Faction Night the Third: Art, Knives, and Rock and Roll

I spent the few days before Thursday Night Faction this week, trying to decide whether or not I should even go. You see, last week after faction, the fact that my Remicade had been delayed made itself felt. Strongly.

Strongly enough in fact, that on Friday evening, I finally caved and begged my roommate to take me to the hospital. My pain was too high to manage on my own, and my constant trips to the bathroom made me start to worry that C.Diff might have decided to come back into my life… and guts.

The three days I spent in the ER were ridiculous. Due to a massive influx of flu cases, there were no beds available at the hospital. Despite deciding to admit me that same night, I never actually made it out of the Observation wing.

Because of the pain I was in, I decided to go to the closer hospital, rather than the usual one I was in. The GI staff on call at that time has their primary specialty be the liver, so they really weren’t sure what to do with me. Sadly, it showed. Had I known this at the time, I would have written out for them exactly what to do to get me better enough to send me home, but unfortunately, it wasn’t really till Sunday night, that I realized that I wasn’t really being treated… at all. They were just running tests but not actually taking care of what was going on.

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Faction Night the Third: Art, Knives, and Rock and Roll

Post Hospital Syndrome

NB: This post is supposed to be an overview of what it feels like post admission, and not a description of any specific condition which may or may not be known by this name.

As those who follow my Facebook feed might know, I spent the last few days admitted to the hospital. The persistent Crohn’s flare which has been plaguing me for the last few months finally wore me down to the point that I went to seek help. I wasn’t expecting to get admitted. The medical marijuana I have been smoking has been keeping me from getting as bad as I have in the past. Mostly I was hoping to get some prednisone, go home, and hope things improve.

Then, something unexpected happened, they actually took me seriously. The ER doc called for a GI consult and the moment she saw me throwing up bile into the garbage she told the nurse to give me some gravol and admit me. They would put me on IV steroids until I was stable enough to take it orally.

I was in the hospital for five days and now I’m back home.

Coming home from the hospital is always an experience. After days of being locked up in a little room with no privacy and yet insufficient human contact, it feels like you are somehow outside the flow of things. Like you exist in a space outside of the rest of the world, and your day is spent trying to figure out how to rejoin the flow. It always such a surprise at how exhausted I am post admission.

I laugh that I feel like a day old kitten, but the truth is that it’s not a joke. My hands shake, and I can barely carry my own bag. The doctor once told me that it takes about one week to recover for each day you spend in the hospital. It seems like a lot. After all, didn’t I just spend the last five days sleeping most of the day?

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Post Hospital Syndrome