Extended Slumber
Party in Antepartum 203: My Love/Hate
Relationship with the Hospital and Partial Guide to Ruling Your Idle Time Like
a Boss
I have a confession to make.
Bear with me. This is hard,
sharing such a startling revelation with my gigantic reading public, but I HATE
HOSPITALS. Here’s a brief, thumbnail
sketch of reasons why:
1. They smell
bad. 2.
They smell weird. 3. There are rubber gloves everywhere that look
like cow nipples. 5. They smell like big business. 4. I
can feel the germs breeding. 6. The food sucks. 7. If
what happened in hospitals was working why are there still sick people? 8.
Fluorescent lights. 9. Nondescript directions and labyrinthine hallways
that lead to nowhere. 10. Dr. Cox, J.D. and Turk are nowhere to be
found which means Scrubs was a lie
and completely crushes everything I hold dear and true. 11.
Parking garages. 12. Doors that are open during certain times of
the day but closed during other times of the day, specifically times of the day
when you’re carrying a ton of groceries upstairs to labor and delivery where
your wife is and it’s the shortest, most direct route and instead you have to
go round-about through four other wings with all of the groceries. 13.
John Wayne toilet paper.
Don’t
get me wrong, hospitals aren’t all that bad.
I’ve been living in one for a few days since Stef is going to be here
until baby Olive is born. For those of
you who don’t know, Stef ruptured prematurely, has been on bedrest and now that
we’ve what medical science considers a “viable gestation period” she has been
admitted into the hospital to be closely monitored until our daughter is
born. I guess since I’m getting
accustomed to the environment all of my anti-hospital defense mechanisms are
quickly faltering. But maybe my reasons
for being here have softened me a little bit.
I’m being forced to step into the shoes of many others. I don’t have to like hospitals, but I don’t
have to make them my mortal enemy either. All in all, I guess what I’m getting down to
is how perspective colors experience.
In reference to my last article, a year ago if you would’ve
told me that I would be spending my Christmas in the hospital, I would’ve told
you that would not happen and it was a terrible idea. Well, I stuck it out. We had visitors. It’s fun spending time with my wife even
though she can’t get out of bed, and my daughter even those she’s still in-utero. What has hit me like a ton of bricks is that
I've spent my Christmas here (along with all of my other days off from teaching)
and I’ve barely noticed it. What
gives? I need something to get
cantankerous and riled up about! At
first I had a momentary breakdown, because I thought I was finally turning into
an old man, but then I remembered that my old man died (Gal. 5:22, haha church
pun), but really it’s just my perspective is changing and thus erasing a latent
fear that had been lurking beneath my caustic outrage towards all things
related to hospitals and modern “health care” in general.
I was angry at hospitals because I was afraid. I was afraid at some level that I was sick or
would become sick or my health would mysteriously fail which somehow is linked
to my experience of medicine as a child.
I never spent time in the hospital as a child. But I had a family doctor. I was on an HMO. I had what seemed an unusual amount of childhood
illnesses. Every time I went in it
seemed, I felt so horrible I thought I was going to die and then on top of all
of that, they would try to poke me with something or give me a perscription of
something disgusting to take for several days or weeks after my visit. Point being, hospitals, doctors, health care in
general for me has always been linked to something negative, painful and inconvenient.
Not to mention, I’ve had a couple of bad diagnoses. One was a broken foot (stress fracture) that
three different doctors and another specialist all ruled as tendonitis. I spent three months walking on a broken
foot. Of course the break got worse
(actually bad enough for the doctors to see it) and I had to spend six months
off my feet. Another time I was
misdiagnosed for the flu when I had mono.
I was given a type of medication that caused me to break out into a rash
and also caused some of my capillaries to burst. Needless to say, after a day of bad reaction
to the meds, I stopped taking them.
Eventually they did some bloodwork and found out I had mono. Problem being, the type of meds I was given
initially actually could’ve been fatal if I would have taken them any longer (I
would’ve been at risk for a blood vessel bursting in my brain aka aneurism.)
I’m not trying to place blame on doctor’s or anything, but
just give you a little background into the root of my fears and growing
realization. Anyways, after that last
misdiagnosis, I made a decision to take my health more authoritatively into my
own hands. I did a lot of research. There was a lot of trial and error. I changed my diet, how I exercised, I stopped
taking any OTC meds, and I stopped going to the doctor. It’s been 6 years, and I’ve had no type of
illness other than a minor cold and a 24-hour stomach bug. I could detail my journey and I’m still
learning, but bottom line, our bodies are designed to heal themselves if we
allow them to. Unfortunately most modern
medical practices treat only symptoms or aim at getting "better" symptoms
and very rarely treat the root of most health conditions or point patients
towards their bodies’ ability to heal.
Anywho, I’m over it.
And I’ve been kicking it in the hospital, my former arch-nemesis, with
my healthy wife and my healthy daughter and really the whole ordeal is quite
bizarre. My wife is healthy, my daughter
is healthy (there are some complications, but no illnesses or threats of
illness) and I’m healthy. Here we are,
three healthy people in a hospital. Despite
the little pullout couch I sleep on and our tiny fridge, I’m having a good
time. There’s always plenty of people to
people watch. And I have a ton of free
time.
I’ve been lamenting for 6 months about how I have so many
creative projects I need to wrap up but I don’t have the time. I’ve also been complaining about how I never
have time to read anymore. Well here I
am, stuck in a hospital in the middle of a city new people are moving to
everyday. Although the circumstances in
one sense are less than desirable (certainly I wish the complications with the
birth weren’t there), I’m still in the lead.
Advantage Matthew. Old irrational
fears: 0.
So far, after 6 days in the brig and I’ve read 3 books. I’ve progressed to the last chapter of the
novel I’ve been writing. I’ve gotten
a month’s worth of lessons done for my upcoming classes. And...I’ve been working out/running like a
fiend. What should be a stressful and
draining set of days has actually felt more like a vacation.
So to all my millions of readers out there, I want to encourage
you in your perspective and the power it carries. Your perspective colors your days and breathes
life into whatever you attach it to. May
you live, love, learn, life and have your eyes constantly transformed to see
the world and your dreams much bigger than you can conceive.
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