Life With Cancer - Chapters 6-7

Chapter Six - When Things Go Wrong

         To start off this part of the book, I will have to mention a friend of mine because he was there for the whole ordeal from beginning to end. He is a friend that I had been talking to for at least three years at that time online. He lived in St. Louis, Missouri and his name is Charles. We met in a role playing chat room, and we became fast friends, and for a time we dated online. When mom had told him the news back in August 2001, he had made the decision that he wanted to come and visit with me in case things went for the worst and we never got the chance to meet. Mom had left the decision up to me on whether he could come up or not, and I had said yes, obviously. He was supposed to come for two weeks in September, and I had been working so hard to make sure that I wouldn’t be in the hospital at that time. But, seeing that doctor’s and protocol seemed not to give a shit about what I might have planned and all that I had to be in the hospital the day he arrived, and it was due to 9/11 he was kept at the Canadian/US border because he was darker skinned and therefore missed his bus to Winnepeg. I had no idea that the Twin Towers had been hit, because I was in the hospital after all, and I didn’t have TV, due to how expensive it was. Also when your in the hospital, the world events happen and you are completely clueless to them with everything happening around you. Mom had phoned that morning when the first plane had hit, and she was watching the news. We were on the phone that morning, and this is pretty much the conversation we had:

         “Oh my god! Another plane just crashed into the World Trade Center!” She was practically screaming into the phone, my brother was in the background shouting at what they were watching on tv.

         “What? What are you talking about?” I’m totally lost, cause again no TV, no newspaper (yet).

         “The World Trade Center in New York City, just got hit by two planes! Oh my god! They’re collapsing! All those people.” Her voice was full of shock, awe and despair and I just had this really bad feeling that something terrible was happening. At that moment, the guy who delivered newspapers came into my room and asked quietly if I wanted a paper. I nodded, seeing the front page picture of the Twin Towers with huge plumes of black smoke coming out of them. I knew then that terrible was just putting mildly what was happening in the US. “They’re closing airports and the border.”

         “But, Charles is supposed to be crossing the border today.” I said, I almost went into a panic, they may have made him turn around and go home.

         “Well, maybe he made it across before they closed it. I’m sure we’ll hear something if he didn’t make it across.” She was trying to make me feel better. Then she hung up, wanting to get ready and head into the hospital.

         As it was, because Charles had darker skin they had held him at the border and questioned him when he explained that he was being expected in a couple of days (it was a three day bus trip to Edmonton). As it was mom and dad had gotten a phone call later on asking if they knew him and if they were expecting him. When they said yes, they put him on the next bus to Winnipeg and eventually he made his way to Edmonton. As it was because of them holding him at the border, he had missed the bus that would have taken him to Winnipeg and then straight to Edmonton so he ended up on a bus that went from Winnipeg to Calgary than Edmonton, extending his trip. He had no idea the World Trade Center had been hit because he had been on the bus at that time, and confused as to why he had been stopped at the border. So he ended up in Edmonton late at night, and dad went and picked him up alone from the bus station.

         The day I met him, I had just finished a round of chemo (like I said, protocol doesn’t give a crap that I was expecting a visitor and that I wanted to be somewhat coherent when he showed up), and I was really struggling that day. I remember I had been really tired and just wanted to sleep that day, and I was really nauseous, so they were loading me up on IV Gravol.  Now, Gravol through IV, really knocks you out just like Bendryl through IV. So when Mom and Charles walked into my room I was really out of it. I remember mom waking me up, standing at the end of my bed. I also remember mom saying “Rose? Wake up, Charles is here.” and I remember groaning, slightly opening my eyes looking at them, turning over telling them to go away and closing my eyes again. Totally not how I wanted to greet him, let me tell you! I think mom woke me up again and asked if I wanted them to go so I could have a nap, and then they left the room to come back later. A little while later, when I was awake and coherent, the Gravol somewhat worn off, they came back and I met Charles properly. I was a little embarrassed when I remembered how I had first greeted him, but he was understanding and forgave me, thankfully. Cause I felt like a total bitch for doing that.

