TheBanyanTree: Day 3 of Week 3

[Jim Miller]

Dear Treemail Friends

Seventeen days down and no sign of lunacy. Of course that observation is
mine personally and may be invalid. At least no one is pointing and
laughing. Small children still smile at me.

I’m settled into a routine that gets me started in the morning and takes
me through the day. I’m a night person and the nursing staff has
afforded the consideration of not disturbing me until I rise, which
depends on how soon before 2am I climb into bed. This works except on
Monday and Thursday when the lab draws blood at 4am. No system is
perfect.

I decided before I was admitted that typical hospital attire wouldn’t be
acceptable. Part of feeling normal is looking as normal as I can. I can
generally accomplish that look, with the exception of a heart monitor,
IV in my arm, and pole buddy supporting the IV pump and bag. This pal is
never more than 6 feet away. I’m getting better at not forgetting him
when I decide to move from the immediate area. So far I haven’t jerked
the line out. Linda cut slits in my shirt pockets and reinforces the
back. This is so that I can feed the wires stuck to my body to the
telemetry transmitter in the pocket. The IV tube goes up my sleeve and
drops out the bottom of my shirt. Today I tucked my shirt in without
pinching the line. One more step toward normalcy. Slacks or jeans with
shoes and socks complete the attire. I walk the length of the floor for
exercise. Round trip is about 700 feet. Eight laps completes a mile.
Some days my heart rate climbs too high and I don’t get the full run in.
The south unit on the floor is segregated from my acute cardiac care
unit, so that staff contingency only knows me in passing. Most comments
are that I don’t look like I belong here. Just the look I was hoping
for. Linda purchased and modified a couple of bright Hawaiian shirts,
and brought me palm tree decorations and leis for the pole. I’m planning
to make more of an impression. I’m open to suggestions. I don’t want
them to forget me when I’m out of here.

Since I first wrote, I’ve added a small refrigerator, a one cup coffee
pot, and a floor lamp. The refer is handy for bottled refreshments, a
few condiments to make the food more palpable and other goodies that may
come my way. Finally a decent cuppa java, and the floor lamp provides a
nice reading light and ambience in the evening.

My plan while confined is to work, read and write. Other than allowing
me to sleep through the night the NACs pester me every four hours for
BP, O2 Sats and temp. That’s blood pressure, oxygen saturation and body
temperature. At the shift change every eight hours, the RN assigned to
me asks me to breath deep through my mouth so she can listen to my lungs
for fluid. I’m on an acute care heart unit, so I guess they’re used to
hearing some pretty raspy lungs, because every single time, I’m told how
clear my lungs are. I’ve been getting the same report for nearly eight
years, but I let them feel good by reporting the facts anyway. They then
listen to my heart. It’s about as rhythmic as a cowboy on the back of a
bucking bull. I’m sure that can be seen on the monitor out from, but it
seems important to listen for something. Then there is the One to Four
practitioners who parade through my life on a daily basis. I never know
if it’s going to be the surgical assistant, primary transplant surgeon,
or all of the above. Each has to perform the obligatory lung and heart
check. I’ve discovered that there are various profit centers in a
practice. I’m sure I get thumped on for billing purposes, and hospital
visits appear to be very profitable. Now you can see that my good
intentions are subject to constant interruptions.

Linda visits daily. She usually stays an hour or longer and we talk
about her business, our plans and future, the kids and grandkids, living
apart, etc. At the end of the week, she might bring movies and salads
and stay longer. It’s good time together. Our youngest son Mike comes in
every other day or so and his wife joins him once or twice a week.
Chaplain Deacon Dan stops by daily and we BS or get into theological
discussions. He’s interesting and knowledgeable. He’s Catholic and I’m
not. The time goes fast.  I’m blessed with many friends who care and are
concerned about me which has resulted in a fairly steady stream of
visitors. On first visit, they have come to offer comfort and good
wishes. We all know what to expect when visiting in the hospital; bed
bound, disheveled hair, crowded room and a flow of care providers
tripping over us. I leave the door open, so anyone can walk in. What
they find is a large comfortable room with my office setup in the
corner, a couple of comfortable chairs and me in civvies. Once they sit
down, it’s like a weed growing in the moist soil of a river bank. Two
hours of chatting lapses before they’re rooted out to make room for the
next round. Don’t misunderstand; I thoroughly enjoy the time spent, but
it really gets in the way of good intentions.

