When I was intubated, I had the same quote a nasogastric tube, stomach I have to keep working, the doctors said, and anyway I was not able to swallow anything in my state, let alone with an endotracheal tube in the mouth .
One can imagine the situation: intubated with nasogastric tube, sensors for pressure, pulse, breathing rate and blood saturation attack on chest, the frequency index finger, and IV needles in both arms, urinary catheters and diapers. I could not be said to be happy in those days.
wondering why they put down at night, alone I would never be able to sleep. So every night around 2330-2400, a good bolus of Diprivan happy to send me that longed darkness.
not always. Sometimes Diprivan was not enough. I was so frustrated at losing control of my body that I was afraid of losing even one in my own mind, and my anxiety made me fight the effects of the tranquilizer. Doctors and nurses were often astonished to see me still awake after that dose, I have confirmed, is used in open-heart surgery. From there to earn the nickname of toxic, the step was short. Sometimes I had to add morphine to Diprivan and then left for a pleasant trip and absurd. I remember the explosion of colors, red and ocher, above all, that made me think of being inside a painting by Gauguin. In the background, but far, far away, the noises of the hospital.
the morning, my day always started with the cleaning lady: one of those people who always knows everything about everyone, which makes it useful in department also responding to phone and intercom, that unsolicited advice, and express medical opinions of dubious nature. All this clearly using an equal volume of voice, in decibels, with a lorry on a country road. If, sometimes, not the spirit to enter the ward for the start of his turn, to 0600, because we have made, I was still in the arms of Morpheus, I was catapulted into the world of the living by his brush, which you, in the noble intention of clean my room, banging against the metal frame of my bed over and over again. It was not just noise. There was also that the nausea, in more than one occasion, I remember I tried to swing to his beat on my bed which had wheels, even if it slowed down, causing.
he did not intentionally, of course, I was to be totally intolerant. At the shift change
0700, dismantled the doctors and nurses on the night shift and those attacking the morning. The smell of coffee and croissants that someone never did fail at that time of day and I teased my nostrils infinitely saddened not being able to taste. Then began
hygiene. I detached the diapers, I washed (ah cool what a pleasure that water flowing between my legs!), I put a clean diaper and I changed the sheets. To accomplish this, I turned first on one side then the other moving away from each side to change the sheets and putting clean ones. Not being able to work much to any of these operations, nurses anchored me to the bed, his arms around the side bars, so as not to fall backwards as they change underwear. All with the fear of losing the tube but, fortunately, remained firmly anchored in my trachea and I followed every movement. The hours passed
always too slow in my room all glass, which gave the room in which were placed 10 more beds with many patients. I remember that the air conditioning was often so strong for the size of the room that I needed a blanket to avoid freezing to death. The air came from a nozzle positioned exactly above my head and often thought that if I ever recovered from Guillain Barre Syndrome, I suffered from chronic trigeminal neuralgia for the rest of my life.
addition to thinking about permanent damage caused by the air conditioning, my daily activities was also to assess the consequences of prolonged intake of tranquilizers (I was convinced I would soon be recovered addict) in the count and count the ceiling tiles, listen to the conversations and discussions between nurses, doctors and, above all, follow with trepidation every resuscitation attempt of some hapless, mostly old people and terminally ill, which often, unfortunately, ended in the demise of the patient. The excitement, the and then just silence the cries of relatives.
At 1500, finally came the time of the visits.
all day just waiting to see my parents, my brother, my partner and my friends, but time was not enough. My mood was not, as you can imagine, really happy, so my father had asked everyone to come and visit me as often as they could, trying to pull up my morale.
Among the various drugs, I was convinced I would soon cause dependence, there were also anti-depressants and sedatives, which had the effect to reduce me to an almost lethargic: I could hardly keep my eyes open. Just imagine how I could appreciate all this coming and going of the people (in the Departments of Intensive Care, to minimize the risk of infection, you will enter one at a time wearing sterile gowns and shoe covers): in fact, what I wanted most was that one half 'now go as fast as possible, to get back to sleep. So, to summarize, before I was looking forward to the 1500 to see friends and relatives, after they left I just wanted them all.
During this time the paralysis had become total, the only movement that I was given was that the index of the right hand, with which I called the nurses lifting, or hit it against the bars of the bed side, in hope that some of them to see me or hear me. I also discovered that one can use part of my body still moved to draw the letters of the words on the palms of the hands of doctors and nurses communicate well and what I need. Often, just writing "head straight", which meant that I needed that my head was put back in line with the neck, because maybe you had slipped on one side and by itself could not move it.
My partner is aware of my index finger, had devised a system more miraculous for me to communicate. He bought a sewing thimble stuck in a tiny piece of pencil, I brought a notepad, and support the wrist allowed me to write in true sense of the word.
From that moment all my communication was by means of the pencils on the thimble.
Tengo still kept all the notes I wrote from my hospital room. The calligraphy uncertain, some words unreadable and a great desire to talk and most importantly, to return to normal.
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