I’d like to say Monday dawned a beautiful day. But I’d be lying. Sunday was a horrible night mainly due to a not-so-great nurse on duty. Let me catch you up – on Friday I had undergone a gruelling 14-hour surgery to remove a tumour out of the side of my face. After having spent 24 hours recovering in the ICU, I had since been moved up to the sixth floor to recover.
Sunday night I was introduced to my night nurse – let’s call her Veronica. And based on our initial interactions, I could see the night would be trouble. For one, I was to be administered an hourly eye drop to my right eye in order to keep it sufficiently moist (sorry – couldn’t come up with a better word). Upon looking at my chart, Veronica said to me: “You’re supposed to get an hourly eye drop?”
Me: “Yup.”
Veronica: “Okay – well you can give it to yourself.”
Me: “Actually, I’m having a bit of trouble with my right arm.”
Not to mention, I was having trouble gauging depth and distance. Not to mention I was coming off of drugs following a 14-hour surgery. Not to mention I was a patient. Not to mention she was my assigned nurse.
Veronica sighed and gave me a look. A look that signified I was a spoiled princess and she was the woebegone Cinderella figure who was doomed to have to administer me my hourly eye drop.
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I would’ve said something rude and sarcastic except I caught myself. I’ve seen the show “Mary Kills People.” Okay – I haven’t actually seen it – but I’ve heard of it. And unless I wanted a personal sequel called “Veronica Kills Tanya”, I figured it would be best for me to keep my lopsided clap shut.
She wrenched open my poor, battered eyelid – a bit rougher than she had to – dripped the drop in and shuffled off. I got my nightly meds, I took my nightly wee – and that was the last I saw of her ever again. I kid you not.
At about 4am I woke up, needing to pee. But I had the leg massagers to contend with not to mention my attached IV – so I buzzed for Veronica – and proceeded to lay in bed, my bladder gradually growing more and more uncomfortable.
After about 45 minutes, one of my roomies’ nurses (by the way – both of my roomies were male – more on that another day) – came in to do a check and I appealed to her humanity.
Me: “Please. Can you help me? I need to pee but I need these massagers and my IV disconnected.”
Nurse: “You’re really supposed to have your own nurse do that for you.”
Me: “Please. My nurse is Veronica.”
That was the magic word – at the sound of “Veronica” – this nurse gave me a knowing look and unhooked me on both counts, graciously waited for me to finish in the bathroom and wash my hands before hooking me back up.
Back in bed, I closed my eyes and tried to doze – and prayed I’d be greeted with a better nurse on Monday morning.
I was not.
My morning nurse was Tina and she was not much better than Veronica. Though I didn’t know it then, Tina would be my last not-so-great nurse during my hospital stay.
Tina introduced herself to me at the beginning of her shift at 6am. I asked her if we could kick the leg massagers, my IV and my nasal packing to the curb. I was starting to feel better and I knew this because I was starting to get pissed off and openly complain – always a great sign. She explained to me that this could only happen on doctor’s orders. Thankfully, my doctor was an early bird who generally checked in on me at 7am which meant I didn’t have much longer to wait.
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He arrived like clockwork along with Dr. Hathaway – the young, beautiful intern – and after checking my incisions, my skin flap, my movements (facial, not bowel) – I seized the moment.
“Can you please give me the okay to get rid of these massagers?” I asked.
He glanced at me appraisingly. “Are you walking around?”
Me: “Yes. I’ll get up and walk around this ward once every hour if it means I can get these things off.”
Doctor: “Deal.”
And with that, he unhooked them, unvelcroed them and tossed the lifeless tubings to my chair where they sat like moulted snake skins.
“Anything else?”
Me: “Yup. What about my IV? Do I still need it? It’s uncomfortable.”
Doctor: “You’re drinking lots of water, right? So I guess we can unhook you. But we’ll keep the IV in your wrist in case we need to administer meds, okay?”
I nodded eagerly while he removed the IV and pushed it toward the far wall.
“That it?”
Me: “One more thing. This nasal packing.” I pointed to my left nostril. “I hate breathing through my mouth.”
