The long and arduous journey that lay in front of me couldn’t have come at a worse time. The two to three weeks that I would remain in the Jefferson ICU, would literally come to an end right before Thanksgiving. A mere few days before Black Friday and the start of my big season. Twenty six straight days of long hours and running around the store at a frenetic pace. How the hell will I be able to do that! Dr. Gooch basically told me that I would need to stop working and take at least three months off, then gradually return to the store. Obviously, he never worked in the jewelry industry. That would never happen. My routine in the brain injury and stroke unit was basically a repetitious regimen of drugs, ultrasounds, constant checks by the nurses and residents. Every four hours, a nurse came in with two humongous football shaped pills for me to choke down. I forget the name of those pills but their purpose was to stop any vibration in my brain. To dry up the large amount of blood swirling around in my skull. Whatever. They were nasty. What else was nasty? The constant sound of Snap, Crackle and Pop in my brain. Like Rice Krispies popping constantly out of my ears as the pain kept throbbing throughout and the blood dried inside. The Percocet every four hours kept the edge off most of the time. There was no stimulation like my phone or TV. Too much on the brain at this point and kept off at the request of the doctors.
My mornings everyday started with the loud shouts that came from outside my room. The staff would literally have morning Pep rallies at the front nurses station. A lot of loud gestures and shouting like they were getting ready for a hockey game. It was annoying when your roommate was groaning in pain and hitting the call button over and over again. With no response. Until of course the final “Whoop” went up and the shift got moving. “Ridiculous” I thought. After breakfast, every morning around 11 am, the Ultrasond tech would come in with her machine and do a comprehensive study of my brain, neck and chest. The gel was always so cold. This would happen three times a day…for almost three weeks. Resident doctors came in constantly to review my condition and examine my head, neck and groin.
It was tough for family and friends to visit. Although they wanted to. I wasn’t the best of company and Jefferson not the easiest place to come down to. My parents, Lori, Nick, Aunt Roseann and maybe a few more. It was boring. The only excitement was when my roommates went crazy and had to be moved into private rooms or rushed to the operating room. It was a crazy place and three weeks was gonna kill me. The way I felt though, I had no choice.
A Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage is a mostly or highly fatal brain injury. For some reason, high blood pressure, weak veins, medically induced/drug damage, trauma, whatever in that class of all of the above that can cause a blood vessel to burst and cause massive brain damage or death to an unexpecting victim. I was very fortunate to survive mine. Survivors of Subarrachnoid Hemorrhages face months to years of recovery. Many trips to the Neurologist for follow up visits and cat scans to rule out additional points of interest and the chance of relapse. Memory issues are common as well as extreme fatigue. These issues can go on for years or worse for many patients who digress in their quality of life. No driving either for like 3 months or more, depending on the recuperation period of each patient.
One morning, a young nurse was given the job to change my IV that was in my forearm for the last ten days. Well, I am a bad stick. After three tries, she gave up and called in a male nurse. Three or four more pokes and I was still not done. I had enough. The expert called in was an older Philippino nurse who handled it well and showed up the youngsters. Thank God. Getting stuck with a thick IV needle really sucks. Getting stuck like seven times…awful! The days wore on and Dr. Gooch came by regularly to check on my progress and fill me in on the test results being generated everyday. I was getting there. The vibrations in my skull were lessening and the chances for relapse becoming rarer. All good signs that I was improving and surviving this debacle. The nights were long, the days, the same.
Lori came down to get me out a few days before Thanksgiving. Our meeting with Dr. Gooch lasted about one hour as he detailed the extensive amount of do’s and don’ts for my rehab and recuperation. It was wonderful to see daylight and feel the fresh air as we made our way to the car. I was pretty shaky. My release date was November, 21st. Two days before Thanksgiving. I slept for two straight days then spent the holiday in my bedroom while everyone feasted on Lors delicious Turkey and all of the great sides she prepared. I had a plate delivered. It tasted so good after that awful hospital food. The next day on the calendar was Black Friday. The big start to the holiday shopping season. My season. Sorry Dr. Gooch, I have to work nine hours a day for the next twenty seven days. Or stay home and recuperate for three months and lose my business. No choice here. I’m alive, I’m awake, I’m able to stand, I’m in the store starting tomorrow. That’s the way it goes. This should be fun.
Next Up: The Christmas from Hell!