foreveralone

Diary from a hospital bed.

Thursday:
The walls are white, as white as I.
The cupboards are pale blue.
There is one chair to sit on for visitors.
The bed is high, and the pillows are too soft.
The lady next to me, eats and vomits, eats and vomits.
All of the patients are wearing white, but not I.
I’m in black leggings and a black tshirt.
They are staring at me.
Why are you here? They ask.
What are your symptoms?
What medications are you taking?
Pain scale from 1-10?
Here, take this tablet.
Have you tried…?

I am sick of answering questions and repeating this story. Nobody has asked me who I was before this illness… they’re only worried about who I am with it now.

Friday:
I have barely slept.
The nurses here are as lost as I am.
The nurse’s button isn’t connected so we each have an oldschool bell to ring when we need someone. The nurses cannot hear it. One poor old lady next door to me rang hers from 2-3am until someone came to her aid.

This ward wasn’t meant to be open,
the nurse said. It’s only half ready.
I haven’t seen many nurses today in here.
They’ve left me.
I saw my Dr once, but he was in and out as usual.
I had to fast from 12am. And then my IV was taken out and I was told to take Metamucil every fifteen minutes for THREE hours. I am amazed that my stomach kept it down. My nausea is incredibly bad.
The stomach MRI went for an hour opposed to twenty minutes.
I was interrogated by a Dietitian. Are you bulimic? Anorexic? Drug addiction? Abuse? What do you eat? How much? Did a life event cause this? Are you sure you aren’t forcing yourself to not eat?
Please stop.
I had a test for Addison’s Disease. Oh my, the pain. I was jabbed in the shoulder with a drug called Synacthen, and had nine blood viles taken from numerous veins.
I caught a glance of myself in the mirror today and burst into tears. I have faded to nothing. I am exhausted, mentally and physically.
I can finally eat after fasting for more than twelve hours, and I don’t even want to. I have no desire for food as all I can taste is Metamucil in the back of my throat.
I am trying to stay positive, but it is hard to not hate it here.
I miss my bed and family and friends.
I miss being able to shower in my shower.
I miss my food, and my routine.
Mostly, I miss my health, and I am reminded of why I have to stay here.

Saturday:
I’ve had a lot of visitors today, as I assume I shall tomorrow. I’m exhausted. A fill-in Doctor told me that my results came back as negative – I am ‘perfectly fine’, apart from having Gastroparesis. Apparently the only thing that showed was a semi-low white bloodcell count… sign of infection? He didn’t seem worried by it.
Strange, because I feel anything BUT fine.
I feel worse here than at home.
I’m quite dizzy, pale-faced, crampy in the stomach and bowels and very nauseated.
The Nurses keep giving me medication, upon medication. My little body is not used to it.
They make you feel so small; the Nurses and the Doctors. Or maybe it is just me…
I must await Monday for my usual Doctor to return.
I must remind myself that I’m not losing my mind. It’s a bit hard when the world is against you, and your body won’t negotiate.
On the plus side, I finally got a red jelly cup last night instead of yellow.

First world problems right here.

Sunday:
More sleepless nights.
The older lady next to me was moaning all night.
She moaned before sleep, during sleep, when she went to the bathroom. Constant moaning.
Then she started yelling in Italian. I assumed she was dreaming, or she was yelling at me to turn off my light.
I had nausea and intense abdominal cramping all night despite my efforts to get rid of it. I tried deep breathing, my acupressure bands, a cold towel, as well as every medication you can think of.
Maybe that’s the problem – the overuse of medication.
The nurses seem to think that because I don’t have any limbs falling off, or any scheduled surgeries, or visible symptoms that I don’t need to be attended to. I haven’t seen a nurse all morning. They think I am taking up space for someone who ‘really needs it’. Little do they know that I don’t want to be here either. My Doctor insisted. He seems to still believe there is an underlying mystery cause to my illness, and that we have no chance in getting me better until it is found. I wonder if he’ll feel the same tomorrow?
The dizziness is overwhelming. I tried to have a shower alone today, and held onto the railing fearing I would fall. My body is so weak. I miss little things like that… being able to enjoy a shower without fearing I’ll lose my balance.
There’s something about hospitals that saddens me. I’m not sure if it’s the general gloominess, or the fact that I’m the only young person I’ve seen in days of being here.
Tomorrow my Doctor comes to visit, which shall be interesting.
I can’t help but wonder – will I ever recover from this?

Not as inspirational as you thought.

Another doctors appointment where I come home in tears.
My symptoms have worsened this week.
I am not Superwoman.
I tried to explain it to him.
I am too dizzy to walk, my stomach won’t digest food, my nausea is taking over my day, my vision is deteriorating, my neck muscles are throbbing and throbbing, and never stop throbbing. I am growing weaker, and weaker by the day.
This thing has ruined my life, and I will not let you sit there in silence and give me that sad ‘it’s-all-in-your-mind’ look. People don’t just get these symptoms for it to be diagnosed as NOTHING.
Everyone is moving, and I have stopped.
But I can see them. I can see their judgemental stares.

I spoke so quickly, my sentences were coming out as word vomit. I brought out my little pre-written timeline, and I showed him all of the referrals I wanted next.
I gave my doctor a gameplan.
I told him what we do next.
After the Gastric Emptying Test on Thursday, I want more blood work done.
I want an MRI for my neck.
I want my goddamn life back.
I want my body back.
I want my energy back.

I want someone to believe me.

His stupid facial expression felt like a hundred arrows had just been shot into my heart at once. It felt like I had been lit me on fire, and I could feel every ounce of my skin burning.
I felt so naked, so exposed.
And inside of me, whirling in the pit of my stomach, It held back my hair because it could sense vulnerability, and It chuckled in my ear; it’s all in your head.
“Anti-depressants,” was the only word he said, that cut me from my thoughts.
These were his only words in my half an hour appointment.
BECAUSE ANTI-DEPRESSANTS JUST MIRACULOUSLY FIX EVERYTHING, DON’T THEY? I am depressed BECAUSE of the illness terrorising my body.
But hey, anti-depressants will definitely get me out of here so you don’t have to deal with me anymore.

A few of you have asked my where I see myself in the future, and if I have any dreams? Will I go back to childcare? Do I want a family? Do I want children of my own? Do I want to travel?

On nights like this, I imagine my future self in a psych ward, being pumped with medication, my mind corrupted by this disease, my visitor’s log empty.
I don’t have a family, I don’t have friends, I don’t have Love, I don’t have hope, I don’t have control.

Sometimes, I don’t even see that.
I see dirt, rotting flowers and complete darkness.