Finally, a time to write.

I don’t often get these times to write, because as I said before my household is a very busy household with people coming and going.

But that’s not the only reason I haven’t written. This next part of the storey is hard for me to think about and even harder to write. It didn’t actually happen, but to me, it’s as real as the chair I am sitting on, the table my computer is on, and the post you are reading right now.

Because it wasn’t real to anybody else, I’ve been put in the situation, that something traumatic to me, didn’t happen, and therefore nobody else cares about.

If I had been admitted to the ICU after a traumatic incident that actually happened, and everybody acknowledged it did happen, I would have been provided somebody to talk to about it. Everybody would have been concerned about my emotional well being. Instead I was left to cry on my hospital bed by myself. When I asked to see someone I got a social worker. She tried to get me a physiatrist but the doctors on the ward told her I didn’t need one.

Please, if you prescribe sedation, also prescribe a way to deal with the emotional trauma that sedation causes? Even if it didn’t happen in your world, it still happened in your patients sedated world.

Note: In this post I will call the ICU ‘the ward’, because I didn’t know I was in the ICU. At times I didn’t even know I was in a hospital.

____

A man stood at the head of the bed, but just behind me. He sang racist songs, that I didn’t like. My nurse was very black, and I didn’t know why he was directing such hate towards people who looked like her. I wanted him to be quite, but I couldn’t make him. He just wouldn’t shut up.

With each statement, about the mark of Cane, and things I don’t want to repeat, I just wanted to fall inside myself, and disappear, but I couldn’t. I was tied to the bed. I couldn’t even move my head to look at him, because multiple tubes and wires kept me in place.

I saw how the nurse took each statement, how she wanted to ignore it, but couldn’t just quite remove the expression of anger and hurt from her face.

I wanted to tell her, I didn’t believe in all that stuff, it was just some guy, who I didn’t know who was singing. Why did the hospital even let people like that into the hospital? Why was the racist singer, and Frank allowed to wander around and bother people? Neither of them worked there, had people to visit or were a patient there? It didn’t make sense.

____

When I went for x-rays, the singing racist did not follow, but when I got back, and the nurse pushed my bed back into place, she said to another nurse “watch this”.

As soon as my bed was back in place the man began to sing again. The nurses smiled to each other. The first said “See I told you she would begin singing again. Her beds in that place and she sings.”

Huh? I didn’t understand. I wasn’t doing the sining. It was some man, I never saw, at the head of the bed that sang. Wasn’t it? How could I be singing? I didn’t have a man’s voice? I wasn’t racist? Was I?

___

I had diareah. The singing racist, who stood behind me, saw it all, and panicked. He stopped singing, and screamed “she has diareah”. My nurse called another nurse, and both them, rolled me over towards them, and away from the singing racist. He had a full view, and I wasn’t done.

“Let it all out.” The nurses said, and with each explosion that man groaned.

“That’s disgusting. She’s disgusting. I can’t stand this.”

“This is all for you”, my nurse told him “This is what she thinks of you. This is what we all think of you.”

When I was done, the singing racist left, and never physically came back, but he wasn’t content to let his message me silenced.

____

A woman walked into the ward, and handed the nurse a medium square envelope, and said “You got an email.”

My nurse opened it, and read out loud “You children of Cane, nurses, shouldn’t be allowed to work in the hospital on white patients”. He went on to explain that obscure bible verses proved his racist ideas.

The first woman asked “What are you going to do?” My nurse said “make a report”. She filled out some forms, gave it back to the first woman, and went back to work, as the first woman left the ward.

I knew the email was from the man who sang racist songs. He didn’t want to be in the room anymore, but he still wanted to direct his racism to my nurse. I wondered why the hospital would even deliver such racist emails.

The pattern continued. My nurse would be sitting quietly at the end of my bed, writing in a big blue binder, and looking up at me periodically. The same woman would deliver the emails, my nurse would read them out loud, fill out a form, give it back to the woman and go back to writing in the big blue binder.

I was extremely offended by the emails, and wished he wouldn’t send them. The racist things were horrible, and always read out loud. They were also biblically wrong. I’ve read the bible, and I know that the son’s and daughter’s of Cane are thought to be black by some people, and the son’s and daughter’s of Able are thought to be white, but the bible doesn’t actually say that. It’s just a racist interpretation of the bible. How then are all the other races explained? And why would a loving God punish somebody by creating racism? Ya people are different, but that’s just because God had fun creating people who are different.

