Curtain Craze

So, whats it like sleeping in a hospital? If you've unfortunately attempted and survived this miraculous feat, my next question for you is "So, how do you feel after spending a week in hospital and trying to sleep?"

I've had the agonizing, sleepless nights your ear plugs couldn't dream of drowning out; your white noise machine wouldn't even make an attempt to provide tranquility to. Actually, you couldn't come up with or hallucinate the stuff I've seen and heard overnights in here. Or, maybe you could.

For 6 nights and seven days I was in a curtained cubicle, where some of my most private health details were openly discussed, in an almost check list form, by colleagues of mine. Multiple times I had the sympathy look and one of the physicians state "This must be really tough, on the other side." I had no light or fresh air for four days - that may not seem long, but you really do lose a bit of sanity when not experiencing the world, or being an active part in it.

My first six nights can only be described as sleeping beside a 72 year old chip-eating, TV watching older gal. She had the raspy voice of a bar star who had just arrived fresh off a pack of cigarettes. We barely spoke - except for the following three encounters.

Once, I asked her if she wanted to borrow my headphones. She had turned her TV on full blast and it was 500am. It was my first night fever-free and I really needed the rest. Needless to say, my passive aggressiveness worked that night. She put in headphones of her own. The Second Time, she said hello to me after walking backing into our room, after she eventually mobilized out of bed. The Third Time, was cringe-worthy. Between the curtain, I heard her tell her friends talking all about me (inaccurately), telling them I had been discharged. I was impressed, she knew a lot about me. I loudly said "I'm still here!" which somehow fell onto deaf ears and I begrudgingly listened to this woman tell all she knew, from her side of the curtain, about my own life's details.

Yesterday, the medical team came in to prepare her for discharge, she has been here 4 weeks for a possible ankle bone infection and fast heart rate. I eavesdropped as they told her she was fit and ready to go home, with supports in place. After all, I was just beside her and a curtain to hide the conversation. She agreed, but as the healthcare team left she told her friends "I don't need to rush things. Why don't I just stay here a few more days." How this setup could be appealing is beyond words for me right now.

I hadn't slept in days and it wasn't as a result of my lack of desire to do so. So, I begged for a room change. Eventually, my wish was granted and enter Roomie Two.

Roomie Two immediately tugged at my heart strings. I was told he was going to be my new roomie because he was only 58, so "it would be better." This poor man is suffering from widespread lung cancer, a blood clot in his leg and lung, fluid in his abdomen and is unable to breath. He is on high flow oxygen and grunts with every breathe. He and I chatted, turns out we both have something in common - the big "C."He can't eat, perform self cares or sleep. He is using more muscles to breath right now than we would use to jump on a trampoline. He's coming to the end and has talked to me openly about his fears of never getting home again. I told him he, and I, are both in a vulnerable position in here and just like many told me this past week, the way he feels now will transition and transpire. My hope is for him to breath with some degree of comfort and get home to his wife once he is stable.

You just never know who is behind the curtain. It may be tortuous and slightly inhumane to attempt the healing process whilst sleep deprived, thrown out of routine and without natural light, but all of this makes me that much grateful for the magic words "DISCHARGED." Oh, What a week of nights.