As the years on the calendar roll by and the digits in my age increase, I often forget that my body is growing old. I often forget that I am no longer a young chickadee. When an item falls in the back of our van, I eagerly climb over coolers, my wheelchair or other objects to retrieve it. When my knees abruptly give out, sending me free falling to the van floor, I howl when I slice open my hand as I try to break my fall.
My forgetfulness is the worst when I am in the hospital. I am usually confined to the bed most of the day, and my body grows restless. Being hooked up to various monitors--heart rate, blood pressure, pulse oxygenation, etc.--I am very limited in my mobility. If I want to leave my bed, I have to disconnect all these devices, which sends my monitors blaring when they no longer receive information. So, if I want to move around, I often try not to disconnect any of my recording devices.
When I am lying in bed and my box of tissues falls to the ground underneath my bedside table, I see and accept the challenge: retrieve the box without calling for assistance and without setting off any of my monitors. I carefully move my bedside table and lower the head of my bed. I move to the side of the bed, but I am slightly impeded because my IV line is very short. If I want to lean over the side of my bed, I will have to do so without moving my right arm which has the IV in it.
I study the box of tissues and pull on the cords to all my monitors. I get as much slack in the lines as possible. I carefully lean over the left side of my bed and reach with all my might to elongate my left arm. The tips of my fingers brush the corner of the tissue box. I just need a tiny bit more length in my arms. I extend my left arm a little bit more and grab the box. I suddenly lose my balance. My right arm and right leg are flailing in the air. I quickly grasp the side of my bed with my left arm and then I freeze! My blood pressure cuff is going off. To prevent any suspicion by the outside world of my covert activities, I have to remain completely still while the blood pressure monitor records my blood pressure.
Before the machine completes its reading, my nurse walks into my room. I am in a sorry state. My right arm and leg are extended to the ceiling. My left arm is wrapped around the side of my bed. The top of my body is hanging off the side of my bed. My nurse exclaims, "What in the heck are you doing?" As soon as the blood pressure machine is finished recording its data, I pull myself back up onto the bed. I then innocently reply, "I dropped my box of tissues."
My nurse is very enraged I did not call for help. She puts up the guard rails on my bed and sets the bed alarm. Now, if I cross the side of my bed, my bed will start alarming. My nurse believes she has a victory. I, however, just view the situation as being slightly more complicated. As soon as the nurse leaves, I lasso a chair in my room and move it to the side of the bed. Now, if I want to leave my bed, I will have to carefully step over the side of my bed and onto the adjacent chair.
As the day progresses, I am obedient and do not leave my bed. I wait and wait for shift change. I pray my day nurse forgets to tell my night nurse about setting the bed alarm to prevent me from moving. Soon the sky outside my room is dark, and my night nurse takes over. I wait an hour to ensure my day nurse has left the unit. When I believe the coast is clear, I ring my nurse call bell. The nurse comes into my room and asks how she can help me. I state I need to use the bathroom. The nurse unhooks all my monitors and lowers my bed rails. As I exit my bed, my bed starts alarming. "Well, who put this on?" the nurse asks as she scratches her head. She immediately disables the bed alarm. I do my business and go back to my bed. The nurse hooks back up all my devices and leaves. She does not reset the bed alarm. I am now free! I am again free to move about my bed unhindered! Ah, another victory! I breathe a sigh of relief and drift off to sleep.
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