Last evening about 9 pm
concerned nurses called the rehab doctors, who informed them that Kirt had been
seen about 3 pm and antibiotics were ordered; get them started. I won’t bother
to rag about lack of communication or that I was in the day room making a phone
call for five minutes when they buzzed in and out. By this time Kirt had a low
grade temperature and much more pain. This shift of nurses did a fine job of
getting him settled down for what promised to be a better night.
About 2 am Mother Nature
called. Kirt transferred from the bed to the wheel chair with a fair amount of
skill. The physical therapy paid off already, well, not too much. He got stuck
in the bathroom, so I had to call in the night nurses. When he yelled, “I’m
getting out of here tomorrow,” I wanted to cry. Once back in bed he writhed in
pain holding his leg above the amputation. One of the nurses told him to stop
squeezing his leg, that he was making it all red.
Where the hell do you go
with a stupid comment like that? She kept insisting that he was responsible for
the inflammation in the stump below the knee. I should tell him to stop doing
that. Sometimes there’s no point in arguing, so I told her I’d get on that right
away.
Just a little sleep and
we’d feel better, but that wasn’t to be Kirt ripped his IV out when he dozed
off. There was blood all over the sheets, in his hair. He needed a bath and
linen change.
With all of the pain and
negative experiences it’s easy to over look the really great nurses and care
that he is getting. I don’t want to do that because some of Kirt’s nurses have
been tremendous; Ada, the kind and gentle, Felix the great, Eileen, the love
have tended to him, when he was at the end of his rope. My darling’s recovery
will be in no small part due to these wonderful and gracious nurses.
When he recovers all the
difficulties forgotten, we’ll remember this time more kindly.
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