15,885. POST-OPS FIVE

POST OPS FIVE

That second night was the last I saw of Dave. I wished him well. John came over to me and said  'Hey, Buddy. We're getting you out of here today. I'm going to be transporting you later on, up to your private

suite on Cardiac, Room 210. Eight floor. They're cleaning for you now.' That was cool.  Two things transpired on that ICU cardiac floor that  -  first  -  need to be reported.  One was unfortunate  -  an old guy, probably early 80's in age, came in from Post Op. He got bedded into place, and situated. Hi wife also came after him. Maybe 20 or 30 minutes passed and there was sudden flurry of activity, Code This Code That! A little group of medic team Cardiac came in. The wife starting wailing!! The old guy had gone into Stroke mode, and all bets were off and all conditions were troubled. I was not witness, nor privy, to anything what went on. In a little bit, what I figure, to be his son and daughter-in-law, and a little kid, came in, and the whole group went back out, with the medic teams and the guy's bed (with him in it). That was a tough one; I was gone and never got to the conclusion of what happened.  The last thing, for whatever reason, (and I won't dwell) took place alongside me and I merely watched from a distance. As I'd mentioned, Dave, and John, each had their army days behind them, and spoke reluctantly of that, keeping it away from their present pursuits.  There was another fellow there, also a monitor-screen watcher-nurse. I'd not seen him before, but after the stroke episode he stayed, also within my eye-range, at the monitor table next to John. He had all the swagger and military-high-toned ego which the other two guys lacked. All he ever talked of were his pursuits. Battles. Firefights, etc. I know nothing about any of that stuff, and I'm not exactly sure we even have troops in Afghanistan any more, but it all seems to have supplanted the Vietnam-era guys' preoccupations of old. I could see this all bothered John a bit, but he kept his cool  -  the most annoying thing was that, on staff and in the room  -  there was also a female nurse. She was totally enamored of this fellow, and his stories, and goaded him on, in rapt attention for more. He fed off it too. It annoyed me too, but only for the wearisome stupidity of having to witness the quaint and pathetic adulation that women give to men in uniform, and why  -  even in these late days of a supposedly equal society (even more not than just 'equal! A person can chose-  'select' - to be whatever IT chooses). This female here in question, I found to be a complete, broken-down, hulk of a representative of womanhood. She should have thrown that bragger out the window, rather than kissing his ass.

     In due time it was time for me to leave that immediate post-op cardiac section. My wife and my sister were allowed to accompany me. My friend had left already, wanting to drove home (200 miles), before darkness really set in; hoping against his usual night-blindness. John came and gathered up my things, tubes, hook-ups, connections, etc. It involved a few corridors, elevator connections, and a trip up to Eight. The elevator door opened onto an expansive nurse-station and command-center. I met the nurse manager-supervisor, who quickly took over. John and I said our goodbyes; to me, with some, sadness. I had really liked the guy. The new nurse's name, she told us as we entered my new room, was Rachelle. It was written on the board as Rachelle, yes, but people were calling her Rochelle. I asked about that   -  she said that was her 'Other' name for when she entered her stern and managerial mode  -  people called her Rochelle  -  from some Seinfeld character or movie-hooker or something. She was funny, good-natured, and remained busy. I saw both sides of her over 5 days, but it mostly concerned nurses cursing, when she'd holler out 'Hey! I heard that.' She and I, once I got settled in, went over my meds, and worked up a routine, got on swimmingly and I liked her. (She's in that photo of me being wheeled out of the hospital. That's Rachelle/Rochelle pushing the wheelchair).

     I loved my new room immediately. Besides the fact that I'd be alone  -  not needing to share the ward/room with any other with person  -  it was expansive, and nice  -  in all respects. The floor to ceiling one-large window, from eight floors up, afforded me a great view out, facing east. I could see Steamtown, and its little-jaunt trains, puffing smoke for their large stacks. Nay Aug Park and its fine neighborhoods was quite nearby too. In ways I've mentioned, it was all a bit hallucinatory as well; decompressing yet from the operation and anesthetics, space and distance and depth, from some reason up here more than anywhere else, were playing tricks with me with me. I had trouble determining depth and distance. Three-dimensional illusions continued to catch my eyes  -  things would seem out of place, or fit, and they wouldn't appear to fit where they should, yet would fit in elsewhere quite nicely....and then I'd see it was all an illusion. Everything was as if it had all been boxed up in orderly fashion, and then maybe the box had fallen and everything a askew, or a'jumble.