But I couldn’t tell my nurse, the target of this racism that, because I couldn’t say anything with all the tubes in my mouth and nose.

But then again, if I couldn’t talk, how could I sing?

____

I had diareah again.

Two nurses were changing me and I sprayed one with something.

She jumped back and screamed “She ejaculated on me.”

The other one “Yes she did that on me too. She does it on purpose.”

The first one replied “We have to talk to somebody about this.”

When they were done the nurses went away, but I was left to wonder…

I’m not a man. Am I? I’m a woman. How could I ejaculate on anybody? I didn’t do it on purpose? Can ejaculation even be aimed at people? In any direction? I don’t know. I don’t have a penis. Do I?

I was so confused.

Am I intersex? Maybe when I was little and had all those surgeries, they did an intersex surgery and didn’t tell me? Maybe I am part man?

And then with horror, I realized the singing racist, who left only to continue sending racist emails was me. I was the racist. The nurse was right. I was the one who sang all those horrible things. I was the one who sent emails telling my nurse that she shouldn’t work on white people, that she was the daughter of Cane, and was lower than white people, who were the children of Able.

That was me.

But how did I send emails? I was tied, both arms, in two places to the hospital bed. I never left this spot, unless I was taken somewhere by a nurse, and even then it was in my bed.

How could I send racist emails? How could I leave my bedside? How could I stand behind myself?

I could if I had split personalities. One could stay in the bed and one could leave. One could be female and one could be male? One could write emails, and one could be disgusted by them? One could sing, and one could… listen? Can it really work that way?

It not only could but it did. I was was evil, and racist, and needed to be stopped. But how? How could I stop another personality? I didn’t control him? I wanted him to stop too? I didn’t even know he was me? I didn’t know I was evil.

____

A man came into the ward, caring a tiny wooden box. It looked kinda like a jewelry box, with carved designs and jewels set on the top.

The nurses and doctor’s gathered around a table with the man. He carefully set the box on the table and announced “I got your request. I woke Dr. B up and asked him about it. He said he’d like to come here and talk to you. This is a one time thing. Dr. B is very sick, and spends most of his time in suspended animation in this box. He doesn’t like to be disturbed, and works on only the most interesting cases.”

The man opened the box, reached in, and cradled a tiny little man in his hands. He set him down, before Dr. B quickly grew into regular size.

Dr. B, was thin, bent over, old and had a grey beard.

He spoke with both wisdom and oldness. He said “She has multiple personality disorder. One of these personalities is a racist man who ejaculates on woman whenever he can. He’s obvious come out because she is stressed. He’s the one singing racist songs, and sending racist emails. He can not be stopped without stopping her. She will have to be put into a medically induced coma, forever to protect the nurses.”

“We can’t do that?” Someone said.

“We have to.”, said Dr B. “We have to protect the nurses.”

“Well what about the patients? We can’t keep everybody we don’t like in medically induced comas, just to protect others?”

“It’s what they are thinking of doing in prisons, with the worst offenders. It’s safer. Rapists, and murderers can’t hurt anybody if they are in medically induced comas. And it’s cheeper. You don’t have to feed them, provide exercise rooms, or anything. You just give them a bed, and tube feeding. That’s all.”, replied Dr. B.

____

As the discussion went on, I was terrified. I’d be stuck with Frank tormenting me forever.

I’d be in the place where time didn’t exist, I couldn’t breath, and people could do whatever they wanted to me. I’d never see my family, my dog, or my home again. I’d be in prison, tied to this hospital bed, at the mercy of the doctor’s and nurses forever.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just. How could it even be ethical?

But.. that other personality, was evil, and if I needed to be kept in a coma forever to protect everybody else, maybe I could do it? Maybe?

How would I survive?

Calm down. I told my self. Breath. I took a deep breath, counted to 10, and then released the breath.

I prayed, for God to reverse time. “Please make this earlier when they didn’t know I was this horrible person? I’ll be good. I won’t do anything racist. They won’t want to put me in a coma then.”

_____

Dr. B, was a little man again and he was being put back into the box. The resident was taking him out the door, and then…

It was the next morning. Or was it? No. It was this morning.

