So, September 12th, I was at the VA for a follow up on cellulitis I had on one of my legs. I checked in, weighed in, then was ushered to an exam room and told to wait. Because I knew that they would do the whole listen to your heart/listen to your lungs, I took my shirt off, and then it was lights out. I briefly woke up on the exam room floor and a very nervous med tech was fumbling with a 12 lead (to set up an EKG). The next time I came to might have been days later (I don't know for sure). I was told that I was in the ICU unit, and that I had coded twice during open heart surgery (they did a triple bypass).
Next, began an ordeal. My cardiac team was five white male doctors, all around thirty years of age (and also that one of them was married to a chief nurse of that unit). Because I come from a medical family I knew that it was highly unusual to have a medical team like that (what would have been more usual is a team of doctors, different ages, different genders and ethnicities).
This team told me that first I needed to learn to sit up in a chair. Sounded reasonable enough, but after five minutes I was dizzy and in a lot of pain. It took me twenty minutes to convince them to just put me back in bed. They were highly disappointed and upset with me. Thus began days of "why don't you try a chair?" and wouldn't you like to try a chair in treatment?" I negotiated to try just sitting up in bed, which they complied with, but they weren't happy with that. I was getting a lot of pain from my tailbone (it's important to note that in my teens through my thirties I was very athletic, broke multiple bones and I also had a "teratoma" removed from my tailbone. A teratoma is when you are born a twin, but your body absorbs the twin, but then a tumor will suddenly develop, usually (but not always) in the tailbone area). More negotiations went on about sitting. Finally, I agreed to try a chair, but only after I was given a requested special dinner.
The next day, I was stripped naked, tied up and deposited in a hard plastic chair with what looked like a small traffic cone in the center of the seat. Talk about pain. I pulled up on the rope and begged, and screamed and yelled for help and mercy. Through a window I could see two of the doctors and the chief nurse (they didn't always sit in the same place, but they were on that floor). I was left like that, in pain, naked and tied up for five hours-yes-five hours.
The next morning I was called into a meeting with an administrator, the chief nurse and one of the five doctors. The administrator opened with "I understand that this patient was intentionally injured yesterday."
The chief nurse objected "That's a huge lie!!"
The administrator produced a picture, and sure enough, there was an inch and a half long tear in my skin next to my rectum (someone must have taken the picture while I slept). The chief nurse looked away and the doctor said nothing. The injury was quickly stitched up and the race was on to get me out of the VA hospital. The next afternoon I was transferred to a rehabilitation center.
The center was okay, but I had not eaten since the surgery and it didn't help that the chef was from Hawaii. The food was always spicy and just the smell of it made me very nauseous. Finally, after two weeks, my appetite returned. It was also about that time that I tried to leave the center. At that point I had a whole medical team, including a physical therapist. I was dressed by the team and wheeled to the entrance. A cab was called (I only lived 1.5 miles from the center). When the cab arrived, my physical therapist said "I will only sign off if you can get in the cab. Raise your leg and let's see what happens." I raised my leg and for only the second time in my life, I fainted. So, eight weeks later I had gotten to the point that I could get in and out of bed by myself, could walk with a walker and I got around in the center, using a wheelchair to go to the dining room or dayroom. It was also time, I decided, to leave.
I got breakfast at 7:30. The nurse's aide then gave me a bath and once she left, I dressed and packed to leave. When they saw me fully dressed and with my backpack (at the nurse's station, they asked) "Where are you going?"
Matter of factly I said "I'm going home. I came here with one goal-to walk again, and I can now do that" (actually, I was using a walker given to me at the VA). They tried to get me to stay, telling me I had papers to sign (which never showed up), but after 90 minutes I said "Enough is enough", wheeled myself to the entrance and called an Uber.
I've been home three weeks. I grow stronger day by day, but it is an inch by inch process. For instance, last week I did laundry (there is a washer/dryer in my house) and the next day, I spent the entire day in bed (I had overdone it). Every day I set one major goal (like doing the laundry) and most days I meet that goal.