Everything’s Under Control

I am an “in control” type of person. Sometimes this characteristic of mine comes in handy – like when I’m at work and crap is hitting the fan, you need someone to call the shots. But sometimes it’s a nuisance, it causes me to bite my tongue and/or just be completely annoyed. A short hospital stay proved sometimes things are out of my control – I didn’t like it.

After having a mass plus a couple of ribs removed from my chest I laid in a hospital bed completely annoyed. Not at the fact that I couldn’t breath or much less move without pain, but because they had put these ridiculous leg squeezers on my legs. I’m sure they have a more medical term for them, but that really describes them – they were hot, itchy, plastic things strapped around my legs and at completely random intervals they would inflate squeezing my legs. As much as a wiggled and kicked I couldn’t get them off. My caring Sweetie wouldn’t take them off for me either (wait till he asks me to do something for him).

I immediately asked if I could have them removed and Nurse Crotchet acted as if I had asked her to actually saw my legs off. She gawffed a mumbled something about them being “critically important”. I wondered if she had read my chart correctly and known that I had chest surgery and that my legs were just fine. I did take my oxygen off despite her scolding. I tried to bargain with her – leg squeezers off and oxygen on – but she wasn’t having it. Regardless, I was too drugged up to argue.

Which brings me to my second point of contention.

I had an IV in my arm, (actually the inside of my wrist right below my palm – and coming from a person who starts IVs everyday at work – it was lame placement). Through this IV flowed regular doses of Dilaudid. Whether I needed it or not that little pump was relentless in keeping me in a foggy stupor. I also had “little button guy” (I named him, thanks to the Dilaudid) that I could push if I wanted more, but there was nothing I could push if I wanted less. No control. I would just start to wake up and get my bearings when I would hear that little beep, the Dilaudid would drip, and I would be fading out again.

Again I called on Nurse Crotchet. I told her that I wanted to get rid of the Dilaudid drip but keep “little button guy” so I could get how much I wanted when I wanted it. “The doctor ordered it so you get it” was nurse Crotchets reply. It was obvious, she likes to be in control just as much as I do.

I think she pushed “little button guy” for me because I just remember dozing off again annoyed and a little smug. She hadn’t noticed that I conned the CNA who had wondered into my room to check my vital signs to also to remove my “critically important” leg squeezers with the promise that I wouldn’t tell Nurse Crotchet and I would keep my legs a’movin’. (I said “a’movin’" thanks again, Dilaudid.)