____

Please note: Although I am a Christian, I do not believe the bible proves racism, and I do not agree with racism. I’ve just been exposed to those vile ideas, and for some reason they popped up in the sedated world, just like all sort of other bad things did. Please don’t think I believe any of that?

Thanks for reading. This will be continued later, in Chapter 4.

I’ve separated the chapters in a separate category in this blog called “my experience”, an I’ve renamed the previously posted posts with “Chapter ___: _______” in front of them.

You can go back and read those chapters if you want.

If you want to be notified about each new post, your can follow this blog by pushing the “follow” button to the right.

I don’t know exactly how it works, so if you don’t notified of new posts, please tell me so?

I can also mention you in the tweets that announce each post. Just let me know.

I’ve already started the draft of chapter 4, but I don’t know when it will be posted. I was waiting for my new iPad to come. It came last week, and now that my new blog is up and running, and all the posts from the old one are transferred I should be posting more posts soon. I’m sorry you had to wait so long. I have just a few more things to do, to get ready to work on new posts.

I am not going to try to prove I am not racist, you’ll just have to take my word for it.

Sedation is a world of it’s own, where gender, time, and age don’t exist. I’m trying to explain it as best I can, because I want you to know about it. I thought long and hard about including the racist parts, and even consulted someone. Even though it puts me in a very negative light, and makes me look like a horrible person, I wanted to share because I really want ICU staff to know what their patients are experiencing.

Note #2:

Ever since I’ve been in the ICU, my hands have been week, sore, numb and tingly. Today they are particularly bad, and I can’t feel how hard I am pushing on the keys or the mouse. I know at times I’m pushing too hard, because the computer is doing some funny things on the screen. If I have any spelling, grammatical, or other mistakes because of that, please just ignore them?

Thank you for reading. If you liked it please like, share, and retweet?

I don’t remember much, and what I know now has been told to me, But the following is an attempt at a first person account of going to the ICU.

As I said before, I write novels, and that is the style I will write it in.

Note: it will be true, even if it’s not written in a non-fiction style:

______

That night I looked at the beef jerky in the fridge. Mom and I worked so hard on it, but it was all wrong. Translated from imperial to metric, the old recipe was hard to read and translate. In the end 50 lbs of meat was wasted. It would have been good if it wasn’t so salty, but it just wasn’t edible.

I looked in the fridge and saw all this home made beef jerky, that I had been looking forward to eating and wondered what to do with it. Maybe, I could just eat a bit?

Maybe it didn’t all have to go to waste? I’d already eaten a mountain of candy, while we were making it. What would a little bit of a salty snack do? Would it even hurt anymore than the christmas candy?

Mom and I had tested a christmas candy eating game to see if it would be any fun for christmas day. It was fun, and tasty, because every time a person landed on a square not landed on by somebody else, they got a candy. The person with the most candies at the end of the game won, except, who could resist eating it all before the end?

Of course sneaking candy, while judging the candy pile of the other player, made us giggle, and was half the fun. Well maybe all the fun. That and eating candy.

And that is how we spent our evening: making beef jerky and eating candy during the stages the beef jerky had to sit or cook.

After Mom went to bed, I opened the fridge door and looked at the mountain of beef jerky.

Maybe….

Just maybe….

I could eat it and get over the saltiness….

Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad.

I hadn’t had that much before. Only a nibble to decide it was horrible.

I took a piece and ate it, to see if it would grow on me. It didn’t. I thought “I’m going to be sick”, but I ate 3 more pieces, each piece getting worse than the last.

Finally I had a headache, and I went to bed.

Unfortunately, the beef jerky was waste of 50 lbs of meat, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Little did I know, that the beaf jerky would be forgotten by morning, and thrown out in the days to come without any fanfare. The waste of 50 lbs of meat, would be the least of anybody problems.

~

The next morning I woke up with a swollen tongue. It was so big it wouldn’t fit in my mouth. I couldn’t talk. I tried telling my mom what was wrong, but she kept saying “quit mumbling”. Finally I tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the problem when she looked at me. She wanted to call the ambulance, I thought it was minor and she should call my family doctor.

I was briefly aware that the ambulance attendants wanted me to walk to the stretcher outside, and thought “I’m not that sick, or they would would have carried me on a stretcher’.

Later I remember them putting an IV in my arm, and then trying to put a tube in my throat. I asked for a pen, and they gave me one.

