A Touch Of Drama

The morning starts off well. Mum had snuck me some towels last night so I could get up and shower straight away without having to wait for the nurses. It feels good to have some sort of control again.

I had just finished chatting to H on the phone and telling him how great I feel and how I’m ready to be out of this hospital when Jenny arrives for my second round of weight loading.

We chat as the time ticks over. It is a welcome distraction. Towards the five minute mark I start getting flashes of burning hot pain but I continue on. I figure it’s just like an intense burn at the gym.

Just as five minutes clicks over I suddenly feel faint and light headed. Jenny tells me to take a seat for a minute and she’ll just grab the blood pressure machine to check how I’m going.

I am in an alternative reality of strange visions and hallucinations and the next minute I open my eyes to find Jenny right in my face peering at me worriedly repeatedly calling my name.

“Can you hear me Miranda?” She asks.

An oxygen mask is placed over my face and I am told to take some deep breaths.

It takes me a moment to work out who she is, where I am and who I am even.

As my eyes come into focus I notice seven other nurses barking instructions at each other. They scoop me up and place me on the bed. One is taking blood, one is injecting a cannula to hook me up with a bag of fluid, another is urging me to roll to my side in case I vomit. I feel hot and clammy and icey cold all at the same time.

One nurse is sticking electrodes to my chest for an ECG.

“Can you loosen your bra,” she asks.

I just blink. Both my arms are being pulled and tugged and injected by two nurses and I am lying on my back with an oxygen mask obscuring my mouth.

Is she mad?

Through snatches of conversation I learn I had fainted. Jenny returned to find me passed out, eyes rolled back, not responding. She hit the emergency button on the wall and the nurses came running.

I feel oozy and ill.

They tell me I have extremely low blood pressure, lower than even normal for me and I am very dehydrated. This puzzles me since I go through five or six bottles of water each day but they say with the cocktail of drugs I am on I need to be drinking even more than usual.

I want to cry, I feel nauseas, the sort of sleepy where you feel you don’t have any control and I worry my parents who are due to visit, will arrive and freak out when they see the commotion around me.

After the nurses leave I try to watch an episode of TV on my iPad but I can’t focus my eyes and can barely even keep them open. It is a horrible feeling.

I try to sleep but weird visions and dreams dance before my eyes.

I guess I still need to be here after all.

I worry I have taken a step back just when I was going so well.

Mum and Dad arrive to find me hooked up to an IV line and with an oxygen mask on and concern paints their faces.

We had planned a morning trip to the café but that is cancelled.

I am also banned from doing my physio exercises and weights. I feel anxious and frustrated and a disappointed in myself.

An hour or two passes, it’s hard to tell in a drugged state, and I am able to sit up and eat some lunch.

Jenny returns relieved to see me sitting upright again. She wants to give the weight loading another go. I am nervous about fainting again but I push that fear down, take a deep breath and get back on those scales.

Trepidation floods through me like a Biggest Loser contestant facing the scales at their weekly weigh-in.

I am experiencing a little more pain this time, I feel a flicker of faintness but I continue on and I last the five minutes.

I survived! It is a good feeling.

Dr Al Muderis stops by. The nurses had called him after this morning’s incident.

“You gave the nurses quite a scare,” he says brightly.

I ask him about the wound and whether it will ever close over fully.

“Some do,” he says matter of factly.

“Some don’t. It depends on how much fluid leaks out.”

I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.

It’s a new nurse that does my dressing at night.

She is doing it wrong and not wearing the right gloves. Mum corrects her but she refuses to listen, arguing with us that she knows what she is doing. Mum is not impressed but the nurse refuses to change her ways.

If I get an infection I know who to blame.

She later returns and with a worried look on her face and apologizes. She has just spoken with Sanders and she realized she was doing it wrong.

Despite this morning’s drama I am still on track to go home on Wednesday. Happy days.


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