Three weeks ago, I posted about the blessing in disguise that came from having surgery, because the nurse visits forced me to start having a normal sleeping pattern.
I’m so over that. I want my life back.
It’s been five weeks since the surgery, and there’s still a long way to go until I’m fully healed and the visits stop, by the sound of things. I’ve had a nurse come to my house every single day to change my dressing since then. Some are nice and tell me stories about their kids when I tell them that I want to be a teacher. Others tell me off for changing the visit time to when they have more important patients, when I wasn’t even the one who changed it.
I get told when I can and can’t shower. My bedroom permanently smells like a hospital. I spend my days waiting for the phone call that tells me that the nurse is nearly there, or that she can’t come till later. At one point, I was told that she would be coming at 8:30am, and she didn’t come until 3pm. I spent my entire day waiting around for her to show up.
They look at me like it’s an inconvenience when I have uni and church and other commitments. One nurse even told me that I had to postpone meeting up with my friends to get my dressing changed, even though I’d told them that I would be busy.
I don’t even get a little sleep in anymore, and I’m not a morning person. Every day, I have to be up, and then sometimes they don’t even show up when they said they would. I understand that other patients take priority, but most of them act as though the only thing I have going on is waiting for them. I was in the middle of tutoring the other day when the nurse showed up.
I’m just so over it. I don’t have privacy. I don’t have freedom to spontaneously go places. It’s ridiculous, and I just want it to be over. I honestly struggle to remember what it is like to not have the nurse coming over. And I hate it.
I’m sorry for the rant, but this is my life right now. Please pray for fast healing, because I might end up slamming the door in a nurse’s face if this goes on much longer.
That was a joke.
Or maybe it wasn’t.