Tuesday, 3 July 2012

Losing It 2: The Worst Day

As I sat there and sobbed, I looked around at my friends, their eyes filled with sorrow, quiet tears dripping from their eyelashes. I turned, and with my desperate eyes I looked at my Mum, she wasn't crying, her eyes told the story of a protector, a heroine. Her face was stoic and I could tell she meant business, she politely and calmly told the nurse, that she was not happy with her daughter being put on a ward, and how could she find it acceptable to place a 21 year old in the company of very poorly and elderly patients. She went on to ask the nurse, did she think I didn't have enough to cope with, and was there no way that this other patient couldn't be placed somewhere else.
Through my anguish, I was so proud of my Mum. Usually she is a woman who just accepts things and goes with the flow, she hates confrontation, and finds it easier to just please other people sometimes. But on that day, my Mum was a lioness, her back was up, and it was as if she had bound a giant paw of protection around me, her cub.
The nurse said to me, 'There is no way we can let you discharge yourself Rebecca, it's too soon for you to leave the hospital.' I felt my heavy chest heaving, as though there was a brick lying in each lung. My whole body felt weighed down with despair. I stared up at the nurse, dry sobs exiting my mouth, and told her, 'I can't move, I just can't...please.'
Whether it was the strict words from my Mum, or the fact that my pleads had ground her down, or whether she had finally welcomed some realisation to the situation I was in, but the nurse finally accepted my request, and said to me, 'I'll see what I can do.' She left the room, and I was never bothered with the anxiety of having to move again. I later found out that the patient who needed use of my room, had in fact been moved to a completely different ward due to her symptoms, so the overwhelming upset I had been put through had in fact been unnecessary, much to my dismay.
Although I had now been told I could stay put, the room, my room, no longer felt safe. It was now occurring to me that it could just be taken away from me at any time, and what if it did happen again, and my Mum or Dad weren't there to protect me. I had never wanted to be in my own house, in my own bed, surround by my own familiar things, more. Mum had phoned Dad and told him of the drama that had just taken place, and he and Chris decided to make their way back to the hospital. They were far from impressed.
My friends were in my company. They had wiped their eyes, and were now shocked at how the nurse had delivered the news. They did their best to cheer me up and make me see that I was now not going to be moved any where, but I had been pushed beyond the positive and upbeat barrier I had been attempting to uphold.
My brain felt as though it was drowning in sadness, my heart being strangled grief. I was grieving for the old me. Until then I had held on to hope, hope that maybe, just maybe, I'd wake up, and as quickly as my body had been damaged, it would repair in the same speed. But that wasn't going to happen. I was surrounded by the friends that were the last people to be in the company of the old me, and they were all the same, they would leave the hospital and carry on as normal, nothing had changed for them. My whole world had changed, and there was no set date as to when I would be fixed, there was no definitive answer... there was no light at the end of the tunnel.
Mum and Dad took charge of the rest of visiting hours, and held polite conversation with my friends, while I attempted to input where possible.  They left telling me they'd text me and that they would see me soon, and I gulped a ghost of a smile, as I watched them leave.
I had nothing to give...
Dad and Chris wanted the full story of what had happened with the nurse, and I allowed a small part of my mind to listen as Mum relayed the story, while the majority of my brain held thoughts far removed from the present. I sat in the hospital chair, as usual surrounded by my family, but all I could do was stare in to my mind, my eyes glazed, my ears not registering fully. I feared opening my mouth to speak, knowing that once I did I would practically vomit all of this pent up emotion that had recently took shelter in my body.
I allowed my head to fall on to the hospital table that was parked in front of me, and I closed my eyes, tears spilling from the corners, and dripping in to, and tickling my ear. Chris sat beside my and stroked my hair. They all did their best to console me, telling me I would get over this blip and carry on as I had been doing. I tried to believe that they were telling the truth, but at the same time couldn't imagine how I could possibly come back from feeling so low.
That same night Mum walked me to the toilet just as she usually did, and Dad and Chris were talking to one of the nurses at the nurses station. On my way out of the bathroom, I felt my self wanting to collapse. A nurse grabbed the closest thing to a wheel chair (a commode) and allowed me to fall in to it.  Two nurses rushed me in to my room shutting out my family, and lifted me in to bed, they handed me my buzzer and told me to call them if I needed to get back out of bed, and to not attempt to do it on my own. They left and my family re-entered to say good night to me. I clutched on to their lingering stares as they waved and smiled their way out of my room, and as soon as I knew they had gone I buried my face in to my pillow and sobbed.

That was the worst day.


  1. Ur blog is an inspiration to us all..be strong x

  2. I just want to say how inspirational and beautifully written your blog is. It's the most isolating thing in the world - to be stuck on a ward where everyone's extremely ill and triple your age. I was on a neurology ward, only for a week or so, a couple of months ago.

    I wish you all the best in you recovery, keep up the good work xx

  3. I have to confess that strangely this is the scariest part of moving to England from America. Hospitals with huge 'wards' and not the private rooms we have here. I have worked in the hospital for years; can't imagine sharing a huge ward with strangers. Here, we assume family will stay with you 24 hours. We even provide fold out beds and couches. Noone would use a hospital where they had to share a room with even one other person. It's considered a throw back to the fifties and positively barbaric treatment. Those against Obama's health plan warn we will go back to this level of treatment.

  4. I can sympathize with how you felt and feel now, I had an AVM burst in my head in nov 2011 which caused me to have a stroke, and I remember how alone I felt in the hospital even though there was 6 on my ward. I really hope you are continuing to make a good recovery and wish you the very best :O) xxx