Day 2 (B)
Today has been pretty easy-going, compared to the days before it. I woke up at 6am having to pee a few gallons, and by the time I got back to bed I found I was having trouble breathing. It felt just like an asthma attack when I was little.
I told the nurse, who got the on-call doctor to come and check me out. I could inhale, but exhaling was really hard. He listened to my chest, checked my temperature and blood pressure, did an EKG (with little sticky metal jobbies to do the reads, all of which yank out chest hair incredibly well), and in the end said everything else seemed okay. It’s traditionally one of the ways anxiety manifests itself when someone’s mind is trying to handle traumatic information. Another time in the day when I had to go to the bathroom, I found my heart absolutely racing when I got back to my bed. Same deal. All expected, and they said I shouldn’t try too hard to chill out—just let everything take its natural course.
I slept reasonably well through the night, even without the sleeping pill which was offered (“refused” was the nurse’s way of phrasing it, making it likely I’ll accept it tonight). However I had a bit of a fever, which made me overheat and sweat. After that breathing stuff, my energy was absolutely gone despite all the sleep I thought I’d saved up. I was able to fall back to sleep a little, but had to go slowly.
Patrick was able to come visit today! Elana had done an amazing job of talking to him yesterday about what was going on, and he showed that he’d been processing some of the information, and didn’t look upset. They were here for about 45 minutes, in which he and I got to talk about all sorts of things. I showed him the view out of the window I’m near in my room, which is a really pretty view of the Dublin Bay and Howth.
He asked me what the thing patched on my neck was. I lifted my shirt and explained why the central line was there. He didn’t look scared, which was a great relief. He then noticed the back of both of my hands were riddled with little red marks where they’d been trying to draw blood before the central line went in. I told him they had to do it to try to get blood from me. He thought for a second, then announced, “That’s just MEAN! Why can’t they be more careful?!”
The time flew by, but it felt wonderful to get to see him. Might be able to see Eoin, age 4, tomorrow. Both of the boys made be get-well cards on big sheets of paper, which are now taped up onto the wall by my bed next to a picture of them from when I was in Gorey last year for an Educate Together Board meeting and E brought the boys down to pick me up.
