Hmmm....I decided I'm going to sum up one week in one post.
So when I left off I had just moved upstairs to my new hospital room. It started off really bad. I didn't have any family or friends with me and the call button was broken. I don't remember what my predicament was, but I knowing me it was probably something both strange and urgent. But my call button would not work. I decided of turn on the TV to pass the time. Except that the TV remote didn't work. Lame. I decided that at some point someone would have to come check on me. So I sat waiting patiently for someone to come check on me. No one did. After a while I fell asleep. I should really stop sleeping. Bad things always seem happen when I fall asleep during the day. I woke up right as someone was leaving my room, shutting the door tight. I was tempted to start yelling. But I didn't. Instead I looked at what they'd dropped off-- a vase of flowers. I wanted to see who they were from, but of course they were out of my reach. I got creative and used my toes to pluck the card of of the flowers. I was proud. And they were from Jim Johnson. Eventually my mom came and got an apologetic nurse to change the batteries in my all button/TV remote. Problem solved.
The progression of days brought more visitors. I got to see Carl, Peggy, and Wesley. That alone was worth getting into an accident. I ate more cantaloupe and grilled chicken. My teeth are all kind of loose so it was hard to chew, but those were the only things I felt like eating. Except for this one time Carl and Peggy brought me McDonalds which included this delicious pineapple mango smoothie thing. It was divine. So there you go. I'm officially blogging about what I eat and I'm not even preggo.
Jace brought me my phone (did I mention he went water skiing? He's so cool) and I was delighted to find that so many people were concerned for me and my family. It was better than my birthday! Over 200 Facebook notifications, hundreds of texts, and at least ten missed calls. Which is saying something, because people don't call me. Haha. This is the first picture I have on my phone from the hospital:
Pretty pathetic. Just chillin with the cat Rod and Jan gave me.
Then I was feeling so much better that they sat me up and gave me the dog from Madeiras.
One of the nights was really sucky. Poor Bernie decided to be loving and sleep on the couch overnight in my room. Except that I didn't really sleep, which kept her awake. I was thirsty, in pain, in need of chapstick, or simply being paranoid that the noisy AC was some deranged robber. When I finally let her sleep, we were interrupted by a doctor checking up on me at 4 am (I am not kidding. This really happened. Why? I'll never know.) meds at 5 am, vitals at 6 am, and breakfast at 7 am. I don't know how they expect people to heal without sleep!
While in my new room I started using the bathroom. A real live bathroom. On my own! Well...I had a cane that I had to use. But it's not alive, so it doesn't count. I took the opportunity to check out my butt which is black all over from these nasty bruises. To this day I am still finding new cuts and bruises everywhere.
The night before I was discharged I slept in an outpatient room that must have been made for the pediatric unit. I didn't even fit in the bed. Awkward. Also awkward: sleeping with some contraption that looks like a jock strap on my head. Evidently it was supposed to keep my ear attached to my head, but it really made sleeping uncomfortable. And my uncle laughed at it. Then in the morning (after ANOTHER visit from my wonderful nurse Dusti) it was time to leave the hospital!
It took me a while to get all the way downstairs and then even longer to get myself into the car. But eventually I was in and we were off. We'd just left the hospital parking lot when I started talking to Christa and the weirdest thing happened. I started stuttering. Hard core, outta control stuttering. Every word took three tries to get out. It must have been a subconscious reaction to being in a car, because I was confident that I wasn't scared of cars. Really. But the stutter lasted for a full week. It is gone now, but I will forever be able to sympathize with people with speech problems. I learned how frustrating it is to not be able to express yourself. And trust me, I have NEVER had a problem with that before! I knew it was bad when Aria would start finishing my sentences for me. Gratefully it is gone, and I will now add "ability to talk" to my list of things I'm thankful for.
The remainder of the week was spent in the Voorhies home, bless their big, generous hearts. It was lovely. Sort of. My mornings were miserable. Sleeping through the whole night was wonderful, but waking up without Vicoden in my system was not. I was one step above pathetic. I literally could not function without it. I would wake up and cry, lifting the glass of water to my tear-stained face, and only muttering a weak "mhmm" for affirmatives or limply shaking my head no, and whimpering faintly until the drugs kicked in. My days were much better. I read a little, watched TV a little, and slept a lot. I had several visitors, some strangers and some friends. Valerie Pickard was the hero of the week. She and her daughter Sierra flew out and applied neosporin and bandages, helped me get dressed, braided my hair, and most importantly, brightened my spirits. They were a joy to have around.
Some of my other visitors weren't pleased with my BYU soccer shirt. So President Shumway went out to his truck and brought me a less offensive Texas Teach jersey, safely remedying the situation.
[apparently I had a hard time opening my eyes for pictures....]
Okay I feel like this post is getting to be like Across the Universe; never-ending and slightly confusing. But I'm almost done. I promise.
I went to visit Kenyan in the hospital, reppin' Texas Tech.
I went to the bathroom without a cane or anybody helping me. Except I have a hard time bending over to pick up my pants. Valerie to the rescue again...but not before she took a picture.
Kenyan was healing rapidly. I tried to help her take a shower. I'm afraid I wasn't much help, since I'm still hobbling on one leg and have a sling on one arm. But I tried. And it was a tender sister moment. You know...one of those tender times when you're both crippled in the hospital just trying to get clean hair.
Well that's the end of the patchwork of stories for the week. I think I'm only two posts behind. I don't know what I'll do with my time when I catch up. Perhaps I'll be able to play hopscotch on my one good leg by then. Here's hoping!
[Title from Caves by Jack's Mannequin]