What I Learned During Three Weeks in the Hospital
BY ARLENE HARDER, MA, MFT
What can you do in the hospital to make your stay more comfortable, pleasant, and healing? This article offers several suggestions.
 Early in October, 2000, I began what felt like the flu, but it kept getting worse and was later diagnosed as hepatitis, then as typhus, and finally, after I landed in the hospital, as Guillain-Barre Syndrome, a rare condition that affects 1 or 2 out of 100,000. While I was there, I discovered some things I wanted to share with readers of the CancerOnline.org website [no longer active] and wrote this in January of 2001. However, the "lessons" are applicable to anyone who has to endure time in a hospital, not just those with GBS or cancer.
If you're feeling REALLY sick and getting sicker, especially if you don't know what's wrong with you, the BEST place to be is in a good hospital.
Once you start feeling better, the BEST place to be is at home!
Although you may at times complain about your HMO, be thankful it covers expensive treatment.
It would be tough to pay for the standard treatment of Guillain-Barre Syndrome, five infusions of immune globulin at $5,000 each, let alone the rest of our hospital bill. How many of the 42.6 million Americans lacking health insurance in 1999 (TIME, Oct. 9, 2000) couldn't have this treatment because it was too expensive?
Anyone who comes every day to cheer you up for breakfast, lunch and dinner is worth his weight in gold.
It helped, of course, that my husband worked less than ten minutes away, but his dedication was an essential part of my recovery. Because he worked so hard at making me feel better, I suspect I worked harder at getting better 'cause I didn't want to let him down.
Even though your mattress at home is so lumpy you're about to buy a new one, it is far more comfortable than your hospital bed.
Okay, I know they use a plastic mattress so they can wipe it down and prevent germs from spreading from one patient to another, but why can't they use more than a thin sheet over it?
If there's a bulletin board in the room, be sure it displays cheerful messages and pictures of grandchildren (or whoever would most touch your heart).
Every time I looked at the "I-L-Y-A-B-A-A-P" (a private code) that my husband wrote with a felt pen and large letters on a plain piece of paper, I felt his love wash over me, which distracted somewhat from the stiff mattress.
Consider taking charge of your recovery by asking your friends and family, except perhaps your children, not to call.
This was one of the best decisions I made, which meant naps and much needed rest were not disturbed to answer the phone. (My husband and daughter tried to let people know how I was doing.) However, cards, letters and e-mails, were extremely welcome and I kept all my cards on the windowsill. Then, even though I wasn't talking with these people, every time I looked at them it was as though I could hear their dozens of voices cheering me up.
Accept the fact that feeling like a little child again is normal.
When you are well and have physical strength, it is easier to keep up the "appearance" of being an adult. But when illness strikes, the fears and helplessness of childhood come flooding back. So let others take care of you. It's okay to feel dependent. You are. I discovered that in this state of mind it was particularly fun to read the latest Harry Potter book. Immersing myself in the imagination of J. K. Rowlings got me through more than one night. The child in me was delighted with Merpeople who speak Mermish, a school song sung to whatever tune each student chooses to use, and a school library with titles like Madcap Magic for Wacky Warlocks.
No matter how badly off you are, there is always someone who is worse — or better.
One of the easiest ways to discover this is to attend an exercise group where one's infirmity and strength are on display as you stretch and bend to recover lost muscle tone. But in addition to the class, every "Code Blue" reminded me that I was in better shape than the person with respiratory or heart problems.
If you get a very, very funny get well card, it may not be a good idea to share it with fellow patients in that exercise group.
Why? Well, in my case the youngest had to be at least 60 and the oldest was 90 if she was a day. Consequently, they couldn't read the card I brought in because they left their bifocals back in their rooms. However, the staff was younger with better eyesight and they agreed that the card was delightful (see sidebar).
If you are REALLY sick, hospital food tastes almost palatable.
If you're on the mend, the meals are only a step above airline fare.
A good imagery tape can provide relaxing comfort and maximize pain medication.
I was very fortunate to have a pain control tape by Belleruth Naparstek, a premier imagery guide whose informative website, HealthJourneys, provides information on the value of this technique for healing. In the middle of the night, her gentle voice and affirmations guided me back to sleep. On the other hand, I had been given a pain tape by someone else who was so awful I couldn't get past the first several minutes before I had to turn it off. So it's best to know a bit about the guide before buying one.
Showers are better than sponge baths!
As I was taking my first shower and exclaiming how wonderful it felt, the attendant told me about a hospital where showers opened onto the hallway and privacy was achieved with a curtain. A man there had to go six weeks before being allowed to shower because of a leg amputation that hadn't healed properly. When he finally had permission to get into the shower, he stayed there for an hour-and-a-half, letting the warm water flow -- and singing opera to the enjoyment of patients and staff.
If you can't laugh, at least smile; it fools those who have appointed themselves guardians of your mood.
My doctor was quite adamant that recovery would progress more rapidly if I had a positive attitude. Some days that was hard to do. But I had a trick up my sleeve. When he came each day, he would knock on the door with a special rhythm, giving me a chance to put a smile on my face, even when I didn't particularly feel like it, before he walked in with his entourage of medical students. Guess what? Not only would he be satisfied, but my plan often worked just like the song from The King and I says:
"Whenever I feel afraid, I hold my head erect and whistle a happy tune so no one will suspect I'm afraid.
While shivering in my shoes, I strike a careless pose and whistle a happy tune and no one ever knows I'm afraid.
The result of this deception is very strange to tell, for when I fool the people I fear, I fool myself as well."
The difficulties of recovery are easier to accept if you know there is someone rooting for you.
In this regard, one of the sillier -- but much appreciated -- things my husband did was inspired by the comedy video The Princess Bride that we watched a few days before I entered the hospital. In the movie a swordsman is looking for Count Rugen, the six-fingered man who killed his father. After finding him, he says the line he's been practicing for years, "Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya; you killed my father; prepare to die." Playing off that theme, Bob would point his finger at me and declare, "Hello. My name is Bob and you WILL get better." Before long it became "Hello. My name is Bob and you ARE getting better." However, I look forward (*) to the end of full recovery when I'm able to walk for more than a brief period of time and he'll say, "Hello. My name is Bob and you ARE well."
Special note to people who have a serious illness: I don't want to give the impression that you will recover if you only have a positive attitude, but you can certainly make the quality of your life one heck of a lot better if you're willing to learn how to laugh at your condition -- at least some of the time.
* In case you're interested, I've made an excellent recovery. In fact, I've done much better than the doctor's expected. The only serious residual effect is a need to take more naps, but that could be plain old aging. Considering everything, I'm pleased the way things have turned out.
© Copyright January 2001, Arlene Harder, MA, MFT |
