A room with a view...

On Saturday...I think it was Saturday...I was transferred to a room on the twelfth floor of the west tower.


Patient room 1:

My medical condition requires a protected environment for my entire stay. This was a double room, but it was available. It was on the right floor, where the right equipment and staff and skills were available to save my life. I moved into 1238.


Patient room 2:

On Friday night, one week after my admission, a Clinical Care coordinator came to my room after dinner. He explained that they wanted to move me to a different room, in a different section of the same unit. He was very solicitous, and concerned about my reaction. I had no problem with the change. I did not need two beds. The hospital did. I was moved to ... the Bone Marrow Transplant unit.

Patients who enter the hospital for a bone marrow transplant know they are in for a long stay. They usually arrive in much better health than I did, in order to survive the rigors of their treatment.

These patients may look at the same four walls for months, and the hospital takes this into account. The room has textured wall paper, with a hand-painted mural around one end. The bath is larger, and includes a tub rather than a semi-circular shower. The drawers and closet are cabinetry. There is a built-in entertainment unit, behind glass, containing a real TV, with a combination CD/DVD/VHS player, all with a remote control. There is a remote at the bedside to control the lighting. There is a recliner where someone can spend the night.

The rooms in the patient towers at Good Sam are sort of wedge shaped. With the head of my bed against one wall, the orientation of the wedge determines whether the bathroom, sink, closet, etc. fall left to right or right to left. That might not seem like a big deal, but when your brain is fogged, your body is weak and you're dragging an infusion pole, it's nice to wake up in the night confident of where the bathroom is. The room on the Bone Marrow Unit had the opposite orientation to my original room, but I adapted quickly.

I think of room number 2 as The Resort Unit.


Patient room 3:

I had moved to The Resort on a Friday evening. On Sunday afternoon I was approached again: a Bone Marrow Transplant patient was due to arrive, and needed the room.

I was told that my new room, back on my original section of the unit, had just one bed, and that I would be able to stay there for the rest of my stay. I certainly had no objection to the transfer. It was the first I made in a wheelchair instead of a bed.

Room number three was ... the Radiation Room.

Room number f

This is not complete, but I'm having trouble keeping my thoughts straight. Time to say good night!

Eggplant???

Why did I just change all the colors on this page to shades of pink and eggplant?

That seems to be the color scheme of the units where I spent most of my time.

Emergency Department

I'd like to take a moment to discuss all the room changes.

Room 1:

I arrived at a busy, downtown hospital at 5pm on a Friday night. The hospital didn't know who I was, whether they'd seen me before, whether I had created an Advanced Directive.... They needed my permission to treat.... Triage


Room 2:

Even though everyone knew I would be admitted, to the oncology floor, they had to put me somewhere and stabilize my condition. I think the Good Sam Emergency Department is bigger than some hospitals I've been in! There were different zones, designated by colors. I suspect the zones permit staff and equipment to be organized by type of medical issue and treatment. Green 17 (or was it 12?)


Room 3:

Once they got a wrist band on me and asked about allergies and put my shoes in a bag and got my signatures, they had done all they could for me in the ER. They needed that room to offer another patient the same services. They moved me to a different ER room. It was during that transfer that my cane was lost. Maybe that was Green 12.


Room 4:

Finding a room for a patient turned out to be no small matter. What department or floor? What gender? What special needs? And is such a bed available? Good Sam handles this in a way I have never seen before. There is a department just for patients in the process of being admitted. Pretty large alcoves run along a wall, with curtains separating them from the common hall area. I was still on a gurney. I think. I saw my own doctor there for the first time. I met with the Admissions and Registration people, signing even more papers. I spent my first night in ... Transitions

Holding Pattern...

I am using this post as a holding pattern. I need to delete the shopping list and panic from the main blog, but I don't want to lose some of the details.
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posted: 1/21/09, 7:30 pm

It now appears that I will be leaving Good Sam within the next few days. My efforts must be focused on learning to manage my own care, getting strong, establishing habits that support the needed protocols. Oh...and getting the surgical appliance removed from my chest.

I will be spending more time outside my room.

I will be needing to make bigger lists, of questions and replies and dates and appointments and medication schedules.

I will be needing to record and track my own medical info, so that I am confident once I leave.

New list. Sigh.

Info system
my preference? the green 3-ring binder on the recliner in my living room. It's already set up.

next? a three section spiral notebook

what works? some notebook paper and a clipboard.

priority: high

my robe
I can't keep running around dressed like a house elf. I currently spend my time wearing a hospital gown, hospital pants that are enormous and a blanket wrapped around me like a poncho. I need my hands free for physical therapy.

my preference? my blue terry robe, on the back of my bedroom door

what works? An unstructured robe, that ties, at least a size 20W. big sleeves

priority? not quite as high


slippers
preference? my blue floral slippers in the shoe shelf in my bedroom closet. But -- honestly? -- I'm not sure they'd fit.
Priority: low

My Life is Never Dull!

I seem to be living in some weird, sci-fi, time dilation zone.

First, the time proposed for my stay seemed too long. Then, as treatment interactions made my body go haywire, longer looked really good. As I felt stronger, I began to prepare to return home, but new problems have popped up every day. I became more aware of changes I need to make, things I need to get/buy/do, things I need to learn to continue my care at home, strength I need to regain that was lost while I was horizontal.... I need more time, not less.

Then, at 4pm, I was told I might leave tomorrow!

That now seems unlikely, but I will definitely be leaving sooner than later. There are some medical procedures I still need, but my efforts now are focused on getting strong enough and educated enough to survive on the outside.

Thanks!
Flo