BST17c: Boy did I wrecktify that last title.

Yes, I admit it - I was shot tired when I wrote the last entry. And Im even worse now, so Im going to attempt to be clear and concise when I finish the story of my 3 days/ 24 hours in NeuroICU. Well, again - less than 24 hours.

I have to stress that point, because it leads to one of the most important facts about this whole journey. But that comes in a little while.

So where was I? Ahh yes, the catheter. Boy was that fun. Let me fade back a few days in history to set this whole thing up.

I was, ahem, backed up. The plumbing had stopped working. Had been out of service for at least a week if not longer. That had the docs worried. I can't blame them.

Aside from the fact that the toilet I had in the room was higher, thicker, wider, and more uncomfortable than any toilet I had ever seen, I had no idea why I could not go.
My nurse at the time found this very troubling, echoing what the doctors said.

But she had a solution. I was not for taking any kind of laxative when I was essentially bound to this hospital bed. I told her, a strong cup of coffee will get me going - as it had about twice a month in the past.

Well, she had other designs, unbeknownst to me. Now before I tell you this, understand that this was my favorite nurse. She was the nicest person, kindest soul. You could not want a better nurse than this one. Sad though, I do not remember her name. But I hope she recognizes herself, or at least her cup of "coffee."

Ok - so heres the recipie for (pardon) Whistling Intestines:
1 part apple juice
1 part prune juice
1 part milk of magnesia

Warm in microwave, mix thoroughly.

Well, she handed me a warm cup, full of mostly dark liquid. So what was I supposed to think? Coffee, here it comes! I chugged that cup and asked for another.

I never said I was in my right mind.

Well, you would have thought that would have worked or something, but no. 1 hour later, all I got was a whistle.

Well, more like a screetching howl, but you get the idea.

So I was still backed up. Amazing no?

So when I was in NeuroICU, yes I was confined to my bed. But they were still expecting some movement of some sort.

I fell asleep again, and woke up to bright lights, a new day. They told me I was being sent to my own room again! WOO HOO.. or something like it. My voice was shot, I could not speak. They brought me food. Well, something approximating food.

Apparently, according to the little menu sheet I was able to read, I was on a soft-warm diet. Warm jello, lukewarm tea, stuff like that. No solids. Well, a fascinating meal to say the least.

A large man came into view. He was a nurse, charged with removing the catheter. Poor guy, what a job to have. He jostled me out of bed, somehow had me standing. Did a little thing, talking to me the whole time. Then he says, "Hold on..."

In my memory, it was quick and painless, but odd. Somehow he stomped on the tube, and it popped out.

Enough detail - I know I know.

So back into bed to wait. Then these 2 pixies in nurses assitants clothing sparkled into view. They were going to transport me back to my room. WOO HOO..

They were chatty little sprites, yapping my ears off. Nice to hear after 3 days in the long dark.

They gave me a roll of toilet paper.
Interesting gift for one just out of surgery. Apparently every patient has certain items assigned them. A cup for water, box of tissues, roll of Tp. And what is not used goes with the patient to the next room.

So off with my roll of Tp. Back to the room, where they got me out of bed (again!) so they could change the sheets and all that stuff. I asked to be sat on the edge of the bed so I could look out the window. The pixies left, happily chattering as they went. It would be a few minutes before my mother got to the room to join me. I remember rising up just enough to see out the window and down those 6 stories. I could faintly make out the train tracks below.

I still did not have my glasses, and I was still pissed about it. But I could see, I was still alive. I survived major brain surgery. I cried a little, happy kind of tears. Glad to be alive.

Then my mother came in the room and I was laid back down in the bed. I was not totally sure why I needed all this assistance, as I did not feel much different. Aside from having almost no voice, and extremely clear sinus', there was no major change I could see, aside from the string of christmas lights attached to my arm. Well, that was what I called all the IV lines and monitor lines attached to me.

Little did I know what I looked like. Or what had been done to me.

Tomorrow: BST19: What spaghetti this way comes...

(yes, Im skipping 18, due to the size and complexity of 17. Deal with it - if its important, it will show up later.)