If you say something kind and don't mean it, is it still kind? Or does that make you unkind, and sneaky or two-faced besides? Which is worse? We can't always be nice people- sometimes what you think about saying in a situation isn't nice. But is it better to say it, if it isn't a blatant insult, as long as it is honest? I've wondered about that lately- there are valid points to both arguments.
Yesterday was a pretty damn good day. I worked hard- rose to challenges, sweated, made progress physically.
((Names have been changed for privacy))
Lynn, a wonderful, straightforward woman, is one of the physical therapists here. During the few days I've been here, I've taken a quick liking to her. She has perfect personality to be a kick ass PT; a balance of no nonsense attitude and a compassionate nature which, I've found, is rare. She exudes this energy of confidence and straightforwardness. 'You can do this, and you're going to, and it's going to be hard and great.'. And you believe her. You want to do better, and you work harder- because it's a gentle inevitability. You aren't forced into anything- it's just what reality is, with Lynn.
I respect her a lot, and value her opinion- recognizing people's limits and assessing their progress is literally what she does, so when she told me yesterday that the big thing that was stopping her from recommending that I go home(!) was that I didn't have a ramp to get up the few stairs into my house- and then told me my project was to arrange to get one that afternoon- I was walking on air. I rolled back to my room with a huge smile on my face, knowing I was excelling, moving forward, pushing and driving towards a milestone, and I was making it!
I went to bed last night researching the things I would need to safely adapt to life back home- best options for safety equipment, price assessments for necessary supplies, possible solutions to problems I knew were likely to arise. I was energized for hours, even though my muscles ached and my arms felt like noodles, I couldn't stop planning. I finally fell asleep and got at least 3 solid hours - a little over 4 total. I was ready to face today. Man, I knew I was going to be sore, and tired, and my eczema even flared a bit last night- but suddenly these all seemed like things I could knock out, nothing was getting in my way!
I woke up around 8:00 a.m., my bladder gently sending the signals that it was time for a trip to the restroom. I sat up, stretched, and looked around for my walker, frowning when I noticed it had migrated out of my reach during the night.
I reached out and pushed the call button.
"GoodmorningmayIhelpyou???" the callbox squawked.
"Hi, good morning, I need some assistance to go to the restroom, please." I said, keeping my voice pleasant even as I still cringed a bit saying the words.
"AlrightI'llsendsomeone."
"Thank you!"
"Alrightthankyouhaveagoodday."
A moment later I heard the general comm call go out:
"Vikkitoroom16,please Vikkitoroom16."
I sat back and waited, scrolling through Facebook on my phone. I realized my need was growing a tad more urgent, and looked at the clock. Ten minutes had gone by.
I waited a few more, then reluctantly pushed the call button again, shifting in my seat.
A general comm sounded out a moment after I pressed the button.
"Vikkitoroom16."
Wait...what?
They hadn't even bothered to answer me? A twinge of annoyance passed through me, momentarily distracting me, but then my bladder spoke up again. I had to go.
It didn't matter that the rules said someone had to be in the room with me.
It didn't matter that I could only stand on one leg.
My bladder absolutely did not care that my walker had been moved away from me to sit (hahahaha) right in front of the bathroom.
My bladder did not care about anything. It was go time. Resistance was futile.
I stood up carefully, gaining my balance on my one foot, before re-positioning my arms to lean against the bed and the counter, moving towards the bathroom one hop and re-position at a time. It killed me to not rush- especially when, even as my hands wrapped around the handles of the walker, It became clear that I wasn't going to make it.
And I didn't.
After, I sat in the bathroom, staring down at my wet clothes through eyes misty with tears. It may seem like such a small, stupid thing- so easy to make fun of- pissing yourself, Who does that?
But it didn't seem small to me. It was- embarrassing, and disappointing and overwhelming and complicated and felt like such a big step backwards on the road to independence I was fighting for. I knew I'd gotten urine on the back of my bandaged leg; one of my two pairs of shorts was soaked, along with my underwear.
When you're a fully functional adult, and you don't make it to the restroom quite on time, what do you do to fix it? Cursing or laughing, you strip down out of whatever clothes need changing, clean yourself up- wet washcloth, baby wipes, maybe even a quick hop into the shower if you have the time or inclination. Inconvenient, but easy and quick to fix.
What I knew as soon as I knew I wasn't going to make it was what would happen after I didn't.
That I'd need to find a way to clean up while not being able to turn or bend very far and balance on one leg- after wrestling the wet things off over my bulky bandage, trying not to get said bandage wetter. I didn't have a shower scheduled for another 24-48 hours and that is a procession in and of itself; it literally takes 45 minutes. I'd have to call my nurse and ask for new underwear, and then I'd have a decision to make. I only had one more pair of clean shorts and one clean pair of pants. The other pair of pants wasn't as clean- I'd worn them during physical therapy and occupational therapy, and got sweaty. Did I want to get a clean pair dirty or would I be comfortable and better off in the dirty ones? When would I next get more clean pants? Could my parents come by today and pick them up and drop some off tomorrow? Were they busy? Was that fair to ask of them? They already were doing so much. And as for my bandage, how dirty had I gotten it? Would I need to call the doctor to replace it (since the nurses apparently aren't allowed)?
