January 3, 2010 — The Impatient Patient
Posted: January 17th, 2019, 2:14 pm
An excerpt from my journal: January 3, 2010 — The Impatient Patient
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3:15PM
Twenty Ten. A new decade begins. Amazed how fast time goes by.
As soon as another bed is ready on another floor, they'll move her there for one more day. After that, hopefully tomorrow, she'll be transported to the Rehab Unit on the 5th floor, a few miles away.
I'm sitting on a chair beside her bed. She's covered with a thermal blanket and a pink fuzzy robe.
She was born in 1915. If she lives until November, she'll be 95.
Nothing is certain except for all the certain things. Certainly, she has lived a long life. It's certainly cold in here, although it's frigid outside; 25 degrees with 30mph winds. In comparison it's warm in here. Nothing a thermal blanket and a fuzzy pink robe can't handle.
3:45PM
She's staring at the door waiting for the word that her bed is ready. She calls the nurse's station on her help button even though I'm sitting right next to her. She calls to ask them when the bed will be ready. They reply and tell her the same thing I told her when she asked the past 15 times. They are working on it. They will let her know when her bed is ready.
What she lacks in acceptance, she makes up for with impatience.
She presses the button again even after her last answer was given. The nurse comes in. Same answer, of course. The bed will be ready when it's ready.
I took the 'Call Button' away from her. She's agitated. "I don't have anything to push! I don't have anything to push!" I tell her, that's right. I will call them if we need them.
3:59PM
"It's 4 o'clock! Where are they with my 4 o'clock medicine?"
.
I tell her to be patient.
.
.
3:15PM
Twenty Ten. A new decade begins. Amazed how fast time goes by.
As soon as another bed is ready on another floor, they'll move her there for one more day. After that, hopefully tomorrow, she'll be transported to the Rehab Unit on the 5th floor, a few miles away.
I'm sitting on a chair beside her bed. She's covered with a thermal blanket and a pink fuzzy robe.
She was born in 1915. If she lives until November, she'll be 95.
Nothing is certain except for all the certain things. Certainly, she has lived a long life. It's certainly cold in here, although it's frigid outside; 25 degrees with 30mph winds. In comparison it's warm in here. Nothing a thermal blanket and a fuzzy pink robe can't handle.
3:45PM
She's staring at the door waiting for the word that her bed is ready. She calls the nurse's station on her help button even though I'm sitting right next to her. She calls to ask them when the bed will be ready. They reply and tell her the same thing I told her when she asked the past 15 times. They are working on it. They will let her know when her bed is ready.
What she lacks in acceptance, she makes up for with impatience.
She presses the button again even after her last answer was given. The nurse comes in. Same answer, of course. The bed will be ready when it's ready.
I took the 'Call Button' away from her. She's agitated. "I don't have anything to push! I don't have anything to push!" I tell her, that's right. I will call them if we need them.
3:59PM
"It's 4 o'clock! Where are they with my 4 o'clock medicine?"
.
I tell her to be patient.