         We had a great visit, we got to know each other, and then the one thing that nobody expected happened, and I was never so glad that he had been there until that time:

         It was just before supper arrived and I remember I was sitting on the bed, he was spending another night over in the hospital with me. I think during the whole visit he had gone back to my parents once or twice to sleep, and a couple times to shower than came back. Other than that he spent most of the visit in the hospital with me. As it was I was stuck in the hospital, having come down with a fever that wouldn’t break, and they couldn’t figure out where it had come from or why it was clinging. Now, this one night, we had been able to get our hands on the TV and VCR. Charles had brought his PS2 with him and some of his games, so he had hooked it up, and he was either playing a game or we were watching one of his anime shows that he had wanted to show me. But, he was sitting on the end of the bed, and I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed working on a dragon cross-stitch that I was having a hard time with. Mom was at the hospital with us, and she had gone down to get something for herself and I think Charles too, so we were alone in the room.

         We were talking, and I had to go to the bathroom, so I put down my cross-stitch and went to get off the bed, but I couldn’t get my right leg to move at all. It was dead to the world, I moved my left leg thinking if I can move one than I can scooch to the edge of the bed. Still couldn’t get my right leg to move, even after physically thinking at it, demanding it with my mind to move, and saying out loud “Move!” and it still didn’t do anything. So thinking it was asleep and numb I physically moved it with my hands thinking if I stood up and shook it, I would be fine. Well once I got myself to the edge of the bed, I think I had said something about my leg not working, and I was finding that I was having a hard time talking, I couldn’t get my words out. So, Charles had come and sat by my side, I remember grabbing onto my IV pole to help myself stand up, and when I stood and put weight on my right leg, I dropped to the floor, dead weight. The only things that stopped me from hitting the floor was Charles and my IV pole that I was still clinging to. He helped me back onto the bed, and I started freaking out. He pushed the emergency buzzer and the nurse came in. When I explained what was happening, she went and got the resident intern that was on duty at that time. It was the intern that had been doing my lumber punctures, and I really liked her because she was very understanding, very gentle (as you can be putting a needle in somebody’s back), and I really respected her. She started an examination with me sitting on the end of the bed, scared out of my mind. She noticed my speech right away, because I was having a really hard time trying to tell her what was happening, and I was getting really frustrated because I never had such a hard time getting out what was on my mind. At some point after Dr. Julie had come into the room, mom showed up,  and she was wondering what was going on.

         It’s hard to explain what it’s like not being able to talk, when you know you should be able to. It’s like a barrier goes up somewhere inside blocking that little pathway your words travel down between your brain and your mouth. The words get to the tip of your tongue and that’s where they stay. It’s one of the most frustrating things out there. I was basically reduced to one or two word sentences and a lot of head shaking and nodding.

         “Are you finding you’re having a hard time talking?” I remember Dr. Julie asking and I nodded.

         “Have you had any CT scans or MRI’s done since you were diagnosed?” She had almost sounded suspicious to me.

         “No.” I answered, and mom confirmed it when Dr. Julie looked at her.

         “That’s it we’re getting them done now! In the meantime, while we wait try and eat something.” And she was gone to go and book the emergency CT and MRI scans.

         I remember I still had a little control over my right hand and arm, though I was having a really hard time getting food to my mouth, I remember it taking a really long time, and it was soup of some kind. I also remember I was having a hard time sitting up, because I had no control over my right side, so I kept leaning to my right and almost falling over, and I believe that Charles sat close to me so that if I started leaning he would be propping me up so I could eat and I wouldn’t fall. I’m not sure if it was during supper or after but I remember the gurney coming and I was wheeled out of my room, with Charles and mom trailing behind, because at this point I didn’t want to be alone at all, and mom and Charles wouldn’t have taken too kindly to being left behind either.