Doctor: “I think that can come out now.”
He walked over to the sink across the room and washed his hands before coming back and grabbing at my nose and tugging gently. A wad of blue gauzy stuff came out of my nose covered in blood and snot which he lobbed into the garbage can.
“Feel free to blow your nose with abandon,” he imparted.
I thanked him profusely as they left the room, then grabbed a tissue from my side table and proceeded to blow my nose with sweet, sweet abandon.
Suddenly, I realized the terrible mistake I had made. My hospital room smelled horrific. There was the smell of dried sweat and vomit – not to mention just regular, awful hospital smell. I briefly wondered if I could ask for more nasal packing – but this time in both nostrils.
I decided to take this opportunity to ambulate the ward – big mistake – the entire floor was lined with soiled linen hampers and based on my overwhelmed nostrils, they all happened to be full and ripe on this fine Monday morning.
I made it back to my bed in time for my morning vital check. Tina came over and stopped short, glancing at my chair with the pathetic massagers lying in a tangled heap.
“The doctor said you don’t need those anymore?” She was incredulous.
I nodded happily. “I also don’t need my IV anymore either.”
She looked at me suspiciously – as if I was pulling a fast one on her.
“Hmmm. How did you manage that?”
“Well – I told him that I’m walking and drinking water. So . . .”
She didn’t seem to be buying my answer. I briefly wondered if she thought I perhaps performed some sort of sexual favour in exchange for these perks. Because that’s what it was feeling like. At the very least, she seemed to be taking it extremely hard and very personally that I no longer had any use for these items.
But even Tina and her suspicious mind couldn’t ruin my high – I was going to have a visitor today – my husband Brennan. Which meant I’d have conversation and see a loving and friendly face and get my laptop delivered to me.
I cleaned myself up with a washcloth, a bar of soap and a bed pan of warm water, put on a clean gown, pinned the plastic bottles draining my wounds to the front of my gown and eagerly waited. He was due to arrive at 1:30pm and it was now only 11am.
Tina came by to administer my eyedrop and check my vitals.
“Tina, when my husband visits – are we able to leave this ward? I just want a change of scenery and was wondering if we can go outside or at least leave this ward?”
Tina: “What? You two need some privacy or something?”
Holy moly – Tina clearly thought I was some sort of over-sexed vixen handing out sexual favours all over the place. Had she not noticed my head and neck riddled with dried blood and stitches – not to mention my half-working mouth!?
“No. We don’t need privacy. I just wanted some air – and a change of scenery.”
“Well – we really don’t like you to leave the ward – but if you do – you can’t be gone for very long.”
That was enough permission for me. I sat back on the bed and closed my eyes. I must have dozed off because I awoke to the sound of throat clearing – and when I opened my eyes – Brennan was standing in the doorway – holding my laptop, my daily newspaper and a Reese’s Pieces package of peanut butter cups.
“Would,” he said and came over to kiss me.
“Would” is what he says when faced with a picture of a beautiful woman or a famous actress or Tom Brady – meaning – yes he would sleep with her (or him) if he had the chance.
We sat and chatted for a bit – before ambulating around the ward and then sneaking through the heavy double doors out into the normal smelling hallway. We walked a bit farther past offices and elevator banks until we came to a corridor with a row of chairs. And there we sat and talked some more.
Worried that Tina would come looking for me, we made our way back to my stifling and terrible smelling room where Brennan read me the Toronto Star article by article – including the comics. And then his visiting allotment was over but he promised he’d be back tomorrow.
I struggled to eat my dinner that night amidst all the awful smells of my hospital room – the hand soap, the sanitizer, the rubber gloves, the sweaty foam of my pillow, my dampened sheets. It was Monday. Dr. Peters had said that if I continued with my current progress, I would be discharged on Wednesday. Only two days away.
I lay back in bed, threw on a Golden Girls episode and drifted off toward tomorrow.
On Monday April 26, 2021, my life changed forever when I heard the words: “You have cancer.” This blog post is the eighth in a series entitled: Cancer Culture and revolves around my personal experience surrounding this devastating diagnosis.