My life, including the subset of writing, was interrupted when our granddaughter was hospitalized with pneumonia and RSV last Wednesday night. She's a dynamic little girl who is only 2 years and 9 months old, and is known for her energy and sense of humor. Someone was with her for her entire stay in the hospital and, I'm happy to say, she returned home on Monday night. She's feeling much better but still has to use oxygen some of the time.
The hospital environment was no fun for anybody. She was too young to understand anything that was going on, but was too sick to care at first. We knew she was recovering when she started fighting back. To her, oxygen was her enemy, as was the blood pressure cuff. Anyone who entered the room wearing a mask was scary, and raising the sides of her bed (making it like a crib or a cage) enraged her. There was a special vest that vibrated to loosen up the gunk in her lungs. Anyone would have hated it, especially if woken up every four hours to get rattled around. She would sometimes remove the oxygen sensor from her toe, and once dislodged her IV needle. Replacing that one was painful.
The only place for the adult to sleep was an awful recliner. It would start to fold up if you took your weight off the back part. It was very hard to get up out of, and I had to get out of it often. I slid off the foot rest and onto the floor the first night. (I learned not to use a slippery bottom sheet.) The longest I ever slept at one time was 45 minutes. There were a lot of medical personnel visits, day and night, and the monitor beeped every time her oxygen dipped below 90, even though 85 was considered acceptable. The construction in the floor above our room began at 7:15 in the morning. Imagine a saw going through steel just a few feet above your head.
Just as she became feisty when her strength was returning, I became bored when I wasn't worried any longer. The constant noise of a hospital drives me crazy. I forgot to ask what the hell happens out in the hallways at 5 AM every morning. It suddenly sounds like the army is driving through. Doors slam, people talk, and carts rattle by. By 6:00, things have calmed down again.
By the end of her stay, she was charming the nurses and doctors. We received permission to walk the hallways to visit the playroom and the lounges. She was starting to enjoy her visit with the availability of pancakes all day long, a television at her command, and the discovery of Fruit Loops which, sadly, are not allowed at home.
The only place for the adult to sleep was an awful recliner. It would start to fold up if you took your weight off the back part. It was very hard to get up out of, and I had to get out of it often. I slid off the foot rest and onto the floor the first night. (I learned not to use a slippery bottom sheet.) The longest I ever slept at one time was 45 minutes. There were a lot of medical personnel visits, day and night, and the monitor beeped every time her oxygen dipped below 90, even though 85 was considered acceptable. The construction in the floor above our room began at 7:15 in the morning. Imagine a saw going through steel just a few feet above your head.
Just as she became feisty when her strength was returning, I became bored when I wasn't worried any longer. The constant noise of a hospital drives me crazy. I forgot to ask what the hell happens out in the hallways at 5 AM every morning. It suddenly sounds like the army is driving through. Doors slam, people talk, and carts rattle by. By 6:00, things have calmed down again.
By the end of her stay, she was charming the nurses and doctors. We received permission to walk the hallways to visit the playroom and the lounges. She was starting to enjoy her visit with the availability of pancakes all day long, a television at her command, and the discovery of Fruit Loops which, sadly, are not allowed at home.
She's getting her energy back
Eating ice and watching the Sprout channel
Reading lots of Go Dog Go
They are SO lucky to have you and Steve. :')
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