Having five rounds of five days to sit and think over things in the hospital has gotten me thinking: When you’re a patient, at least based on my experience, life is a lot like how I imagine it is for a pet puppy.
I’ve spent many nights of insomnia with this topic floating by now and then, so I’m going to get it down here and share a bit of what my hospital stays are like. Let me say though, I’ve never had a dog so this is all just based on stories from friends and the many animal memes, videos and pictures I stalk on social media.
- On a leash – In this case my leash is an infusion drip constantly hooked up to me providing chemo and fluids – from Thursday afternoon until Monday around noon. Any trip to the bathroom or walk around the hospital hallway includes my IV stand. As I imagine it is for a dog, it isn’t fun to (accidentally) pull against the “leash” as it pulls as the PICC inserted into a vein in my arm and protected with a medical grade see through sticker. It is a very special treat when I get a nurse that will let me off the leash for a shower in-between 22 hour-long chemo bags (otherwise you bet I stay hooked up with it hanging out right outside of the shower).
- Dog tags – Like any hospital visit I’ve got my ID bracelet just like a dog’s collar.
- Not sleeping through the night – Since I’m hooked up to fluids via my IV, and also drinking plenty of fluids, my IV pole and I are always making trips to the bathroom. I’m talking at least 3+ times just at night! And forget about it when diuretics are involved because those things are crazy effective. (I’d never tried them before, but I take them at the hospital to help avoid excessive swelling. I say excessive because there’s bloating and moon face side effects no matter what you do, thanks to steroids.) If I am lucky enough to not be awake due to using the restroom, then odds are I’m going to get woken up because of bubbles causing the infusion channel to beep or any of the reasons mentioned in number 5. I think it’s actually a form of torture.
- Need to go potty? – I’ve already mentioned that I use the bathroom frequently. Almost as frequently, the nurses and doctors are asking about those visits. Sometimes they want to know how much (tracking the use of diuretics). They are most interested in BM’s though – how frequent (they don’t want it to go longer than 2 days in-between), how much, texture (should be like toothpaste consistency), you name it. Based on my fainting experience I totally get that there is a risk these patterns can bring to light and that it’s all an indication of hydration and any side effects that my be showing up through something with the gut/intestines.
- Who’s outside? – When I hear something going on outside of my room my ears perk up and I try to guess who is coming in. I get a predictable visit every 2 hours to check blood flow from my PICC, but outside of there it could be a tech, labs, doctor, room cleaning 2x / day, food service, social work, inventory worker, etc. – would love to know how to avoid this, but I just don’t think it’s possible. What I’ve resorted to at night is putting in headphones and an even-keeled podcast about something like Game of Thrones or Sharp Objects (def no current events). The point is that they aren’t topics I’ll get worked up about so they’re great for sleep as well as regular listening.
- Toys – I’ve been lucky enough to be gifted some awesome gifts to take up my time. Just like a puppy the stuffed animals, brain games, and plain silly toys are an awesome surprise. I’ve also gotten things from the nurses, including a very useful PICC line cover. Not exactly a toy, or something that a dog would get, but definitely a gift that will keep on giving.
- Grooming is intimidating – A good shower is ALWAYS a lot of work. First, it has to be scheduled so it is planned around my infusion bags. I need someone else to help me get ready and cover up the PICC line and situate the IV line. Then, since, chemo dries out skin on top of the constant dry, hospital A/C exposure (nurses have said the dry heat during the winter is even rougher on the skin), I like to use the Hibicleans and a wash cloth to exfoliate and clean every shower. Scrubbing all over with how significantly weaker I am, and limited range of motion with my right arm, leaves me exhausted. THANK GOODNESS I don’t have to worry about my hair. One of the perks to chemo hair loss! Out of the shower is a lot of work too to moisturize everything again. Writing this I can’t believe that this has become such a chore – how things have changed, and still they are SO much easier than when I was bruised and sore all over the weeks around my diagnosis.
- Doctor visits – Just like a pup, I have visits with the doctor. I imagine a puppy sees a lot less of their vet though… I see my oncology team the Thursday I get admitted, and then I get daily visits by whatever doctor is assigned to my floor on the other days. They like to discuss how I’m feeling, discuss BM’s, check my weight, and listen to my lungs, heart, and intestines. The nurses, upon my admittance, also have to do a butt (hole) swab and look at the skin on my heels, elbows, and lower back to make sure cuts and sores haven’t developed. The butt swab is to determine if MRSA is a risk. Until tests come back negative, every hospital employee needs to put on a disposable plastic smock/gown every. single. time. they enter my room – even if it’s just to drop off water. If my swab comes back negative, then all they need to wear are the usual gloves.
- Treats! – Outside food is way better than what I get normally. I was seriously impressed with the hospital food when I was first at the hospital. Now, my gag reflex goes off just opening the menu to order. Anything from off the menu, and from outside of the confines of the hospital sounds MUCH more appetizing, and is sometimes the only thing that I can stand to eat. I don’t think it’s anything to do with the kitchen there. It’s all mental. That’s all I can say on this topic now though because I start to feel nauseous just bringing up this topic.