I was supposed to be in training this weekend for children’s volunteer bereavement training with a local hospice organization. I feel badly for not being there and for not having notified the coordinator. However, maybe it was meant to be that I did not do that endeavor.
I told the nurse staff that my goal today is to not act out so that I can get out of the ICU. My one-on-one for the AM shift seems pretty nice. I want to do what the floor staff do. They are good at their jobs and they don’t put up with shit.
It’s lunch time. I am sitting with a lady who has an eating disorder and who hasn’t eaten food for five days since she got in here. I encouraged her to eat some of the carrot and celery that I was eating. She ate and then thanked me.
I’m not feeling particularly profound right now. I simply am trying just to make it to tomorrow without hurting myself. I was in tears last night. What the nurses said was not comforting but eventually the Ativan kicked in. I felt like I had screwed everything up in my life and that I don’t know what to do with my future. This and the false notion that no one cares about me was causing me a myriad of anxiety last night.
My stomach is not full and it hurts. I have been eating but not much. To compensate I have been consuming liquids. My goal is to not get fatter while I am inpatient. It’s not like I eat very well when I am on the outside either.
I don’t want to go into my room. I don’t want to stay at this bench with no back support. I don’t want to join group on the patio and I hell of don’t want to be in the day room with all of its fake fluorescent lighting and sterile environment. Being in the ICU is a no-win situation. They don’t even offer yoga mats to sit on the ground. The only good things are that there are more staff and that I can be kept safe.
I have not had any profound revelations today. In fact, not much has happened. I slept for a couple of hours this afternoon and I was very tired. I think it was after I took Ativan for my anxiety. After dinner I had a nice conversation with a woman who is a quarter Italian and I think she said her family is from Piacenza.
I can’t believe I’ve been hospitalized for two weeks now. Once I get out I never want to come back as a patient. I don’t like any of the male patients here. They all scare me. I try to not interact with any of them at all. I wonder what the doctor and me are going to be talking about when he comes. I haven’t tried to hurt myself today yet. Not once.
I look in the mirror and I see a face. That face is neither bold nor timid. It just is. It’s not an angry face but it is a tired face. Being in the Intensive Care Unit is not energizing. It can be exhausting. Every once in a while you make a connection with another patient and it helps to pass the time. Sleeping helps too. I have been on Ambien for the last few nights and I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I don’t like being forced to feel drowsy and I believe it has been giving me bad dreams.
I haven’t been recording my dreams in my journal. My doctor believes that I have regressed in my treatment. I think he thinks I’m wasting my time because in his eyes I am not moving forward in my treatment. He tells me that I like staying ill and being the victim. It makes me angry that he says those things because my ex-husband always accused me of “playing the victim,” whereas he was the true victim to my manipulations in his mind. I wish my doctor would just arrive already for our session so I wouldn’t have to think of this anymore.
There are so many people in the day room watching Bruce Almighty tonight. It is affolato (crowded) and so I am finding space for myself in my room, which I share with a lady who constantly sleeps. She only gets out of bed at mealtime.