of what I can only describe as a Monty Pythonesque discussion about the reaction I would experience to the injection of the contrast dye in my new IV port. The word urrrrr-iinnn-aaaaa-shhhhuuuunnn was uttered repeatedly (one of the effects of the dye is to make you feel like you’re peeing). When I made the Python comment it only egged them on, fake Brit accents and everything. Really, really just what I needed after all that what felt like being that knight who kept talking like it was just a scratch in MP and the Holy Grail, thank you very much.

It really does need to be made clear to someone who can enforce this, that needles are for *sewing*, and sewing *only.* I want the IV version of the Vorkosiverse hypospray.

Cranberry juice!!! Omigosh, liquid with *flavor*!!! And not frozen!!!
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