By Neena Strichart
What do you get when you cross bronchitis with H1N1 and double pneumonia?
In my case, I found myself with a recipe for a 12-day hospital stay, a newly gained expertise at the bed-pan limbo, an instant absence of any sort of modesty, a lot of fear and a bucket full of tears.
And, what else did I gain from the experience? I discovered a deepening of friendships and a new appreciation for my beloved husband and mother. And last, but not least, I am eternally grateful to a beyond-talented, creative and loyal office staff. I’m home now dealing with yet more medical issues, but I want to let my readers know what’s going on. This will probably end up as a six-part series, so here goes part one.
The date today is November 13. My illness started clear back on the evening of October 15 with a slight cough and a bit of chest congestion. With my history of bronchitis and pneumonia, I knew that I needed to get to the doctor right away, so I called the next morning and made a same-day appointment to see Dr. Bitter. They got me right in, and he diagnosed me with bronchitis. I got my prescription filled and went right home to bed. Over the weekend I fought off fevers as high as 103.8. Cool showers, ice and over-the-counter meds, along with my prescription, did little to make me feel better. I called the doctor several times, and he encouraged me to stay on my meds, drink plenty of fluids and do my best to keep my fever down.
By the next Wednesday morning, I knew I was in trouble. I felt like hell with no relief in sight. After I made a quick trip to the doctor, got X-rays and underwent a few other tests, Dr. Bitter said I needed to take a trip next door and be admitted to Memorial Hospital. With no rooms available at that time, he sent me home and said I’d get a call when a room was ready. Over six hours later, Steve got angry and took me over to the hospital admitting department and pretty much pushed until they found me a room.
I started off in an infectious-disease isolation room on the fourth floor and by early Saturday morning was “upgraded” to ICU on the seventh floor. I was there for eight days. I was in total isolation, so everyone from janitors to nurses to doctors and my dear hubby had to completely gown up, wear gloves and put on a mask before coming into my room. I felt sorry for them, so I did my best to not ring for the desk too often or to ask Steve for much visiting. Besides, I felt so lousy, I didn’t really want to see or talk to anyone anyway. I didn’t miss having a phone and actually requested to have no calls or visitors besides Steve. I certainly didn’t want my 90-year-old precious mother exposed to my “germy” new abode, and she was smart enough not to go against my wishes and stayed safe and sound.
Next week— part 2.
Keep healthy!
