My day nurse, right at the start of the shift at 7AM, tells me my back wound has bled a bit and oozed fluids through the dressing. A quick look at the pad hospitals use on beds to prevent bed sores shows the evidence: bloody spots and larger yellowish spots. She changes the dressing, but doesn’t attempt to thoroughly clean the area, as the written orders say to only say to change the dressing when necessary.
Dr. Stevens comes by soon thereafter and approves the nurse’s work. He also pulls the new dressing away to visually inspect the wound. He sees nothing that bothers him.
I go to the morning physical therapy session, but decline the afternoon session due to extreme tiredness. Declining sessions is a really bad idea, but I don’t find that out until later. It’s much better to go, and do little or nothing. Since the sessions always have lots of people and not that many therapists, that’s always a possible option.
My back continues oozing at an apparently increasing rate. The bed pad is really a mess by mid afternoon.
I ask to see a staff psychiatrist, as I’m getting very depressed here. The lack of progress or hope in physical therapy, the total joke of occupational therapy, and the back oozing are getting to me. The response is much quicker than I anticipated.
Dr. Jill Jardine comes by at about 4 and she talk for just over an hour. She’s unclear as to what I expect of our meeting. I just want to vent and get some reassurance. Neither the regular doctors nor the nurses have the time or ability to allow me to do that. Care visits rarely take over 10 minutes, and often much less. She leaves, but says her partner will come by tomorrow.
Hilary comes by after dinner and stays for a few hours. I fall asleep immediately after she leaves.
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