Wednesday, September 20, 2006

It is 2am so now Wednesday morning and therefore 9 weeks since my lung first collapsed, and I think I may be finally losing the plot (yes there is an assumption there that I had any vague grasp of it to begin with). The last few nights I have found it quite tricky to settle, getting to sleep around 2.30/3am. As a hospital never sleeps, the phone by the nurses’ station will sporadically ring throughout the night. Every time it goes I now find myself sitting up, craning to hear any sound of movement or excitement, and wait with bated breath hoping that a few minutes later the phone in my room will ring, and it will prove to be Harefield ringing to tell me they have potential organs. I go through periods of not dwelling on transplant at all to it taking up a good deal of thought time and recently the desperation has really kicked in again. This combined with the slightly flat (nay, deflated, much more fitting) over the last few days has made me worry about my mental resilience, and whether I am holding up all that well at the moment. However I needn’t have feared as in good old typical completely illogical style, my brain seems to have jumpstarted itself in the most bizarre fashion.

Having come off of suction earlier today, I have been trying to move around the room more, it is an absolute joy just to be able to walk to the window or into the bathroom and back, even though this is quite a precarious and tricky act ensuring all tubes buckets and wires are in the correct position and not tugged. On returning to bed a short time ago, I bounced up onto the mattress and in a slightly over enthusiastic bid for independence used my right arm to push myself up onto the bed. Clearly not the most sensible thing to do when you have a drain precariously balanced in between your ribs. Something wasn’t too keen on my acrobatic attempt and I felt a little nudge, followed by a rather incensed and wheezy sounding puff. Puzzled, I breathed in and out again and gave a little cough to try and locate the source only to realize indignant puffing was coming from the hole in my chest, and by putting my hand there I could feel the air puffing out, quite a bizarre sensation. You may not be surprised to hear that this is not listed in the big book of things that chest drains are supposed to do. Strangely enchanted and fascinated by the new talking hole in my chest I coughed a few more times – just to make sure I suppose, perhaps it follows the mentality of prodding a bruise or something to find that yes that does in fact still hurt – before bleeping the nurse to tell her that I may or may not have misbehaved at the dead of night yet again.

She went off to call the doctor and she came swiftly to have a quick look. So at 1am I was in the interesting position of sitting on the bed, with me, the doctor and the nurse all staring intently at my chest, straining hard to hear of any signs of escaping air. The doctor began feeling to ensure air was not gathering under the skin, checking the breast tissue surrounding the drain and out of curiosity I also started poking around the surrounding area. We then began poking at the left side of my chest in order to compare, all whilst listening in hushed concentration and no doubt pulling that face of frowning and staring upwards which is somehow required, when I became acutely aware of just what this scene of intense nighttime groping may look like to someone who happened to walk in. Suddenly I was overcome with the overwhelming desire to giggle, not particularly advisable when wanting to appear convincingly sane. All seems fine however, and the puffing died down fairly rapidly, so she has stuck an airproof dressing over the top as a precaution but my obs are excellent so we will ignore it till the morning unless anything changes.

You see this is why I love my little brain. I love the fact that I should have (and would have expected to) pout considerably over this and yet my brain decided tonight that it would find it immensely amusing, thus using it as leverage to snap me out of a malaise I have been in danger of slipping into. I would like to take credit for this and say that it is some careful planning and forethought that allows said event to amuse me, but sadly no it is a case of simple minds simple pleasures, or rather illogical minds illogical pleasures. It reminds me of the tableontubitis episode as documented here, which had a similar affect on my mental state. Think I might attempt some sleep now, you never know I may even behave myself until the morning if the poor on call doctor is lucky.

10 comments:

swissfriend said...

your poor pet, what a night Em. The emotional rollercoaster is bound to take its toll, but you have come a long way so keep on hanging on....You are getting there, believe it or not. I know all about those bad hospital nights but on a far lesser scale than you. Thinking of you loads - have a great day and try to catnap to catch up on lost sleep......

Alan said...

Hi emily, Sending you all our love , Alan xxxx

ClareT said...

Emily, you are so funny! Love the way you describe un-funny situations as really-quite-amusing! Long may your mad-but-clever brain continue to churn out illogical thoughts which you then transcribe to us in witty blog format!

Sending you many hugs and much love

Clare x
*Note to Emily's lungs: BEHAVE!!! And give the girl a break for crying out loud!*

Kat said...

Glad to hear the escaping air wasn't anything too major and you're still smiling and keeping positive!
That call will come soon :)
Lots and lots of love xxx

Jac said...

What concerns me is that your lungs finally attempted to speak?!! I know they have a mind of their own, but this is getting ridiculous. So glad to hear they were finally silenced with a giant sticking plaster, and here's hoping thats the last you hear from them. I do wonder what they were saying though? no doubt something rude.

Hope you aren't too exhausted today after the nocturnal events. Rest up and have a chilled out day :)
love and higs
Jac xx

Simba said...

Hope you got some rest - I mean SLEEP, lungs please let your master get some of that s-word 'cos it's muchly good and needed stuff - and are feeling a bit better honey bee.

And remember, laughter is the best medicine and never you forget it!

p.s. Great comment Jac! Emily's lungs trying to talk. It explains a lot. No wonder they're causing so much trouble. Just like an Angel not being able to speak ;) xxx

Charlotte said...

oh Em, we need to make these scenes into an actual sketch show...in a monty python meets carry-on film fashion! not content with general misbehaving, The Lungs are now attempting verbal contact with the outside world. praps complaining about hospital food? remember what i said Em, nothing will knock the sparkle from your wings. and if they feel like they're drooping from time to time, thats allowed...cos they'll be shimmery again before you know it! so much love-SLEEP please.xxx

Nicola said...

Sweetie,I hope you aren't too tired today.Love what Jac said about your lung talking,maybe it had the unusual desire to sing to you to cheer you up,or even to take part in X Factor.Ridiculously I am now thinking if lungs would make good singers-and you think you have finally lost the plot!!!

Muchly hugs
N x.

Anonymous said...

Hi Emily... I find if Im stressed and feeling a bit down I will laugh at the stuuf I shouldnt.. Keep your chin up, your such a strong person! and if like thought those lungs are trying out for xfactor they ahve left it a bit late as its past the audition stage now! As for ging mad when I stayed in hospital for 6 weeks and watched diagonsis murder everyday I started dreaming I was taking part and when I woke in the night believed it was happening! Very strange! lol..
Stay strong Emily
xx Sandy xx

Emmie said...

Were you whistling? Cos I think that would have been quite fun really :D I also love the fact that your lungs are now trying desperately to talk. Can't guess what they are saying, but it might just be along the lines of "OOOH ME! ME! ME!"
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