I wrote “Don’t worry the __(name of ENT doctor)___ couldn’t do it without anesthetic either.”

They asked why I had an ENT doctor. I don’t remember my response.

The next thing I remember is being asked how to take my shirt off. I couldn’t explain the knots that were tied in the back, and it had to be lifted over my head because they were permanently tied. I was told “never mind I’ll cut it off”, and I was relieved, but later, I wondered why were they cutting my clothes off? Who were these people? Where was I? What were they going to do to me?

~

I woke up tied to a bed, that was on a platform.

All around were people I didn’t know, and they seemed to be trying to figure out what to do with me.

A man (who I later named Frank), was with H, the most popular and cutest kid from my grade 2 class. She was all grown up, and and still a bully. They were on the platform the bed was on, examining something while they discussed a mistake they made.

“How will we fix it?” H asked.

“I don’t know.” Frank responded, “I guess we’ll have to kill her”.

He climbed up on me, and tried to suffocate me with a medal plate. I tried to get away but I couldn’t because I was tied to the bed. Finally the man looked me in the eyes and said “I can’t do it.”, but H wanted him too. She was like that in grade 2 too, always getting other people to do her dirty work.

~

Later my mother came, and saw that H and Frank were the ones in charge and told them she was transferring me to a different hospital. I was in a hospital, 1000 km away from home, and she said “We’re going home.”

Why was I so far away?

The ambulance ride was bumpy and noisy, with lots of banging. Finally we arrived in the city closest to my home.

There was a nice nurse there. I felt safe and protected in her care. She moved buttons and wires and did things that made me feel better.

One night the nurses were all sitting around a table discussing what they could do for the night. One nurse said “I always wanted to take piano lessons, there’s an ad in the paper, for a man who gives piano lessons. He brings the pianos to you, teaches you and leaves.”

All the nurses thought this was a great idea, and the nurse with the idea called the piano man. When she got off the phone she said “Great. He doesn’t have anybody booked now. He’s coming now.”

All the nurses were excited, and cleared spots for the pianos. The talked about how exiting it would be learn how to play the piano.

“We have nothing to do at night anyway, this will make the evening fun”, one said.

Another said “I’ve always wanted to learn to play the piano”, and stories about siblings and friends who took piano lessons as children abounded.

The nurse by my bed, didn’t participate. She sat by my bed, and made me feel safe.

There was a knock at the door, and one of the nurses, opened this huge garage door, and let all the cold air in. The piano man walked in. It was Frank, and H was with him.

He explained how he used to work in an ICU, but he got fired for trying to kill a patient. I knew that patient was me, and tried so hard to make him not notice me.

He brought in inflatable grand pianos with one leg in the front and two legs in the back. He set them up for each nurse who wanted lessons, and H went around tattling when they weren’t set up right.

The door was closed and it was warm again.

The nurse beside me watched, as they played the worst piano music I have ever heard. It was so grating on my ears and nerves, that it made everything worse.

When the lesson was over he offered to play some of his own music. All the participating nurses, said “ya”, and encouraged him to do so.

He played even worse than his students. His piano was not only out of tune, he couldn’t play piano at all, but all the nurses clapped, said thank you and good buy.

One of the nurses opened the huge garage door again, Frank and H, loaded their truck of all the inflatable pianos, and then came back in to say good bye.

Frank made a grand gesture, of bowing and waving his arms, while he said “good bye ladies, it was nice, but I have too go”.

And I said “Thank goodness”.

The nurse beside me said my name in a reprimanding way, Frank looked at me and said “you”, walked over to the end of my wall and pushed a big red button on it.

“Just for that, you will suffer.”

I couldn’t breath. I felt like I was suffocating again.

My nurse said “Frank”, and went to push the button again, but Frank stood in her way, and she couldn’t do anything. She asked “Why are you being so mean”, and Frank said he wasn’t going anywhere. H could go on and continue teaching piano lessons, but he was staying here to deal with me. I was terrified.

The garage door was closed, and H drove away without Frank.

____

There is more to this story, and although I will write it soon, I won’t post it soon.

I think this is enough for one post.

Even as I write my heart is pounding so hard I can feel it outside my chest, and I feel the terror I felt at the time Frank announced he would stay.

I can see him, and I’m there.

But I will keep writing because I want ICU staff to know what sedation is like.