Good morning! I'm writing to you from my own bed this today and what a relief that is!
First of all, let me tell you how grateful I am for all the kind notes and good wishes. Rachel, who sent out an email explaining my condition, sat beside my hospital bed reading them to me for hours. They meant the world to me and I felt like I had a huge, loving family cheering me on.
Secondly, let me tell you how grateful I am for my rockstar of a daughter. Rachel barely left my side the entire time I was in the hospital. She slept in an uncomfortable recliner the entire time, and stayed with me when all I could do was cough relentlessly or curl up in a fevered sleep. She kept things going at home, too. She is an absolutely amazing young lady! My other daughter was all the way across the country but she did all she could to help, sent me funny instagram reels of llamas, little people, and cats, and checked in multiple times per day. Both of my girls are so compassionate, loving, and caring - sometimes I cannot believe how very fortunate I am to have raised this glorious human beings.
Finally, here's what went on.
I am a stubborn, silly human.
And that's how things went sideways.
I had a pretty bad cough for a couple of weeks. My daughter urged me to go to the doctor, but I was convinced I just needed a bottle of mucinex, some herbal tea, and vitamin D on the patio. I had good days here and there that convinced me my treatment was working.
Finally, once I sounded like I had tuberculosis, whooping cough, and an elephant in my chest, she finally convinced me to go to a walk-in clinic. I sat, masked, in a waiting area while other patients side-eyed me and moved away. (Note to introverts: a terrible, wracking cough is a great way to get more space in public places.) I got back to be seen pretty quickly, I've no doubt in part because patients complained about me.
The doctor there was great but he had a lot of "I'm just gonna take Mucinex" working against him. Xrays showed double pneumonia, so I was sent home with two different antibiotics and something for the cough.
Fast forward another week: I was four days into my antibiotics and still sounded like a trumpeter for the worst band you ever heard. Rachel called the clinic back, who advised her to take me to ER.
At this point I was running a fever every day and felt absolutely dreadful. This made it much easier for Rachel to wrangle my stubborn self into the car and tell me we were going to the hospital.
We were there for NINE HOURS. They saw me very quickly and got a breathing treatment and IV antibiotics into me, but they were insistent I needed to be admitted and it took ages for me to get a bed. I thought I'd be there just a couple of days and by that time I only wanted sleep.
It turns out I was there almost a week. Six days. The first doctor I had really seemed rather disinterested. He was pleasant enough but his check-ins consisted of flipping through my chart and reading things back to me. Treatment was pretty much the same as I had been on except the antibiotics were IV. He seemed quite eager to free up my bed for a different patient. Fortunately my daughter and some amazing nurses advocated for me and I got a different attending physician, who was great, and a pulmonologist, who took control like a pirate captain. Within three days of agressive treatment and an unpleasant procedure called a bronchoscopy, I was no longer coughing nonstop. The fevers were dropping, I had a wee bit more energy, and finally, I was ready to go home.
I cannot say enough good things about the nurses who cared for me. It's hard for me to ask for help so I was pretty hesitant about pushing the call button. They were so enthusiastic and helpful that I became much more comfortable with it. They also caught things that doctors missed and had an in-hospital messaging system where they could interact with them directly if I needed a certain medication or treatment. Unsung heros, each and every one.
So, now I'm home. I'm still taking a fair bit of medication for the next three weeks until I see the pulmonologist again. I'm under strict orders to rest, rest, rest, so here I am, back in bed for this week, but it's MY bed with MY cat and MY favorite mug and MY Netflix account. It's so good to be home.
I was honestly stunned when they admitted me to the hospital. I didn't realize how sick I was. I've done this before but never to the point things got this time around. I got a stern lecture from the pulmonologist about trying to wait things out, and he told me that I had been gravely, gravely ill. It reminded me of the time my dad didn't want to inconvenience anyone when his ulcer began bleeding and tried to treat it with Tums until he passed out from blood loss. In my defense, I learned from the best at "It'll get better" but perhaps I took the wrong lesson on board.
I feel terrible for putting my family through this, but hopefully, in the future, I won't let things get so far. I'm sure this will be the example my girls use forever to get me to the doctor in better time. I'm also sworn to bedrest for a week and I'll behave myself partly because even though I'm better, I still have so very little energy I can't get myself into trouble.
I have some articles to set up for the week ahead from our wonderful writers so the OP will be back up with new content.
Thank you guys so so so much for your love and understanding.
Stay safe.
Be happy.
Love,
Daisy
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