Exhausted, my leg throbbing from sitting down too fast, tears of frustration, embarrassment, and general distress in my eyes, I waited for the help to finally come. But noone did. I waited, at least another 3,4,5 minutes. I cleaned up using the scratchy paper towels from the dispenser, laboriously removed the shorts, every move of my right leg causing it to twinge, and dropped them in the corner. Still, I was alone.
I finally pulled the emergency assist cord, hanging my head and acknowledging that I probably shouldn't have. Was this an emergency? I didn't know anymore. Was I overreacting?
More time went by. I gave up. I hoisted myself up and, nude from the waist down, hopped back to my bed, and leaned on the damn call button.
Noone even bothered to answer me.
A knock sounded and a tech walked in, looking at me expectantly, her eyes sliding to the untouched breakfast tray that had woken me in the first place.
"You didn't eat your breakfast?" she said. I felt my teeth clench.
"Nope," I said, trying for a smile instead.
"I buzzed earlier because I needed help to get to the restroom and my walker was out of reach," I said "but no one ended up coming, so I chanced it and tried to get to the restroom but didn't make it in time so I wet myself and got my bandage wet. Then I was stuck in there, so I pushed the emerency help button. So I haven't had time yet to eat breakfast."
She stared at me, her face blank, silent for a beat before responding
"This is something you need to address with your nurse." she said,
"Okay, I understand that," I answered "I'm just saying-"
"Because I saw the alert light outside so I came in to check."
"And I appreciate that, thank you," I started, but she plowed on
"Because we can't come immediately. Your nurse is busy, okay? She's giving out medication. She will come when she is done."
Anger rose in my chest. I couldn't believe it- how was I the inconsiderate one?! I sat there, fuming, unable to even look at her as she started moving around the room, trying to figure out why the alert light was on, proving that she hadn't heard a word I'd said to her. I didn't speak up, letting her puzzle over the call box, reset it, then go outside and come back in when the light was still on.
My nurse came shortly after, toting the medicine cart. Again, I tried to explain, and again, I was cut off, belittled and met with defensiveness, before ultimately having everything that had happened disregarded as if it didn't matter. My nurse huffily went to find replacement ace wraps for my bandage, stripping off the bare minimum of the ones on my leg that she could, and replacing them. At one point, as she fumbled to pull the ace wrap underneath my calf she said "Would you mind helping to lift your leg?"
"I'm doing the best I can," I answered, struggling to accommodate her "I'm sorry."
She leaned back over her task
"God help me," she muttered, rudely. I froze and stared at her before I had to look away, blood rushing to my cheeks.
Later on I told Lynn what had happened. It was the only time that I'd get to tell one of the staff the whole story and have them listen to me. She immediately called the charge nurse, who heard about one third of what happened before thanking me for informing her and leaving.
Later on, my nurse came in, all false smiles and 'sweeties'- until her gaze dropped to a dose of supplement she had given me at breakfast which I'd told her I wouldn't be taking. She raised her eyebrows at me.
"You didn't take it." she said flatly, gesturing at the little clear cup.
"Nope." I confirmed
"Why."
"Because as I said before, half the time I take it, I throw it back up immediately", I said, looking away from her and back at- anything else in my room "And I'm not interested in throwing up."
She stepped closer and I cringed inwardly.
"Well I want to know what you plan to do about this if you won't take a treatment for it?" she demanded
"I don't know," I said carefully "I am trying to figure that out, but this one won't work for me."
"Well, what are you going to do?" she asked again
"What is your plan?"
"I don't have a plan!" I responded, squeezing my eyes shut, focusing on my tone.
"If you do not take your medication I will get in trouble for this if something happens to you."
Ah-ha. a little voice in my head chimed in. That explains so very many things.
"I wasn't aware that you got in trouble if I took responsibility for not wanting a medicine." I said, simply.
She turned her heel and walked out, leaving me behind.
The whole time I'd been interacting with these two women, and with the charge nurse, I'd been seething, screaming in my head, cursing them, shaking my fists, pounding on tabletops, swearing into their faces in my head. That's honestly where I was. I'd been stripped to a level of emotional vulnerability and then- it felt- put out for ridicule by the very people who were supposed to help me. I was livid at the way they treated me, the way they blamed me- and their job was supposed to be to help!
But I didn't say any of that. I didn't yell. I didn't lose my mind. I maintained as much calm and respect as I could towards these people. I treated them with the biggest dose of kindness I had....And I hadn't meant one damn bit of it.
Does that make me a bad person? Two faced? Dishonest? Slimy?
Because honestly, I think that refraining from losing my mind at two women who were that incredibly rude, mean and unprofessional was a damn good thing to do.
Especially since that was one hell of a pit to crawl out of to try to salvage what was left of today.
It may only be 8:00 p.m., but I find myself starting to doze off in my wheelchair. I hope tomorrow will be better.
I can only do the best I can with what I've got.
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