I’m unhappy. I don’t think that’s a surprise to anyone who’s been reading my entries for the past few weeks. I’m holding my breath and hoping that my parents will be able to fly out on Saturday, which is five days including today (Tuesday). I’m not very good at the end of things in general. All my impatience surges and it’s really hard for me to tamp it down. It doesn’t help that there’s some question as to whether my father can fly on Saturday or not. He seems much better today, but that varies day to day. Honestly, my impulse is just to pour Dramamine down his throat and shove him on the plane. That’s not very nice, I know, but I have found a darker side of me in the past few months that was previously slumbering in my breast.
When I woke up from being unconscious, I was ready to fight everyone and anyone. I as so grateful, however, for being alive. My brother explained to me that I was supposed to be dead a few days after I awoke so I knew how lucky I was to be alive. And I was properly grateful to my medical team for keeping me alive. My brother said I was overly nice to the nurses because I profusely thanked them for the ice water. But it was because I was obsessed with the ice water and insisted on a fresh cup every time someone came into the room. It didn’t matter how many cups I had in front of me–I always wanted one more. Which was bothersome to them, obviously.
Before I woke up, the doctors warned that I was in for several months of rehab, if not years. There was talk of me going to a rehab facility before going home. They were unsure what kind of brain/heart damage I was going to have. The angiogram showed no weaknesses in my heart, thankfully. That was done the week I was awake in the hospital. That was the only ‘surgery’ I had (and it was just a slit to put in a stent in my arm). And I’ve seen both the heart and head doc since I’ve left the hospital. Both have given me the clean bill of health. All my labs are good and all my tests have been passed with flying colors. I have one more EEG and heart doctor visit and then, that’s the end of my trauma-related appointments. After that, I’m a free person who can resume ignoring my health!
I’m kidding, of course. Sort of. I was not very good at taking care of my health before I landed in the hospital. Which means I need to change some things. The biggest thing is that I need a new primary doctor. The one I met once during the pandemic for the first time, I was not impressed with her at all. I did like the one I met after leaving the hospital to talk about things as related to the trauma. I just have to make it official that he is my primary doctor. Since it’s not yet official, the female doctor messaged me a month or so after I got home from the hospital saying she was sorry to hear about my recent hospitalization. She added that hopefully it made me quit smoking and if not, she was more than happy to help with that. Which, I know it’s her job, but it was very tone-deaf. I was put off by it and my friends agreed that it was not the right time.