Full Disclosure: Peggy is not the Best Patient

After reading my recent blog posts, my husband and daughter have suggested I have omitted some details - possibly those that demonstrate that I might not be the best patient and may possibly have been giving some people a bit of a hard time.  Who me?  Trying to convince people to do what I want?  Being a smarty-pants? Shocking!

Surely, the only reason I previously failed to disclose some interactions is because I forgot about them  (not because it made me look bad).  In an effort to provide a fair and balanced summary, I will now share some of the things that have been pointed out to me, which I previously failed to relate.

During a pre-surgical neuro check, I was asked how much change I would receive if I bought something at CVS for $8.50 and I paid with a ten-dollar bill.  After sharing that my daughter works for CVS, I insisted that the question was irrelevant since I would have used $8 in Extra Bucks when I made my purchase.  Keith thought I was bullshitting to stall for more time until I figured the answer out.  Ironically, when we arrived home from the hospital, Melissa found my most recent Extra Bucks receipt on my desk - which of course showed I did indeed have $8 in Extra Bucks to spend.

"You can not take a shower" standoff
Before they even cut my head open, I was pestering the nurses to let me take a shower.  I was told that since most patients in ICU are typically not mobile, there are no facilities for patients to shower in their rooms.  Frequently, many patients aren't even speaking because they are on vents or are unconscious.  Sadly for the hospital staff, I am quite vocal.

I insist there must be some place in the hospital for patients to take a shower.  It is explained that I CANNOT leave the ICU.  I inform the nurses that some medication I am having administered has given me diarrhea and quite frankly “My ass is on fire” so I need to soak in some water to avoid a skin breakdown.  I inquire if they know what a "Sitz bath" is and I suggest they go to the maternity ward to see if they can obtain one for me to use.

Ultimately, I make it clear that at this point in our life, my husband would do anything for me.  I point to the big sink in the counter in my room and let them know that I am going to have Keith to fill up the sink and ask him to lift me up and sit me in it.  I convince them I am quite serious and plead with them to make it happen.

At 5 AM on Friday morning, a nurse named Krystal comes to tell me that I am going to be allowed to use the staff shower facility (YES!).  However, I cannot get my head wet or wash my hair because there are no blow dryers and my hair needs to be dry when they come to place the markers on my head.  I assure her I couldn't care less about that.  Afterward, two of my other nurses make sure I realize what a big deal this was as it is the ONLY time Krystal has ever given someone a shower.  I can't resist pointing out that I gave myself the shower and she merely watched (plus there aren’t any patient showers in the ICU) but I clearly convey my gratitude.  At least I'm pretty sure I did.

During one of my neurological assessments after surgery, when I was asked if I knew where I was, I am told I responded "In hell!"  Was that sarcastic? Heck, my mother repeatedly scolded me for my bad behavior as I was growing up by saying:  "Peggy, you're going to go to hell if you don't change your ways."  (Let's just say I was a bit of a handful when I was a teenager.)  Thankfully, the neuro guy didn't interpret my response as a sign that I thought I was dead or I didn't know where I was at the time.  I was just equating my pain level to something relative to me.

When prompted to smile to demonstrate I still possessed the ability to control my facial muscles, I refused and asked "Seriously?"  At the time, it was painful to make facial expressions (actually it hurt to do anything - believe me the first time I had to sneeze or blow my nose was no picnic).  I was of the opinion that sticking out my tongue was a much more appropriate way to prove I was fully able to function.

"You have to stay in bed" drama
After the craniotomy, I insisted they remove my catheter and allow me to use the bathroom.  I understood that I needed to be assisted since I was pretty drugged up after my surgery and my overall situation made me a fall risk.  Plus, I had to be unhooked from my monitors and the inflatable wraps on my legs being utilized to prevent a blood clot - not to mention the IV pole that had to accompany me.  Apparently, alarms had to be set to alert the staff after I got out of bed by myself one time during the night (sorry man, couldn't wait - honestly have no clue how I did that).

The hospital was probably relieved when Keith and Melissa took me home.  Sadly for my husband and daughter, the hard part was just beginning, as there would be no more around the clock nurses.  Thankfully there were two of them to trade off shifts so one could sleep for four hours while the other covered meds every other hour.  Check out my drug arsenal below - for which an Excel spreadsheet was used to keep track of what was dispensed and when (hooray for my uber-organized daughter).