Thanks Oz. I am still in the Green Zone in spite of being at home now and doing DIY meds,
I am simply following the list given to me with no need yet to resort to the nuclear option of Tramadol.
I felt toasty all evening so that was a good sign.
What I have noticed, the meds don't seem to be affecting my head. Or if they are, it is to keep me from being my usual obsessive neurotic self.
What is more likely I think is that the uncertainty of waiting for the operation and what to expect from the operation itself is now all in the past. It was like a giant roadblock in my brain. The mental equivalent of the Blubberberg in my belly.
I have basically been living in limbo since starting an assortment of ultrasounds and other assorted nasty tests way back in January.
I imagine you experienced something similar when waiting for test results and wondering what procedures would be next on the agenda.
Now I feel all that brain fog is gone. My head is empty and I am able to remain in the present moment without constantly being distracted.
Last month I had decided to bail out on National Novel Writing Month (which started yesterday) on account of being such a brain dead zombie and believing that I would either be a brain dead zombie on steroids or in so much pain post op that I would be totally incapable of stringing two words together.
Since none of those things happened I was able to spend most of my time in hospital in Martian Mode - observing the antics of these curious humans and the so many ways that things are done so that everything flows smoothly.
Having worked 17 years in a nursing home, I was more attuned to these sorts of issues. The way meals are ordered and organized, the number of nurses on each shift and how many patients per nurse (I would cheat and look at the bed list for the day at the nurses station so that I usually knew the name of the nurse in my section before she introduced herself) I was especially fascinated by the heavy duty bed pans (and urine bottles) and the way the all the staff always verified identity every time they first interacted with a patient. You would have to be Frank Abignale to end up getting the wrong meds or even the wrong meal.
It was interesting to see how they juggled the balance between risk reduction, paperwork and basic human decency. All of these people are just doing a job but they always made the patients (sample size my room mate and me)feel cared for and valued.
Every nurse I encountered had mastered the art of giving injections so that you find out they had already done it while you are still waiting. Pity the anaesthetist hadn't learned their technique. I thought he was poking the bones in my wrist. Lucky I went under pretty soon after that.
I encountered a really interesting woman on my night time wanderings in the Transit Lounge. But I have decided to cut it from this comment because the story really needs to be told in a locked post. She was in hospital on account of being seriously assaulted by her ex who is on a restraining order. Which reminded me that mine expires on 11th November and it is not automatically extended. I have to go to the court to get an extension. So I will save the story later for a locked post.
I'm not having all the staff's good work go up in smoke by having that jerk lurking around. Once I started getting 6 to 8 hour bouts of nausea that all had in common that they were preceded by visits or phone calls to or from the Grinch, it did not take too long to decide to get that divorce.
Since he is the sort of jerk to hold a grudge and is obsessed with perceived threats to his AUTHORITY, I would not put it past him to be sitting in his Grinch Cave tearing pages off the calendar while plotting his revenge. He always forgot his wife's birthday, his children's birthdays and even the birthday of his only grandchild. But I bet he hasn't forgotten 11th November ;)
He probably thinks that I have forgotten all about it. In the same way that he reported me to the police as a missing person in the first week of November 2019. According to his impeccable Grinch logic, if HE doesn't know where I am then obviously no one else does either. He even went to all of my work places in his mission to 'rescue' me and accused the staff of lying to him and hiding stuff from him.
I turned that dirty trick right back on him and that's how I ended up in the court.
I am most definitely not going to let any Grinch trash this green zone.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
The Green Zone
Date: 2021-11-02 12:47 am (UTC)I am simply following the list given to me with no need yet to resort to the nuclear option of Tramadol.
I felt toasty all evening so that was a good sign.
What I have noticed, the meds don't seem to be affecting my head. Or if they are, it is to keep me from being my usual obsessive neurotic self.
What is more likely I think is that the uncertainty of waiting for the operation and what to expect from the operation itself is now all in the past.
It was like a giant roadblock in my brain. The mental equivalent of the Blubberberg in my belly.
I have basically been living in limbo since starting an assortment of ultrasounds and other assorted nasty tests way back in January.
I imagine you experienced something similar when waiting for test results and wondering what procedures would be next on the agenda.
Now I feel all that brain fog is gone. My head is empty and I am able to remain in the present moment without constantly being distracted.
Last month I had decided to bail out on National Novel Writing Month (which started yesterday) on account of being such a brain dead zombie and believing that I would either be a brain dead zombie on steroids or in so much pain post op that I would be totally incapable of stringing two words together.
Since none of those things happened I was able to spend most of my time in hospital in Martian Mode - observing the antics of these curious humans and the so many ways that things are done so that everything flows smoothly.
Having worked 17 years in a nursing home, I was more attuned to these sorts of issues. The way meals are ordered and organized, the number of nurses on each shift and how many patients per nurse (I would cheat and look at the bed list for the day at the nurses station so that I usually knew the name of the nurse in my section before she introduced herself) I was especially fascinated by the heavy duty bed pans (and urine bottles) and the way the all the staff always verified identity every time they first interacted with a patient. You would have to be Frank Abignale to end up getting the wrong meds or even the wrong meal.
It was interesting to see how they juggled the balance between risk reduction, paperwork and basic human decency.
All of these people are just doing a job but they always made the patients (sample size my room mate and me)feel cared for and valued.
Every nurse I encountered had mastered the art of giving injections so that you find out they had already done it while you are still waiting. Pity the anaesthetist hadn't learned their technique. I thought he was poking the bones in my wrist. Lucky I went under pretty soon after that.
I encountered a really interesting woman on my night time wanderings in the Transit Lounge. But I have decided to cut it from this comment because the story really needs to be told in a locked post. She was in hospital on account of being seriously assaulted by her ex who is on a restraining order. Which reminded me that mine expires on 11th November and it is not automatically extended. I have to go to the court to get an extension.
So I will save the story later for a locked post.
I'm not having all the staff's good work go up in smoke by having that jerk lurking around.
Once I started getting 6 to 8 hour bouts of nausea that all had in common that they were preceded by visits or phone calls to or from the Grinch, it did not take too long to decide to get that divorce.
Since he is the sort of jerk to hold a grudge and is obsessed with perceived threats to his AUTHORITY, I would not put it past him to be sitting in his Grinch Cave tearing pages off the calendar while plotting his revenge. He always forgot his wife's birthday, his children's birthdays and even the birthday of his only grandchild. But I bet he hasn't forgotten 11th November ;)
He probably thinks that I have forgotten all about it. In the same way that he reported me to the police as a missing person in the first week of November 2019. According to his impeccable Grinch logic, if HE doesn't know where I am then obviously no one else does either. He even went to all of my work places in his mission to 'rescue' me and accused the staff of lying to him and hiding stuff from him.
I turned that dirty trick right back on him and that's how I ended up in the court.
I am most definitely not going to let any Grinch trash this green zone.