The institution continues to be the institution. Today was the day I was supposed to give up my wheelchair, but of course, they didn't have my walker I take home to give me. I have been practicing with this new walker and today walked again from the PT room to my room and back without resting. (well, I rested for a bit when I started the return trip). Spent 2-1/2 hours in PT/OT today and was full of life.
There's a group of older (probably my age) African-American men and one of them referred to me as his buddy. Then one used the expression "good as mug" which I'd never heard. I asked if I'd be cool if I used that expression or sound ridiculous. They said I can use it since I'm a member of the club. What club? The H.O. Club -- which stands for Hang Out Club so I have found social acceptance at the institution.
Last night I just tried to roll with the punches -- in this case, the punches being full lights on in my room and tv turned to full volume. I didn't say a word. Finally a nurse came and made her turn it down.
So one of the conditions of my release is that I appoint a wound care specialist which is Phil and he get training. Over the weekend, I was told that if Phil comes on Monday, we should page Gigi, the wound care guru, and Gigi would come and train Phil. So Phil shows up on time, and of course Gigi isn't in today and no one else could possibly do it. The head nurse here during the day really is like Nurse Ratchett (or whatever her name is from Cuckoo's Nest) was adamant no one else could do it.
Well, what about Jen? She is the nurse who changes it every day. No, says Nurse Ratchett because my wound had already been dressed for today and it doesn't make sense to take off a perfectly good bandage to put on another. Phil can come back tomorrow. I felt bad wasting Phil's time.Nurse Ratchett also said that we should just wait until Friday when I'm leaving and both Phil and I said No in unison. I know how that story would end. I'd be sitting cooling my heels until 5 pm... that's why Phil and I wanted it done today.
So when Jen came in my room to give me this med, we asked her and she said she could come back in an hour to give Phil the training so I said to him it's better to wait than to have to come back tomorrow. So glory be. We waited. He got his five minutes of training (including such wisdom as "wash your hands before you start"). He got to see my ass, but as promised, was very cool about it and serious.
We made sure the training was noted in the official nurse's logbook or whatever, and Jen also wrote out instructions so I have that as 'proof' that the training is done.
Today I'm going to reserve the ambulette and tomorrow I am going to check in with the social worker to see if anything else stands in my way.
My OT woman told me she had been asked about me on Friday, whether I was ready to go home, and she said of course she is. So I don't know what happened, but the institution reversed itself.
I am trying to just let everything roll off my back with the countdown to freedom. Phil is going to come back on Thursday and I want to have my clothes laid out and everything packed on Thursday for Friday. I may have mentioned that they want me out by 11 am, which is fine with me, but I think I will reserve the ambulette for 12 noon.
I am quite relieved, and quite grateful, that Phil stuck around for his training. What annoys the heck out of me is Nurse Ratchett was mean just because she could be. Just a damn power thing.