Sensory deprivation works. As I write, I am one day out of a six-night hospital stay.
I had been having digestive problems for months. Toward the end of August, those problems became so intense I became dehydrated and my doctor admitted me to the hospital. Not only did I have an infection and ulcerations inside my bowels, my kidneys failed; my blood pressure was too low, my heart rate was too high, I had too little potassium and phosphorus and my doctor said she’d never seen someone with such a low level of magnesium.
The Bible says that to God, one day is like a thousand years. It’s the same way with a hospital stay. One day is like a thousand years. On my last night there, it seemed as though I’d been away from home forever.
Not that it was a bad hospital stay, for a hospital stay. I received outstanding care from everyone, the food — once I was able to eat – was delicious, the bed was comfortable and I was waited on hand and foot. However, you are deprived of certain things.
For one, your clothes.
After wearing a nightgown with gaping holes up and down the back for a week, you forget how good it feels to put on a T-shirt and jeans and not feel a draft.
For months before going into the hospital, I hadn’t had an appetite (which, in my case, should have been a giant signal that something was terribly wrong). After a couple of days in the hospital, I felt able to eat a little solid food. I pretty much had my choice from the menu, as long as I steered clear of irritating foods. One of my first meals of solid food was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of skim milk. It was one of the most delicious sandwiches I’d ever eaten.
Lying flat on my back, what was the point of bathing? Well, after a couple of days, I smelled the point of bathing. I also felt a whole lot more like a hot shower, so I took one. It might have been the longest shower I ever took, in part, because I was moving slow. But also because I had never enjoyed getting clean — and later, being clean — so much.
On the third day, I asked a friend to bring me a pad of paper. I realized I hadn’t written a single note — I hadn’t even held a pen in my hand — since I’d been admitted. For most people, not a big deal. But I’m a writer to the core. Even if I’m just making a shopping list, I need to feel writing instruments in my hand. When I got my notepad and held my pen, I felt complete.
Then there’s the people.
I didn’t meet a staff member I didn’t like. However, they were all women. In fact, for a few days, all I saw were women.
Then, I had a male nurse. A young, good-looking male nurse. How I enjoyed having a young man wait on me after seeing almost nothing but women for a few days.
Then, I was released.
After being indoors — in fact, confined to a small room — for six days, being outdoors on a late summer day was like being on a new planet.
Of course, coming home was like returning from vacation: you see and experience your house from a refreshed point of view once you are refreshed.
I’m grateful for the wonderful care I received and I’m grateful that I’m so much better now, but I hope I’m never that sick again. If I am, though, I know I’ll go home with a renewed sense of appreciation for just about everything.
