So, I just got home yesterday from a 6 day hospital stay. I nearly died on 2/10 at about 3a.m. but that's another story. I had emergency surgery and was put into recovery right afterwards. My roommate, we'll call him Charlie because that name is dumb, was in there for alcohol detox. He was brought in before me of course, with a blood alcohol of .42. That is more than 4 times the legal limit in IL, safe to say he almost drank himself to death. Now, right after waking up I still felt massive amounts of pain in my abdominal muscles, even with Dilaudid x 1mg as my painkiller. Dilaudid is a narcotic painkiller that is 8x stronger than Morphine, but without the ill effects, strong shit to say the least. I got my medicine every 3 hours, but Dilaudid loses most of it's effect after about 2 hours. So for two hours my cramping abdominal muscles still felt about 70-80% of the pain from the cramps. For the last hour they felt 100% of it. It was like I was in hell. I begged the nurses for muscle relaxers of any kind so they would stop spasming. They called my surgeon and he said it was not possible to give me anything like that. So I just had to hope it would get better. Couldn't lift my arms, couldn't lift my head, couldn't keep my eyes open for too long. My roommate's babbling was the least of my worries.
So that was Day 1. On Day 2 muscles had nearly stopped spasming. The Dilaudid took care of everything else other than the spams, I was recovering. I could now lift my head and arms for short periods of time, and put my hospital bed in a more upright position so I could watch TV. A small victory for some, but to me it was glorious. I was awake and coherent. Now we get to Charlie, the 34 year old fuck-up.
Still day 2. Charlie and I begin talking through the curtain that separates our two halves of the room, making them semi-private. It makes you unable to see who you are talking to, but hey having company was great at first. Charlie is definitely not shy about sharing personal information. Actually Charlie is kind of loud and obnoxious. He tells me all about the .42 blood alcohol, how he hates having an I.V. in his hand, and all kinds of other shit. Now I talk to him too, but I can't talk for too long because I have a tube running into my right nostril, down my throat, and into my stomach to suck out all of the bile and stomach acid. No solid food. For that matter, no food of any kind. I was bumped from just an I.V. to an I.V. and
ice chips. Mmmmm, doesn't that sound good? :sarcasm: So I could only say a few words at a time because the tube going down my throat made it hurt to talk. I shared why I was there with him. Then I see him walk by my bed to go to the bathroom. But wasn't he connected to an I.V. earlier? They don't take those out until just before you leave when you are confined to a hospital bed, the nurse has to help you roll the hanging bag and all that shit to the bathroom with you just so you can get out of bed to go to the toilet. When he gets back Charlie says he took out his I.V. because he couldn't stand it in his hand anymore. Hmmm. Idiot. You are here to detox, they are trying to get you to detox by giving you intravenous fluids and you remove an I.V. needle because you don't like it? On top of all the he was on Vicodin because that's what they use for detoxing fucking alcohol poisoned idiots, so the needle could not have bothered him that much. Plus the I.V. needle tips are not metal, they are kind of a bendy plastic, so it doesn't feel like getting a regular shot or something. Fucking idiot. The nurses don't notice this for a few hours and he can get up to go to the bathroom by himself, which pleases him. Then a nurse comes by who notices and asks why he doesn't have an I.V. in his hand anymore. The lies to her face and says it fell out. Fucking idiocy.
Then I find out from one of the nurse's assistants that Charlie was a "Code Strong" when he came into the E.R. Code Strong means he had overpowered the nurses in the E.R. and they had to call for backup to hold this fucking psycho down so they could sedate him or some shit. He is a stupid, violent alcoholic. Awesome.
Now we get to the phone calls. There is a phone next to your bed in these rooms, you can get calls there and call outside lines. He was on his phone at least 4 or 5 hours on Day 2 with his no doubt fucking drunken idiot friend. Did I mention Charlie talks loud as fuck at all times? Like the kind of voice you would use talking to someone in a crowded bar, he is stuck at that volume. More of this story to come, I am tired of typing now.
