1. A tiny bit of backstory for those not in the know. I’ve spent a shitload of time in the hospital over the past couple plus years. Probably 5 or more months of real time. Basically I have a lot of problems symptomatic of Diabetes without actually having Diabetes. I’ve had six(SIX!) total amputations on my feet now. But I’m still walking. For now at least. I know just about everyone in the hospital on a first name basis at this point. I’m like Norm from Cheers at Sutter Roseville. Because I see how awful the staff is treated and I’m usually a peach to compensate. I’m very friendly and personable to almost…almost everyone there. I’m well liked. From the transportation guys to the food service guys, everyone’s always happy to see me. But let me tell you, the novelty of being hospitalized wears off fucking fast.
2. This is pretty much just a journal I kept during one of my stays to goof on what it’s like dealing with being there, the people and of course, the shit TV. Anything written by present day me will be in parentheses. I’ve been hospitalized 6 more times since I wrote this. Which is probably why you haven’t seen me around as much lately. Deep depression. Let’s try and pull myself out of that, shall we?
3. The following took place in February 2014
4. That was my Jack Bauer impression.
On the way to wound care, my gut was gurgling.The past two weeks, I had sworn I was going to be hospitalized and was spared. This time was not to be as the prior two evenings I had found a complete lack of balance as if I were my mother after several vodka tonics. I’d fallen down twice as if I were hammered, though the only beverages I’d consumed that day were white cherry Powerade and some Coke. So I wasn’t blitzed. I have severe neuropathy(look it up) and open wounds on both feet complete with amputation non kung fu grip. I have never ever stumbled around like this under no influence of drugs or alcohol, so it was a bit disconcerting heading to wound care. Scotty and Mark both had looks of concern on their faces as I meandered back there. “You all right there, Joel?” “Yeah, you don’t look so great” They removed the gauze from my feet and began to inspect and go to work on the damage. I couldn’t begin to tell you what they said after that as I was clenching my fists to distract from the pain.
I began to put my shoes back on when Mark stopped me, and they pulled in a fucking wheelchair, only the second time they’d ever done that. I was frightened. I was so focused on wanting to trade all of my good parts to my father, who is battling pneumonia, and my friend’s and my own severe depression, which leaves me just falling the fuck apart. Emotionally, physically and spiritually. Last night, my legs began to act as if I was playing the fucking lava game. I was stepping very far and erratically and frankly was scaring the hell out of myself. I took a shoulder to my dresser just trying to turn out the lights. Ow. And then bringing mail to the mailbox, a branch hit my head causing me to spin out and react like it was the fucking Viet Cong. So I ran full boar about five and a half feet in the other direction, only to about flip over a gaurdrail. What the fuck? This is a very recent and hopefully temporary development, because falling down for no reason is for saps, and frankly I’m over it.
So Mark wheels me over to the ER and I go through triage, X Rays, blood tests, etc. The whole rigamorole(Frankly they should fast track me in at this point. I’ve been to the ER 25 times. I’ve stayed there 25 times.) Almost every single worker knows me by name, no hyperbole. This is my 19th hospitalization in almost exactly two years. You’d think they’d have figured this shit out by now. My loyal, faithful, loving father is wheeling me back to the ER and I would give my left nut not to have to deal with his youngest son like this. It should be vice versa. I feel awful about it, but he has truly been a godsend throughout all this.
I am also what’s known as a “tough stick”, which basically boils down to the nurses and interns treating me like a pincushion until they draw blood, which on me, is as hard as striking oil.Since I just had an IV site inserted, but not yet a pain shot or any antibiotics. my awesome dad goes out to grab me some Taco Bell, my choice of smuggled in food since I can use their myriad of sauces to make their eggs taste less like watery butthole. And whilst he was out, I got my pain hookup, like literally seconds before he came back in, because I was high as hell(haha, my handwriting takes a pretty steep drop here) and wanted a beefy five layer burrito STAT!
After it was revealed that I would be admitted, Dad left, which is always a sad moment for me, because then I’m truly alone. It coincided rather perfectly this time, because transportation showed up just as he was leaving. Transportation, for those not in the know, are big buff bros or ladies in NY Giants blue scrubs that bolt patients to their destinations while they talk sports with you. The Patriots fans are my favorite to talk shit to.
We arrive at my room, and as per usual, it’s a rain of “Joel!” “Hey good lookin!” “Well if it isn’t our favorite patient!” You get the gist. (I was high. This may or may not be an exaggeration) This time around, I wasn’t really to bear weight on either foot, so big buff transport kind of just heaves me from one bed to the other, with no regard for my ballsack. OW. A random nurse comes in to take vitals and ask me the same dumbass questionairre that they always do. In short, no I am not diabetic, Yes I have all the ailments that would suggest otherwise.
Fell asleep wishing death and darkness but Craig Ferguson was on, so it was a smidge difficult.
Stay tuned for more hospital diaries!