A Drug Addict Saved My Life

They called Gayle between two and four in the morning about some complication I was having or some procedure they needed to do to remediate it. She had to wake up, be alert to listen, decide and consent on my behalf. Prior to my autoimmune disease diagnosis, they called her from Dermatology because I had a rash on my forehead that they wanted to biopsy. She was listening and thinking and asked if it would help diagnose me?

After cursing them out for trying to use me for a guinea pig, she protected me from having a horrible scar on my forehead. Gayle told them to get a dentist to clean my teeth because I am very particular about my smile, and she didn't want me to wake up to teeth falling out of my face. She asked them not to cut into my shoulder tattoo if it could be avoided. They judged her for being vain about certain things, but she felt as if those decisions were important for the future. Gayle was looking out for me, but she couldn’t protect me from everything.

An itchy rash-covered face with a mix of steroid induced acne. New body size double zero; Gayle would call that anorexic sexy. Booty on flat back. Vacancy where breasts used to reside. Finding a new scar almost daily. Thin, barely there hair on my big head. Eyes always trying to see everything as if I’m in a constant startled state. None of it was beautiful. All of it sucked butt.

Learning how to walk, talk, eat, poop, pee and wipe independently are all natural developments in a young human’s life. At forty-one, not so much. You might ask what could I do? Initially, nothing. Not a damn thing but blink. And even blinking was spastic because my eyes were wild due to all the pain meds to which I would eventually become addicted.

Catheters, Purewicks, Bedpans, and Commodes-- Oh My! Crap happens. Piss does too. Having to alert someone to your being wet and needing to be changed is a damper. There was a delayed humiliation though. Evidently, I lost my sense of smell for a while. I couldn’t tell how stinky my C. Diff diarrhea was or how overwhelming the various nurses, doctors, P.A.s, C.N.A.s and other staff wore their fragrances until it hit me all at once on an ordinary Saturday. Everything and everyone lingered long after they had gone physically. My stomach churned, but I could smell again.

Karen, a short, round, pink nurse appeared jolly and caring in the presence of others, wasn’t that same person when alone with me. She is etched in my otherwise selective memory. Motionless and soundless, I couldn’t openly object to anything. But something I didn’t do-- because I couldn’t-- ticked her off. She grabbed my hand in hers and proceeded to smack the back of it to reprimand me for being. Simply because she could. In that moment, I felt defenseless and scared of the possibility that abuse could escalate. And I’d have no way to protect myself from my new enemy.

There are caregivers who are born for the challenging task of doing for you what you cannot for yourself. Then, there are those who seem to take on the duties to complain, belittle and mistreat those who cannot protect themselves. Luckily, I encountered more of the caring than the abusive.

Just as ugly of a spirit Karen had, I was surrounded by beautiful souls. A variety of kind and compassionate beings came to my aid and went well beyond their job descriptions. They decorated my room for the various holidays. They played music I enjoyed listening to. At Christmas, staff took up a collection to give each of my children a $100 gift card. Did I mention having five kids? The goodness definitely outweighed the wrong doing.

They tested out this new bed the hospital was supplied with for a patient who couldn’t stand on his or her own feet. Strapped to a bed that could stand straight up, I was nervous about falling. Scared of the straps not providing me with adequate security, I was mistrusting. Living four decades trusting myself to hold my own weight while upright, I wasn’t comfortable relying on the hospital’s new toy. Gradually, the experiment helped to strengthen my legs by applying just enough weight and pressure on them. My body was learning how to stand again-- the step before my first steps.