While I will never remember all of the hospital rooms I stayed in because some of them I never was awake for, and others I never actually was in or existed anyway. I still struggle with believing that a couple of my rooms not only had I been in before, but they were actually apartments that I had lived in years before in some point in my life. One room in particular I thought for sure I had been living at before. It was so confusing how they moved my old condo in New Richmond into this hospital up lord knows how many stairs. Of course, it was also my same 'room' that Robbie not only was still a mailman but doubled as my nurse. I 'thought' I remembered this room, where the laundry was, my old land line phone was and I wondered why the front door had moved. This was the first room that I remember having the in-room contraption that they strap me into, lift me up out of bed and carries me into another bed or a wheelchair. I don't remember what it was called, but it was annoying. I figured if they wanted to move me, just to slide my ass off the bed into the chair or roll me over into a new bed. I mean by the time I recall this happening I was well under 170 pounds. But, turns out I'm not the doctor.
Then there were the other times when they had me stay in different places for outpatient care and I would be in some really nice lake house and the owners of the place would watch over me during the night and nurses would come check on me a few times during the day. I hated this. (No, it never happened.) Made me miss actually being in the hospital. They made me sleep in the kitchen and treated me like I was such a pain in everyones ass to be staying there. I'm always thinking to myself, because I couldn't talk or really communicate, then why the hell am I here if you don't want me in your home? So yeah, my bed would be in the kitchen and when they had guests over they would put me in some back hall, the garage or even just outside by the lake. Being outside was kind of cool because the view was nice from my bed on wheels, but it was always cold and rainy. Which was what it always looked like from outside my actual room in March, April and May anyway. I am not sure how long I (thought) I was staying at this home, but it seemed like months. Never saw anybody I knew, couldn't talk, move and even the nurses seemed to only come when they wanted to. Maybe they were turned away at the door to even come in. Not sure, and I was never sure who any of them were or what they looked like and I would be lucky to get changed once a day. I know I always tried to hold going to the bathroom as long as I could, because if there was an accident there would be hell to pay. But I really didn't have any control over when I went other than I knew it was happening. Never was sure why they kept me in the kitchen. One time they left me in there when they did have company over for once and it was dark outside at this point and like normal it was raining. I could hear people laughing and having fun in the next room which was fine and all, not like I really wanted to join them, I was just happy to hear people having a good time and not being sent out to another place so I wouldn't bother them somehow. Then I realized what all the fun was going on about, there was a house party going on with the teenagers of the house as I guess the parents were gone and they were laughing because they were trying to figure out what to do with me and where they could move me this time to. This was an absolute terrible feeling. All I could do was hope this was a dream and I would wake up soon and it would be all over. I didn't care if I was still sick or really where I was, I just didn't want to be there anymore. The party moved from the next room into the kitchen and they continued to party on and have fun around me. Half ignoring me, half interested in me in the way as it was going to be fun for them to mess with me. I was sure I was going to be pushed into some closet or outside or into the lake, anything that would make me fall off my stained bed and unable to move. They eventually did start bringing me somewhere and they talked to me like things were going to be OK but I knew they were joking around. I'm not sure if I passed out or what really happened next, but I don't know what they did to me because a few days later I did wake up, and I was back inside a hospital and felt a little more safe. I wasn't sure which hospital I was in at this time, I think the U of M but either way, I was just glad I wasn't still in that horrible home.
I think this memory of mine didn't help in some other instances, mainly with security while being sick. I remember when I got transferred to another hospital that when I got there, the staff 'messed' with me. I swear to this day that they were trying to kidnap me and take me to some god awful
country and do whatever they wanted with me. I get to this new hospital and they instantly start
giving me shots and kept asking my phone number and other personal information. I couldn't talk but wasn't about to tell them anyway. Most of them didn't speak English anyway so I didn't know what they were trying to tell or ask me to do. Then they started searching for my cell phone. I had it clentched in my hand and wouldn't let go. I did my best to cry out for help, and cry out for Sarah to come help me but I couldn't reach anybody and they finally got my phone. They started using my phone for calls, messages and who knows what else. I was out of energy and they had me all drugged up and finally Sarah came in. I tried telling her what happened and she was at least concerned enough to ask questions. More so why I was so drugged up, not about my phone (which of course I didn't have) and why I was so upset. The nursing staff changed their tune like they got busted for something and she moved me into a different room and calmed me down. I soon fell asleep feeling more safe although I wanted my phone back, I was just happy to be away from all these whack-jobs and be alone with Sarah. When I was awake enough she told me that we were getting away from the hospital for awhile so I could get better. Mentally as much as physically I think. So we went on a short vacation. We didn't tell a soul where we went, and I wasn't exactly sure where we were. I do know it was warm, so I think we were either in Florida or the country of Turkey. Lol. I think Turkey because I couldn't read anything that was in my room. I didn't care. I was in a new place and I felt safe and content and the medical staff was super nice. They were sworn to secrecy too, so they had to check in at the front desk of where we were and then had to beep themselves in while only Sarah or me could open the door from the inside. Sarah had to leave every day for a few hours, and I think she was going to school, so I usually just slept when she was away.
I know I never stayed outside of the hospital. And my dreams and false memories had pretty much all passed by the time I left Bethezda for home in early May, but I can't tell where I really was during both of these stories. Why I 'thought' I was at either place: one terrible, one nice. I honestly couldn't tell you if I was treated poorly by anybody, but I have heard enough stories that I apparently didn't like some of my care givers. I know Sarah didn't appreciate some of them either but if she didn't, she would ask for me not to be seen by them anymore and they respected her wishes. I could probably
tell you less than a handful of all the names of all the medical staff that cared for me, and most did
treat me well, some of course better than others but that is ok.