Sponge Baths

I mentioned this in the email many of you received but I would like to talk about the nurses of the I.C.U. for a moment. This is my first time spending an extended amount of time in the hospital and of all the people who have helped me over the last few weeks the nurses have been the most incredible.

At my worst, in the days just after operation, I was incoherent, full of tubes, monitors, and drugs, barely understanding what was going on around me. Those were the days of just making it through, hoping there were no complications, and the nurses, bless them, just helped you get there. Their job was to help you along medically and make sure you were as comfortable as possible. In moments of coherence they would let you know how things were going, what was coming down the road, and would lend a sympathetic ear to my fears and concerns of the unknown.

And each morning they would strip you down, change your clothes and bedding, give you a sponge bath, and leave you clean and calm, showing you the tenderness usually reserved for a newborn. As I sat up sleepless each night I got excited as the sun began to rise because I knew, in an hour, a nurse, for 45 minutes, would do everything she could to wash and care for me and make me feel human at my most vulnerable.

As things got better, as I recovered and stabilized, the nurse changed into a confidante and friend. Talking for hours and giving me a sense that I was still the same person as the one before the operation. They would offer advice on legal issues, patient care, rehab, doctors. It was not a company line but rather considerate and measured advice. So just a simple thanks to the ICU nurses, to make the well-being of others your mission in life takes an amazing amount of humbleness and sacrifice, to them I will always be indebted.

The I.C.U.

The I.C.U. probably gives me the most mixed emotions of the whole recovery process. I arrived there after my surgery and stayed almost two weeks as my body stabilized itself.

The first few days were frightening, I was on a liquid diet, meaning it was either being pumped into me or I was sipping water, and lying flat on my back the whole time, that lasted for the first week.

During the first few days you are mixing trauma, pain, drugs, IVs, disorienting new location, a battery of doctors, constant checks of your vitals, trips to take X-Rays, Cat-Scans, MRIs, sponge baths, nurses, morphine drips and more into one of the most difficult cocktails you can imagine.

I was so weak at the time that the only thing I could do for myself was to grabbing little pieces of ice and rub it over my temple and forehead to cool down, or pop one in my mouth to suck on. Worried that I might have lost motion over major parts of my body I remember thinking how important it was that I grab the ice myself, that was me functioning on my own.

There was also sleep, or lack there of. Your body is trying to but between constant monitoring, the lights on, the dislocation, the sounds of other patients and the conversations of the nurses, the drugs, and the pain, god the pain, sleep was an afterthought. For me, I was happy if I slept for an hour or two a night, usually in 30 minute increments. I would usually be delirious from lack of sleep in the morning and many a night I would see images from a combination of delirium and drugs. I remember my mother rubbing my foot and falling asleep so that became our routine. When she came to the ICU she would rub my foot, the pain and tension would disappear and I would relax and sleep, even if briefly.

It was also in the I.C.U. that some of the most tender moments occured. The nurses there are now friends. When I could do nothing for myself they did it for me, washing, bathing, feeding, medicating, listening and empathizing. They did it all. My comfort and well being was their only goal and to give me a sense of dignity when I was so vulnerable meant the world. They are amazing people.

Coming next: I.C.U. Psychosis!