As I mentioned before, I have a fantastic view to the east. The view is
extremely fluid with changing sun and shadows, an infinite variety of
cloud formations, rain, lightning, dawn and dusk. I’ve started making a
record of this view to the world with my camera. For example, yesterday,
following a day of rain showers, the sun finally emerged and with it a
giant rainbow arched from mountain to mountain over the Spokane Valley;
perfectly centered in my window.

I’ve been asked about the food. I’m sure that if you have not had the
luxury of personally experiencing hospital hospitality, you have at
least heard stories about the food. At my last incarceration, my
cardiologist suggested that I tell them what I want. Now I’m not a
schooled dietician, and I hope that I don’t offend anyone when I say
this. I can’t really believe that they know and understand nutrition,
given the menus they create. I understand that there is a budget, but
good grief, at $1,500 a day for basics, I would think that reasonable
quality might be obtained. I’m afraid to inquire about other diets.
(I’ve heard war stories about diabetic menus.) A typical cardiac diet
starts the day with scrambled eggs and toast or muffin. It isn’t on the
computer printout, but let’s assume that these are actually low
cholesterol egg beaters. A side to the eggs may be a two inch pancake or
piece of French toast with syrup. And to compliment the entrée, we have
a cup of coffee and small carton of milk. Lunch and dinner are heavy in
sauces, white breads, puddings, occasionally fruit, vegetables, salad,
potato (boiled, mashed or otherwise) and always a sugary fruit drink and
dessert. All meats are overcooked and covered with gravy for taste. I
imagine everyone looks forward to mac and cheese Wednesday. That’s
probably excess from the children’s hospital next door. Some days I
think fiber content can’t be measured. Then no one seems to understand
when most of the floor has problems with regularity. I suspect that
someone in the nutrition department has stock in prune juice and stool
softeners.

Knowing what to expect, I put in a call for the dietician on day two. I
instruct that they can skip all the breads, rolls, sauces, gravies,
puddings and desserts. (I like and eat all food; I’m not fussy, but I
know what my body likes and I know that I don’t like being all plugged
up.) I would like more fruits, green vegetables and salads, in fact an
occasional large salad would be a good meal substitute, and I rarely
drink milk; just send it when breakfast includes cereal. That done, I
assumed that the question of food was settled for the duration. Silly
me. Every meal except breakfast had salad and veggies. More chicken;
that was good. Sauces, gravies and desserts stopped as requested. I
thought I was clear, but milk continued to come with breakfast, only it
was now 1% instead of skim. Then came a fruit plate at mid morning. OK,
I like fruit. Next arrived a veggie plate for mid-afternoon snack. More
vegetables; that will work. Everyday, mid-morning fruit plant and
mid-afternoon veggies. Too much; I put in a request and stopped the
fruit plate. Then one evening a large salad arrived, not a chef salad as
I was expecting, simply a large green salad. That was in addition to the
regular salad and typical dinner meal. Something was wrong with this
picture. That one hasn’t been repeated but I assume it’s coming up. I
called the dietician back in and told her that she is wasting the milk
because I don’t drink it. Please, only with cereal. The next morning,
breakfast arrived with milk but no cereal. The computer printout read
4oz. milk for cereal. That continued for three days and I called the
dietician again. “Please, you really are wasting your milk.” “I only
want it with cereal.” She informed me that the computer won’t do that.
It’s all or nothing, so I agreed to nothing. Mike asked me if maybe
their programmer hadn’t learned the <if> command yet. And yesterday
morning breakfast arrived with oatmeal cereal, but NO milk. This Morning
Linda brought me an Omelet from Perkin’s restaurant. I didn’t need milk.

I just got my 12 am night shift shake down. I guess it’s time to turn
off the light and go to bed. I’ll tell you about the bed later. I do
sleep well.

I’m still waiting for calls on my Skype phone. I’ve received calls from
Sweden and Poland and I talk to my sons daily and my brother finally
hooked up in Phoenix. You can call too, and the price is right. <FREE>
Quality is perfect and I’m usually in. Find me listed as Jim Miller (not
the one in the UK) or my logon ID, dblthump.

Jim