...4 reusable grocery bags, 20 books, and a yoga mat later...Did I bring too much? Oh, I forgot stupid things that aren't provided like hangers? What kind of hotel IS this. where's the mint on the pillow, where's the mini bar.
And so we're back to the Brig (has anyone noticed this abbreviation before??), the hotel/dorm with tasteful medical wall decor, tiny exfoliating bath towels, TWO tv's (I'm in a room built for two. Let the dueling infomercials begin), the screaming water pipes from the room next door, where I get weighed every morning and can't touch the ground when I'm on the toilet.
In other news, took my last shower for a week. Indoor camping at the hospital- once we start the continuous chemo I won't be able to shower. Whomever gets delightful day 7 as their visit day, BEWARE, I've been having poison pumped into my unwashed body for seven days and seven nights. Seven upon seven upon seven. I think this warrants me the mark of Cain.
Day 1: Enjoying the Last of my Bedhead
Positive things about checking into hotel (motel?) Brigham n' Women's:
- nothing is expected of you than basic functions to survive: sleeping, breathing, eating, drinking water*
- servants
- reunion with my ever faithful dance partner Antonio (IV pole)
- movies all the time
- heated blankets whenever I want them
- lots of time to read
- lots of time to write
- don't have to clean anything anywhere
- no dishes
- one of those electric beds that sits you up
- own bathroom
- you meet so many people
- new experience
- great yelp reviews
I'm in a larger room than last time (remember, 2 TVs) so there's lots of room for dancing. COME AT ME
*They measure output by peeing into a hat, I am determined to be in the lead on the floor. Last time the nurse came in around day 3 and said in hushed excited tones, "I have to tell you something, you peed 7 liters in the last 24 hours." SEVEN LITERS
I'm currently not able to eat or drink anything as we wait for the Hickman line to be put in (takin' two to the chest. two lines, that is). So this will put me behind in the output race. The nurse said that if it gets to be around 4pm and still no Hickman, they'll have to give me IV fluids. Oh joyous day that I can look forward to intravenous water. #hangry
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Just got the word, gettin platelets . Platelets, it's what's for dinner. #bottomsup
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Update, no platelets. Apparently yesterday they were at 24, and this morning's labs showed they're at 94. She said she has no explanation. I said magic. Either way, #goinghungry
New song I'm working on, let me know what you think of the lyrics:
Welcome to the hotel BrighamWomen's--
sucha lovely place (sucha lovely place), sucha a lovely AHHH NEEDLES
Little white room at the hotel BrighamWomen's-
Any time of year (any time of year), you can find me here...
peace and hair grease,
B
Good luck Bekah! Sending prayers and well wishes your way! (This hotel has wi-fi right? Otherwise you should get a refund.)
ReplyDeleteWIFI in use as we speak/type. Love you.
DeleteCracking up at the nurse's excitement over your pee. It's the little things... (or big things I guess since you peed SEVEN LITERS!).
ReplyDeleteCan't wait to see you. You're a trooper. Lovin' the updates.
Bekah, my whole family is rooting for you. Even though I haven't seen you in a while I'm thinking about you a lot from Baltimore. Let me know if you ever need anything. Letters? Books? Music? Hang in there.
ReplyDelete-Sarah Sullivan
thanks so much Sarah. You and your family have been so generous with everything, and your thoughts are floating in through my giant window up here in MA. I'm well stocked :)
DeleteBekah, you had me at "tiny exfoliating bath towels" and you are the coolest person I know.
ReplyDeleteClark, I'll save you one
DeleteSo, how does seven liters compare to the average patient? We need to start some serious metrics for this competition. (IV or no IV, I believe in you.)
ReplyDeleteLoving the magic.
Excited for more dancing.
GREAT YELP REVIEWS. oh dear me.
ReplyDeletewill people think i'm a haunting specter if i visit you as my character from wells? i can't wait at all to see you.
ReplyDeleteI laugh with tears (and shake my head) every time I get to "and can't touch the ground when I'm on the toilet". Reminds me of a little girl I knew growing up... you, my daughter, have a gifted pen (or keyboard?).
ReplyDeleteOf course, I smilaugh in a few more places too.