I’m in the hospital again for another round of treatment. Not feeling sorry for myself. Just hard to avoid saying that part since it is an integral slice of my life and has been for around 8 years now to keep my hands and feet alive. Come to think of it, if I was at some convention I would probably type that right underneath my name on that white label sticker you slap on your shirt.
Hi, My Name Is Bren and I go into the hospital for IV treatment lasting several days every 6 weeks to keep my limbs from turning into raisins. Ha!
Over time I’ve come to get to know many of the nursing staff. They were heroes to me before this pandemic. Some of the patients that they have to deal with... wow. I’ve heard their patients yelling at them from down the hall. So yeah all of the nursing staff should get extra pay, gold jewelry, diamonds in there teeth if they’re into that sort of thing. Whatever. They’ve earned it and then some.
I’ve befriended many who deliver food to my bed. They share news about weddings and house building projects, vacations and even sad news of lost loved ones. I learned about new podcasts from a friend in housekeeping too. Sometimes the wheelchair transport team will tell me wild stories when they bring me to and from my room within the maze of this large place for something and to meet up with my husband. I don’t look at the time I spend here as tragic. It’s morphed into ‘life’.
Usually when I am in for treatment I get a different doctor who is here for their week of rotation. It’s not uncommon for me to be told that they’ve read through my file and they are just unsure as to what else to try. Five rare things and no new treatments. So we are stuck with the Band-Aid type of treatment that we’ve been doing for a long while now just to keep my hands and feet alive. But it won’t last.
So we meet up (the hospital and I) for a date every 5 weeks or so, for some good conversation and bad TV to do it all again. ; )
As a bonus I interact with interesting people who have stories to tell and I am always eager to listen. And hey, I jokingly say, ’where am I going to go? I’m plugged into the wall?’.
Maybe the theme of that little ditty is that I just have a big mouth and will talk to pretty much anybody? Uh oh.
Over the past several months I‘ve watched and read [and done too much those two things each day] regarding Covid 19. Don’t worry, I won’t dip my toe into this topic too much because it’s been squashed into politics, as if two colors of clay were pressed together. Impossible to separate now. Both absolutely stressful. Let’s face it, so many of us know friends, family, or perhaps even you’ve been directly affected by this with your health or job status. I’ve been downright harassing family and friends in my life. Just flinging support upon them as if it was one of the many pieces of gum I used to get stuck in my very long hair as a kid - not going away without a fight darn it. Hopefully that wasn’t too disturbing!
So many things came to a halt, at least temporarily while our Country pivoted to adjust. My chronic diseases did not. There were still appointments, treatments, wound care supplies that I needed, and medications to be delivered.
*Still, I Am Grateful to have this band-aid hospital treatment and will do my best to keep pestering all of my doctors until I get something better.
*I Am Grateful that I am currently Covid free as I had to get a test before my hospital treatment.
* I Am Grateful that I am able to focus on eating healthy foods since I am not physically able to do much in the way of workouts. Let’s face it my body is a wreck.
*I Am Grateful that my husband and my friends get me to appointments that have much longer wait times, located in their cars. Did everybody go potty before we left??
* I am over the moon grateful for the essential workers who deliver my wound care supplies and groceries to my door at home. I’ve made little signs and taped them to my front door and gate to show the love. I’ve also been leaving out cans of sparkling water and protein bars on hot days too. I swear it looks like I’ve created a makeshift altar. Save our USPS!
I am not dismissing any fear and uncertainty of these last several months, but there is still room for hope, right?
We are here because we *Spark*.
That’s what we do.
Speaking for myself, that says we have the capacity to be hopeful.