I don't know if you saw it, but Thursday night's Grey's Anatomy was especially hard for me to watch. The main character, Meredith, was violently attached by a patient and spent weeks, if not months in the hospital. She temporarily lost her hearing, which I thank God could not relate to. However, her jaw was wired shut to heal a broken mandible, so she could not talk. That was all too familiar. Watching her struggle to communicate brought back a flood of memories.
There is nothing worse than having something to say and not being able to get anyone to understand. You desperately act out words over and over. After a while, in frustration you just give up. Sometimes, its just too much. Randall had bought me a notebook to write my requests out in, but sometimes, even that wasn't enough.
I remember shortly after the ventilator was put in, a whole gaggle of nurses came in in the middle of the night to bathe me. I was being restrained, as so many people try to pull out the tubes. They naturally untied me to roll me, and I wanted to ask to be left untied, that I wouldn't pull out the tubes. I wanted to write down my request, so I lifted my hand to make the gesture of writing, only to have my hand slammed down to the bed by one of the nurses. I tried again - slam! Again - slam! After several more attempts, my frustration got the better of me and I reached as far as I could and hit the nurse. I was so upset I told Randall, who told the staff to please not allow that particular nurse back in my room.
The next night, she was not there, but the following night, she was back, right at my right shoulder again, again, holing my hand down, not making any attempt to find out what I was trying so desperately to convey. It didn't take as long for my patience to boil over this time. I reached out and threw the first thing I could get a old of from my bedside tray and flung it in her direction. I told Randall he had to get me out of there. I laid a huge guilt trip on him, scrawling "if you loved me you'd take me home.' Not my finest moment. He went to the manager over all of the nurses in the hospital and told them they were not allowed to let that woman anywhere near my room again. This time he got a "yes sir" and I never saw her again. My hero. I also finally got some kind nurses who untied me and realized that I had enough wits about me to not pull on the vent tubing. Things were much nicer then.
Of course after the tracheotomy, I had the advantage of being able to mouth words, even though I was still mute. Turned out not to be as big of an advantage as I had hoped - I had to mouth words multiple times to get many to understand. I took to writing more, although my handwriting while lying in a bed left a lot of be desired. It was the most awful time of my life.
Randall became everything I couldn't be. He slowly got better at lip reading, and he'd approach nurses for me for things I wanted. The whole nurse punching incident he handled amazingly. As long as I live I will never be able to repay him for being my voice. He truly was my hero and I'm still in awe when I think back on the whole ordeal. My prayer for everyone is that each of you have someone love you as unconditionally as I did during any trial you may go through. I would have never made it as far as I have without him. Here's to hoping that no more TV shows give me flashbacks, too.
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