2 Samuel 7:22 (NIV) "How great you are, O Sovereign LORD! There is no one like you, and there is no God but you."
The Saga Continues
The first night at the Home didn’t go too bad but morning came and I was aroused by the lights on Ray’s side being swung into motion. Ray had to be up and dressed because she went for dialysis three days a week. It took a lot out of her physically. She’d be gone until noon at which time she’d arrive back at the Home to eat lunch. Some of the time she would eat in the room because apparently, her trip took too much out of her to be social. She was placed in her recliner and left to eat.
By five in the morning I was awake and most of the time I asked if I could be helped onto the commode. “Sure Joni, just give us a minute.” I was trying to memorize the voices that would be helping me, this day it was Laura. The minute usually took more than twenty to come back for me. I was hungry and wouldn’t eat until nine. A small cup of water sat on my table and I’d take small sips. If I asked for them to refill the cup I brought from the hospital, it would take every bit of thirty-five minutes for it to be returned like it did the day before on my arrival. I was hesitant. And no, I was not on any restrictions of food and water.
I wanted to turn my television on a couple of times but wouldn’t you know it, the previous aid sat the ‘gait belt’ on the stand right in front of the television beam needed for the remote to connect and it would not turn on. I would just sit there, looking around, alone in my thoughts. The curtains were still drawn in the mornings and I awaited the sunrise. My meds would arrive about eight o’clock to eight-thirty and I asked the nurse that day, Bird lady, if she could kindly help me to the commode, the other nurse at six o’clock had not returned. “Well let me get you your meds first.” This nurse was one of the sweet attentive nurses and also in charge of the other nurses, the Charge Nurse. With gloves on, she handed me all of my pills in one cup. My chemo pills were supposed to be taken at different times, like before I ate (which one of them was on time) but the other was supposed to be thirty-minutes AFTER I ate. I was still hungry, no food tray in sight, except the empty one from dinner the night before, and still waiting to urinate. She offered me three packs of crackers to hold me off and often offered me an Ensure drink.
I wasn’t getting a good feel of the place even after one full day in the confines of the home. At around 9:45 I was scheduled for my radiation; that meant I had to get dressed. The physical therapists came in before eight (way before breakfast) to see what I could physically do. The one PT was very robotic. I would try to make her laugh and she would just deadpan stare at me as if to say, ‘really? I’m trying to work here!’ While the occupational therapist, Kay, was perky and friendly and loved to laugh with me. Our laughter I know could be heard echoing down the hall. When I cried, she listened, she’d hand me the box of kleenex, and it was very comforting having someone in my room to communicate with.
I couldn’t do much like get dressed, heck I hadn’t showered in twelve days and have only been sponge bathed a couple of times at the hospital. My hair was a mangled mess, and what make-up was still left on my eyes ran down my face and I was hesitant to even look in the mirror. I would go to the radiation treatment in my t-shirt and flannel, nothing else but a blanket to cover me because the days were starting to get chilly.
I could only pivot so far on my right foot with the aid of the gait belt so I didn’t fall. The cold radiation slab wanted to break my back but the nurses were very accommodating and brought pillows, a cushion with a sheet, and warmed sheets to cover me. They didn’t treat me like a toxic zombie. They treated me like a patient. They were impressed with my progress since the first round of radiation, where I was brought in on a gurney. They said I was nothing short of a miracle when I appeared in the wheelchair, stood and pivoted. They had seen the x-rays of my break and were surprised I was at the pivoting stage already. My determination to go home kept me pushing forward but never overdoing the exercises I needed to set me free.
After the session was over my husband and I usually rolled down and sat at the window with the beautiful fountain surrounded by a lush garden and benches. There were pumpkins decorating the garden for either fall or Halloween. I lost track of time. We would then wait for the bus driver to return to take us back to the home.
The weather was damp, dreary and chilly most days, at the hospital, I was wheeled by gurney to the CC. At the Home, the community Ryde (bus) bus driver would come to my room and pick me up, unless a nurse rolled me to the sitting room. I was then taken to the Cancer Center. The driver would then come back and pick me up to take me back to the home. Any time I was not alone was a cherished moment for me. Anxiety had built for the Nursing Home very quickly. I would kid with the bus driver and ask him if he wanted to break me out of this place. He’d laugh as we slowly approached the Home. He would take me back to my room if my husband wasn’t there, otherwise hubby would wheel me back to the cubbyhole of a corner in room twelve. Let me state now, the other rooms were EVENLY divided between tenants. With doors open, I could clearly see in each room I passed as envy filled my empty gut.
As I said, to lighten my time in the places I deemed a hellhole, only because it wasn’t home, I used laughter to muddle through. One time being transported on a gurney to the CC I was wheeled to the first floor, past a gift shop, past a Subway (what torture!) and then past a waiting room then out the door into the swift breeze and the only-for-me sunshine. The CC was right next door to the hospital, too close for ambulatory service. I told the guys wheeling me, as I was covered in a white sheet, looking like a dead body being transported, that I would put the sheet over my head, then when I get to the waiting room, I’d jump up, screaming. The one technician laughed so hard he almost stumbled, the other one just shook his head. These guys, as well as anyone who came in contact with me, were getting to know me and my infectious sense of humor. Laughter and optimism kept me ALIVE!
The days were passing by as slow as extra thick maple syrup could be poured from a bottle. Granted the days were full from five a.m until we turned our lights out at 8:30 as we slept until something in the night called us to awaken.
Pss. 130:5 “I wait for the LORD, my soul doth wait, and in his word do I hope.”