         I remember after the CT and MRI, I was told that everything looked fine, everything was normal. No tumors, no spots, nothing, everything was as it should be. So Dr. Julie was really scratching her head. I also remember that night, I slowly lost control of my right hand and arm and my speech got worse, but I was still able to talk brokenly. I also remember a komode being put beside my bed so that I could, with help get up and go to the bathroom without having to walk all the way to the bathroom with a “bad” leg. Or medically put – Weak Leg.

         Now I know, I had help three times to the bathroom over the course of the night, each time it was harder for the nurses and mom to get me out of bed and to the komode that was barely two steps away let alone get me to sit on it. As I was stiffening up, my muscles were clenching on my right side and with no control I couldn’t do a damned thing about it. I remember the last time, Jen the head nurse for night shift, two other nurses and mom were trying to get me to sit, and I couldn’t. I remember them telling me to relax and I kept saying “I am relaxed!” When all was said and done, I never touched the seat I was stuck in a half bent, half standing position, with me kind of holding onto the bed and the komode and when they wrestled me to bed, Jen made the decision that I was to be bedridden. It was just too dangerous to keep up the charade that I could get in and out of bed. She said it was for my own saftey, along with my mom and the nurses. I agreed with her fully, and I was put in diapers. Yep, 18 and in diapers, could things get any worse? I was so mortified at the thought, but Jen and Dawn another nurse who was really sweet, said it was easier for them and me and it wasn’t permanent.

         Mom at some point in all this, had phoned Dad because I told her to, because I didn’t know what was going to happen next, if this was the end, if this was my body giving up on me and shutting down. I thought I saw death heading my way seriously. So she phoned him at work, and his boss at that time told him to park the truck and go and take as much time as he needed, just keep him up to date on everything.

         The next day, I was still unable to move my right side, though I could feel everything they did to me. Now the first wave of doctors of several started circulating through my room, poking and proding at me, checking my reflexes, comparing my “dead” leg to my “good” leg. Same thing with my arms. I’m really surprised I didn’t bruise with all the tapping. I remember doctors, specialist and technicians from all different branches of the hospital coming in and asking questions – many the same, and I remember most, if not all would take the same course when it came to seeing if I still had feeling. They would all take a tongue compresser break it in half so that there’s a point, or the end of a pen or something pointy and slightly sharp, (keep in mind I have very ticklish and sensitive feet), and they would run that pointed object along the bottom of my feet from heel to toes anywhere from three to five times. One doctor learned really fast that doing that to my left foot, which was attached to a leg that still had mobility he almost got a foot in the face. Every time he came and did it, he stayed out of striking distance. I remember apologizing and reminding him that I had kind of warned him, as best I could with my speech impairment. Then he would do it to my right foot, while I would be hoping that would move cause when it comes to tickling my feet I uncontrollably kick. My leg and foot stayed motionless, while I shout out at the feeling. Despite my shout the doctored asked anyway.

         “Did you feel that?”

         Uh, Duh!!!

         Like many times, I have the doctor’s scratching their heads, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. As it was all the doctor’s, specialists, technicians, etc that ran that pen or half a tongue compresser up my “bad” foot, they are totally baffled that I can feel it, but not be able to move. The intern that took over monitoring me, was doing everything in his power to figure out what was going on. I wish I could remember what his name was, but it’s escaping me. Meanwhile, Dr. Larratt had been notified but she wasn’t on rotation.

         **Quick note: The way the hospital ran, was there are four hemotologists in the UofA Hospital. Dr. Turner, Dr. Ritchie, Dr. Mant and Dr. Larratt. Dr. Larratt being the director and head of  hemotology. Because there are four of them and I know Dr. Larratt and Dr. Richie for sure and possibly Dr. Turner, they all have patients at the Cross Cancer Institute a block away. So they all take turns doing rotations at the UofA for a month or every three months I believe it is.

         From the beginning to the end of my stroke, I never saw one hemotologist. I dealt with nurses and interns. Because University of Alberta Hospital is a University with a lot of student nurses and doctors, my room became a classroom. I had groups of students come in and look me over and study me and stare at me. Of course, they asked if they could come in, and as my stroke went on I couldn’t really answer anymore, so they just came in. I felt like a show piece, and study object. I didn’t feel human anymore. Though, I was hoping that maybe some of those students if they went into hemotology or dealt with cancer patients they would keep my case in mind in case it happened to somebody else, that way they knew what to do. Because as it was, everybody was flying by the seat of their pants trying to figure out what was happening to me.

         I remember that first day, when the intern was trying his best to explain that he didn’t know what was going on without sending my parents into a panic. It was either mom or dad who asked. “Is she going to come out of this?”

         The intern had this look like why did you have to ask that question? and shook his head and quietly said “I don’t know.” For one, my heart sank, I didn’t want to stay bedridden for the rest of my life! I didn’t want to lose my ability to walk, move, talk. My world was crumbling even more. My life went from ruins to a pile of rubble in seconds.

         They tested me for everything from bacterial infection, to a possible virus of some sort. They thought maybe it had been a Lumber Puncture gone wrong, but the last one that had happened three days before I lost movement in my right side had gone like clockwork. So they kind of ruled that out. They couldn’t find anything to explain away my lack of movement.

         I endured a week of this, with no sign of improvement.

Chapter Seven - From Bad to Worse

         When this whole thing had started, I was scared shitless. But what happened five days later I was totally unprepared for. Nobody was prepared for it, and it sent everybody into a state of chaos.

         I remember waking up to the phone ringing, and I’m absolutely exhausted because since this whole thing had started, every night, every hour or couple of hours, I would be shaken awake, a bring light shined into my eyes repeatedly and the doctor would be asking me the same series of questions over and over:

“What’s your name?”

“What’s your birthday?”

“Where are you?”

“What day is it?”

“What month is it?”

“What year is it?”

“What time of day is it?”

Now, we all knew I was going down hill because my answers started out with:

“Rose Anne Kievit”

“February 26, 1983?

“University of Alberta Hospital, 5F5, Room 18? (I can’t remember my room number it was almost 9 years ago)

“Tuesday” (Naturally, this changed as the days went by)

“September”

“2001?

“Night/early morning/past midnight” (depending on how long it had been going on in the night).

Then my answers slowly turned into:

“Rose”

“Feb 26?

“Hospital”

         And then the usual one word answers for the last three. Though, the day of the week I got messed up on because for me the days started melding into each other and I kept getting confused and therefore I was always a day behind or ahead. The last question the answer just turned into “Night”.

         With a lot of struggle as my speech just kept getting worse, and it was harder to get words out. And it got to the point where they just stopped asking the questions period.

         Anyway, I wake up because as I said I was absolutely exhausted from another night of questions. I go to reach for the phone with my left hand and find that I can’t move at all. I start panicking! I tried to call Charles’ name and all I got out was groans and noises. It was like waking up in hell. I think I eventually got Charles' name out and he had been sleeping on the floor beside my bed, absolutely exhausted himself. He had refused to go to mom and dad’s to shower and sleep, and I was in no shape to argue with him. He woke up and answered the phone, and I remember being able to get three words out. “I can’t move!” I was panicking and repeating them over and over because they were the only words I could get out.

         “Yeah she’s awake,” Charles said, and held the phone to my ear because I couldn’t take it. “It’s your mom.” I was crying and screaming so when Charles held the phone to my ear, mom got an ear load of “I CAN’T MOVE, I CAN’T MOVE, I CAN’T MOVE!!” I just kept repeating it.

         “Rose calm down, give the phone back to Charles I want to talk to him, call the nurse. I’ll be there as soon as I can and Charles will be beside you the whole time.” Well while I had been screaming at mom, of course my screaming and Charles had pushed the emergency buzzer that was beside my head, the nurses had come running. Meanwhile, Charles was telling mom “nurses just showed up, don’t worry I won’t leave her.” Nurses were demanding what was happening, and I couldn’t talk at all at this point so I couldn’t answer them, I couldn’t tell them what was happening, and all Charles could tell them was. “I don’t know, she just woke up and said she couldn’t move.”

         My left side had stopped working completely, my speech was completely gone. I still had all my feeling though, and I was fully alert as to everything that was happening around me. I had never felt so helpless in my life. No way to communicate, no way to move, all I had was that I was still breathing and my heart was still beating. I wished it had been a nightmare and that I would wake up. But it was real, and I knew that it was no nightmare, there would be no waking up at all.

         Next thing I knew, I was being transfered from my bed to a gurney, and I was being wheeled through the hospital. I went for another MRI, Charles tried to get into the room with me, but with the MRI machine there was no possible way, so I (with a lot of complications) reassured him that it would be fine, that I would be able to do this alone. That I would see him in a little while. Yeah, typing that phrase is easy, try saying it when nothing is working. He got the idea though, and sat outside the room while I had the scan done.

         Now, if you have ever been in an MRI machine, you know those things can make a person claustrophobic. I was never claustrophobic in my life, I had gone through the first one a week before just fine, a little nervous because I had no idea what was going to happen. Second time around, going in unable to move, the nurses gives me a little rubber buzzer that reminded me of a turkey baster and says “If there are any problems just squeeze this bell and we will stop.” Yeah, can’t move here! Squeezing was not an option. So I forced out “can’t move hands” So she took it away, with a smile of sympathy, and put a set of headphones on me than clamped my head in place so that it didn’t move because after all they were doing an MRI on my brain, and you have to be very still for them so they could get the pictures they needed. “Well, then all you have to do is make a sound and we’ll stop. Now do you want us to put on some music for you? It’ll help drown out some of the noise.” Because MRI machines are very noisy with all the wacky little sounds they make when they take pictures. Oh yeah, I’m also deathly afraid of loud noises. So that made it even worse for me being in that tube, and there was no escape. So claustrophobia kicked in and I have been claustrophobic ever since.

         So halfway through the scan they turn on the mic system, ask how I’m doing, tell me how much more I had to endure. And all I could do was make little noises, because speech was not an option anymore, and my jaw was clenched so tight from my muscles tensing up so bad so that even if I could have talked I wouldn’t have been able to anyway.

         After the MRI, they took me for an echo on my heart. Cause apparently, (and I will have to check up on this) the cause of a stroke – low and behold they are now thinking I may have had a stroke – or one of the causes for a stroke is the heart lets go of an oxygen pocket and it goes to the brain. So they thought maybe that was what was happening, so they thought taking an echo of my heart would show some evidence of what was happening. Now this time, Charles refused to take no for an answer. Cause for an echo of the heart to happen they had to semi-sedate me and put a camera down my throat. I was panicking as it was, scared to death, he refused to leave me at that point. When the technicians that were going to do the echo finally agreed, (they realized they were fighting a losing battle when Charles refused to take no for an answer), they told him that the condition was he had to wear the full body lead apron to protect himself from the ultrasound machine for any radiation. Brian agreed to it and they suited him up, while they prepped me for the sedation. I was so grateful for the PICC line in my arm, though they had no idea how to use it. They had me on my side, with rolled up blankets at my back for support and Charles was sitting behind me as he held my hand through the whole thing.

         When they were through testing me they took me back up to my room and I was met with a crowd of people. Mom had phoned Dad and to support Dad because he has turned into a basket case by that point, she had phoned one of my aunt’s (his sister), who had in turn phoned the rest of the siblings – my other aunt and uncle. So I was surrounded by my dad’s family, all my aunts and uncles were there with all my cousins. A lot of empty promises were spoken in that room, cousin’s promising to come and visit and paint my nails… Ha that never happened! As it was that was the only time any of them except my uncle and my cousin Nancy came to visit. They all stayed away. Dad was surprised to see everybody there. My Oma and Opa didn’t come because Opa hated hospitals and he had come and paid me a visit back in August. I wasn’t mad at them. Actually, I was back in a daze and struggling with what was already on my plate to really care at that point. But I was touched to see them all there. And as it works with my family, it had to take my not moving to get them there.

         I had fallen into a semi-conscious state and was struggling to stay alert. I had stopped swallowing and started drooling (very embarrassing), they had attempted suction but my jaw would clamp down on the tube and they couldn’t get it out of my mouth. Pat who was constantly there ended up ripping it out of my mouth and hurt my teeth, so that option was stopped asap, and they just kept napkins under my chin to catch the drool, then mom wiped it away when it got bad. I couldn’t hold my head up anymore, my sides hurt from lack of food. Just because I had fluids with nutrients going into my blood to keep me from starving to death, doesn’t stop the hunger pains. I was jealous of every food and drink that came into my room, and mom ended up making a rule. No food or drinks allowed in my room period. There was a sign on my door signifying no food or drinks, so that the staff wouldn’t bring in meals or jugs of water for me. At this point I was so out of it that I didn’t really feel the hunger pains.

         I remember Charles and I were alone one day, and I was alert, and he had brought in some food and drinks for himself, and I was really upset with him. Mom had given me money for him to get himself some food. She had put it under my pillow. I remember being so upset with him, that when he went for the money I bit him. Seeing all I had was for movement was my head, I remember him being shocked that I bit him and upset because I wouldn’t give him the money. He told mom that I wouldn’t give him the money and she was upset to find out that he had brought food and drinks into the room despite her request. He got the money though, because I felt bad.

         I remember I had many visitors over those two weeks, from beginning to end. Though the visitors flowed in more after I lost movement in my left side, because of course, still having no answers to what was happening, the thought that this was still the end, that soon everything would start shutting down, of course I had more visitors than before. I remember being in my semi-conscious state when a friend from school showed up, he had visited me a few times, one of the few friends that would come visit me. I remember him showing up, and then telling mom and dad to go and eat that he would stay with me. So mom, dad and Charles went to eat, while he sat there and held my hand. I remember drifting off to sleep and waking up again to see him writing in a card he had given me, and a carebear stuffy he had also brought for me. I wasn’t allowed any flowers because of my low immune system so I received a lot of stuffies, balloons and cards. I know he talked to me when he realized I was awake, but like everything else in that week, I can’t remember any conversations, or I remember bits and pieces. I also remember my sister phoning me, she wasn’t able to visit me because she lived just outside Brooks, Alberta at that time, and was 4 hours away. Mom had obviously kept her updated about my progress, and she had wanted to talk to me. I don’t remember the conversation specifically that we had, besides the usual questions. “Hi Rosie how are you? How are things going?” I remember her asking me questions, because the only words I was able to say to her were: “Hi, No, Okay and Bye” I remember saying “Okay” a lot. I do remember her saying that as soon as her hubby could get time off they would be coming up to see me.

         Shortly after I lost all my mobility, I had a doctor come into my room, and he did the usual examination. Test the reflexes, test my sensation, listen to my heart, blood pressure, check the eyes, ask questions. Then he said to me, “Now, Rose, it seems that you are having a stroke that isn’t acting like a stroke. Usually, when a person has a stroke their left side goes first, but you did it backwards. We aren’t sure what’s happening to you, but we have come to the conclusion that you are having a stroke of sorts.” He said more, but I remember that phrase like it was said yesterday. So my stroke, came to be known as an “episode”.

         I learned the cons of not being able to communicate. When you lose all mobility, practically paralyzed. Though they said I wasn’t paralyzed because I still had feeling and sensations, that means that not everything is working the way it should, example, no bladder control. Yeps, I’m going to put this out there, as embarrassing as it is, but you know what? this was my life now, there was no more embarrassment. I’ve been there, done that, have the T-Shirt. It doesn’t bother me anymore, because it was a part of what I went through. Also, if I want to make an impact might as well spill it all right? I remember one night, with no bladder control, and a diaper can only hold so much. I was drenched from head to toe, and I mean I was absolutely soaked! I had been trying to communicate with my dad who had spent the night that night, (mom and I had finally convinced Brian to go home and have a good night sleep that night) and with nurses that kept coming in because I kept pressing the emergency button with my cheek that I needed to be changed. I was trying to tell them all what the problem was. I had given up after a while saying the sentence: “I need to be changed.” Cause obviously that was too complicated for me to say. I figured if I could get the word “Change” or “Diaper” out, they would get the hint. But not being able to say those words, all that would come out would be grunts and odd little noises, the responses I got was:

“What’s wrong Rose? Are you hot?”

“Are you thirsty? I’m sorry dear, you can’t have water.”

“Hungry? I’m sorry hun, you can’t have any food you know that.”

“Too bright in here? I’ll turn off the light by the sink.”

         I can’t remember what else they came up with, but the one thing I really needed them to ask they never seemed to get to. I remember while I was getting frustrated with them, being cold from my wet blankets and sheets and everything else. They were getting frustrated with me going “come on Rose, tell us what you need.” I remember crying because I had been trying and that damned barrier between my brain and my mouth still wouldn’t go away.

         Finally, the nurse did something that I wish she had done hours before, she leaned over the rail (they had both rails up to prevent me from falling out of bed in case I rolled over), and put her hands on my wet blankets. I remember her jolting back and exclaiming at how wet the blankets were and asked dad how long ago it had been since I was changed. I think it was sometime before the super hour, and it was now around like 2am, I think. I know it was almost morning.

         “I suppose you want everything changed now.” The nurse asked, and I nodded vigorously. She sighed, left to get fresh blankets, pillow cases, and sheets, and new gown for me. When she came back with another nurse and arms loaded, they went to work, stripping my bed around me, just rolling me back and forth (we had quite the system going and we became so good at changing me, my bedding and gowns with me staying in bed that they got pretty fast at it.) While they were changing my blankets and sheets, I remember the nurses and Dad saying “Why didn’t you say something?” That was when I wished I had movement in one of my hands so I could hit them all, I was so pissed off. When it came to changing me completely and cleaning me up, obviously dad left the room, and the nurses talked over me like I wasn’t there, complaining about needy patients. I realize they were on graveyard shifts, a little bitchy because it was close to the end of their shifts and some were doing double and triple shifts and they were tired, but seriously?? My ears still worked, and I was even angrier. Made me wish I had my voice to remind them that I wasn’t deaf.

         This happened a couple of times, on the second time was during the day, and Dawn had noticed before things were as bad as they were that one night. It seemed everybody kept forgetting that even though I wasn't eating or drinking, I was still having IV fluids and those still filled my bladder. I realize that nurses had better things to do and look after other patients than keeping track of when I needed changing, and I realize that mom and dad had other things on their minds too, but that didn’t ease my frustration at all.

         Charles, who was only supposed to have come to visit for two weeks ended up staying for 3, because he didn’t want to leave me not knowing what was going to happen. He ended up losing his job over it, which after he got home he got back. My family had a lot of issues with him, as is normal considering they hated the idea of man being in my life at that time, but I was glad that he was there, because when my mom and dad couldn’t be there, they were reassured that he was. I was never alone. I will always be grateful to him for that, because it if it wasn’t for him I would have been alone and that was a time I didn’t want to be alone. He was my voice when nobody else was around, and a doctor had questions. He also kept the nurses updated on what was happening if something changed and they weren’t there to witness it.