For the past nine days, I’ve been determined to write posts, to throw something out into the world rather than simply receiving what the medical world was giving me. Mission accomplished.
What’s true is that my recent posts have all been tinged with illness, or some other version of deficit. I’ve been sitting in Izy Coffee this morning trying to turn this around … but no inspiration was coming.
Half an hour ago, I accepted that perhaps there’d be no post today. Feeling obligated to write is no good reason to do so.
But then I looked out the window at the scene you see. I needed to celebrate something rather than merely coping with life’s roller coaster. And there they were …
I’ve written before about “This” and “That”. This is right here, right now – the way things are in the moment. That is over there somewhere, maybe yesterday or tomorrow, or something yearned for.
The challenge for me now is to accept this.
I’m very tired after the hospital, sleeping some during the day, and fully overnight.
I have a sleeping app which talks to my Polar watch. It says that last night I slept for nine hours. One category is “Deep Sleep”. Here’s what Polar has to say about it:
Deep sleep is the stage of sleep in which it is hard to be awakened since your body is less responsive to environmental stimuli. Most deep sleep occurs during the first half of the night. This sleep stage restores your body and supports your immune system. It also affects certain aspects of memory and learning. The stage of deep sleep is also called slow wave sleep.
Polar says my longterm average for Deep Sleep is 16% of my sleep time. Last night it was 24%. Sounds about right. I’m being renewed.
The perky Bruce seems to have left for parts unknown. