Hey, it's time for my once-a-year blog post!
In the last two months, I have overseen the care of a hospital patient on two separate occasions at two different hospitals for two different sets of symptoms.
I know I have the Temporary Vagrancy post, but I haven't fully documented the extent to which I have been a Hospital Chaperone over the course of my adult life. To be clear: the patient and I are incredibly lucky in that (1) none of their ailments have been terminal, (2) we have sufficient resources - including insurance YAY MERICA - to seek adequate and comprehensive treatment and (3) I remain, by and large, healthy enough to act as caretaker.
Having said that, this most recent stay included some commentary by the charge nurse on the length of my patient's medical history. Several unwelcome growths and one organ out, a few pieces of medical equipment in, and lots and lots of repairs. It is difficult for the patient because it often puts them in a vulnerable, dependent state that can foster boredom and depression, and it is difficult for me because it puts me in a limbo between the monotony of everyday care tasks and the low-level background hum of hypervigilance because every cough, wound or fever could mean another ER trip. We're better at coping that we used to be, worse that we will be someday. Such is life.
As a result, I have cultivated a series of habits around hospital stays. Whether the trip is anticipated (as the penultimate one was) or a surprise (as the most recent one was, Merry Christmas!), the same practices proved vital in keeping a level head and being able to provide care to my patient.
1. Feel your feelings. This sucks. Even if it's something you wanted and planned, it's hard to be somebody's chaperone in a hospital. On this last occasion, as it became clear my patient was going to need to go to the ER, I said aloud to God in my kitchen at 6:30AM, "Why are you doing this to us?"
2. Phone, charger, and something to read. Self-explanatory.
3. Small blanket. Hospital spaces are small and uncomfortable for people who aren't the patient.
4. Dress in layers.
5. Accept The Help (When It's Actually Helpful). This one's going to take some unpacking:
a. If you're like us and blessed to have family and friends who are genuinely available and want to help, you can give them something to do. Let your dad bring you Wendy's even if you don't mind going to the hospital cafeteria. Let your pastor cut your grass. Let your mother-in-law bring her homemade chicken and dumplings. If somebody wants to say that this makes you a burden or weak or whatever, please point them to this blog post and to me personally and they can take it up with me. You have enough to worry about.
b. If your patient is conscious, set an appropriate expectation with them of when you are and are not going to be at their bedside. Condition Two Is Not Optional - Get Out Of There Once A Day. You can't pour from an empty pitcher and there are paid professionals there to care for your patient. Obviously this will vary based on age, capabilities, procedure being done, etc. In Temporary Vagrancy, I slept in waiting rooms because that procedure was pretty massive and my patient was in ICU. Once my patient was out of ICU, I alternated with family members and spent some nights at home. This last time, once my patient was moved to a nice quiet room which was definitely *not* furnished for a second person to sleep there, my patient and I agreed very quickly that I would stay until evening and then spend the night at home. I was much more useful to my patient and their medical team well-rested and in good spirits than exhausted, drawn and stressed out.
c. The only people you are obligated to make comfortable are your patient and yourself. If you want people to sit with and talk to you, send texts and bring in that cavalry. If you want to be left alone, it's ok to say so. Hospitals are public places, so it might be that someone insists on being in the waiting room that you don't want, but doesn't warrant getting security involved - this is a good time for headphones and/or a book. Treat it like public transit. And of course, if at any time you feel that you or your patient are not safe as a result of someone else's presence, alert the hospital staff immediately.
6. Treat yourself. If you have a planned hospital trip, you'll want to do this the night before or morning of. For those unplanned trips, do this during your first appointed away-from-bedside time. I like to exfoliate using only the finest sandpaper scrubs CVS has to offer, shower and put on extra moisturizer because hospitals are super dry. I walk out of that process feeling like a whole new person, ready to sign all the forms and fetch all the jellos. For you, this might look like exercise, a manicure, or sitting in the corner of a Starbucks dissociating. You are not selfish for investing time and effort into your own well-being, particularly when your charge is being looked after by people with nursing and medical degrees 24/7. This is the most qualified set of babysitters you'll have; use them.
Maybe all of this is simple stuff that everyone else figured out long before I did. Maybe this actually means that I am a selfish dirtbag millenial with no compassion. Maybe these aren't really lifehacks at all and I've just grown so used to my patient being in the hospital that I've become able to maintain normalcy despite it. But these things help me. Maybe they can help somebody else.
