I am live-blogging this latest hospital stay, because why wouldn’t I?
I got to my room just a little while ago.
I came from the ER, where I spent 8 hours among the sick and the not so sick. Some had bloodied fingers and rupturing appendices and one man walked in and said he was having a heart attack. One woman complained Vicodin made her feel weird. I leaned over and told her that was kind of the point.
I don’t think she cared for me, but I was cranky and it was really cold in there, as if they were preparing the patients for the frigid morgue, just a few flights below.
The nurses fussed with my veins and stuck me four times. I felt proud, like I owned my body. I knew where to go and knew what I was doing when I said “Not this vein, not that one, do this one, not that one!”
I lifted up my neck to show scars, little proofs of battles.
It really happened, I can tell.
Sometimes people tell me how brave I am and comment on how much I have been through. I don’t know how to react. These things are both a source of pride and a huge open wound.
I’m not always brave and I don’t handle things well all the time. It’s easy to be good in hospitals, in doctor’s offices. I make jokes and brush off whatever they are throwing at me.
I’m not so brave in real life. I complain and skip pills and am mean to my family.
I don’t know how to write about this without seeming like a plea for sympathy or attention. But it’s not. These diseases are just as big of a part of my life as my relationships, my work, my family. They are here and present and permanent.
Living with sickness is like everything else and then, suddenly it is not.
Right now I am an outlier among peers, the youngest on my floor but Thursday I’ll be back at work and maybe Friday, at the bar? I will fit this sickness in on my planner and I will work around it and I thank God I have the support that I do, from my friends and family and coworkers and even this Internet community.
Gotta go. It’s CAT scan time.
Coming to you live from 1742, this is Kelly Bergin, signing off.