Man! First the pre-flight anxiety and now Rebecca. The humor gods seem to be conspiring against me. So I guess I’ll give an update instead of going for the funny.
Rebecca is good. She’s taken off her ankle bandages (herself!) (in the middle of the night!) and defiantly pulled out her IVs. Her ankle swelling has gone down and her pneumonia is seemingly under control. She amazes me. So much of life is state of mind, I must remember that. She will NOT hear words like “cancer” (which the doctors want to rule out) (she’s refused tests), or “sick,” or “intervention.” She tells me so much energy and thought is directed toward sickness, and she wants to focus on “health.”
It’s apparently working for her.
I do hope so.
I’ve been at the hospital quite a lot. There is no one else to watch over Rebecca. I realize how much it is needed, even if she won’t ask for help. Today, I retrieved her glasses from the bowels of the hospital basement so she could read, cut her chicken into edible pieces, put out an APB for her missing clothes, and rubbed lotion on her legs. I also fixed the air conditioner.
No one seems to check in on her much, and I wonder about the people who have no one.
It hurts to ponder.
I spent so much of the day at the nurse’s station, and I absolutely hate to say — because I know a lot of amazing nurses — how apathetic so many of them seemed today. Rebecca’s day nurse took ownership of nothing — including the fact that all of Rebecca’s clothes are missing. Also, a social worker came in today, telling us that Rebecca can be transferred to a convalescent hospital, and after Rebecca refused to go, she left in a semi-huff. I managed to talk Rebecca into the transfer for the time being and not five minutes later, paged the social worker to have Rebecca discharged and moved. But — she never answered. And Rebecca is still in the hospital, roommates with a woman, who, while nice, has an alcoholic husband that comes into the room, starts arguments, and punches windows. When she’s not on the phone arguing with someone, her roommate is paging the nursing staff, asking for more potato chips or apple juice. Suffice to say, Rebecca wants out.
Well no, that won’t suffice. Rebecca asked me to bust her out. She wanted me to call 911, take her home, throw a fit, call the authorities. After going back and forth with the hospital staff today, and not getting anywhere in regards to a discharge (which they agree to), I told Rebecca that The Rock and I will be in her room tomorrow at 10. And if she won’t be discharged at that time, we’ll whisk her away.
And dammit, I will.
Still. You should know that I spoke to the convalescent hospital and they are ready for her, and I talked to her doctor and he said she’s good to go, and I talked to an inside source at the hospital who told me that they’ve sort of dropped the ball when it comes to releasing Rebecca.
So screw it. I’m getting her out.
Hopefully, it won’t be dramatic as all that. In fact, I’m sure it won’t. But a girl can dream, can’t she? I think a high-speed chase will be good for all of us. Get the heart pumping, right? Remember how it feels to be alive.
Finally, I’d like you to know a little bit more about Rebecca. I wrote about her in May here. Skip the first two-thirds of the post. It’s my typical insecure stuff. But towards the bottom, I get over myself and talk about someone else.
Well not about just anyone.
I wish you all could know her.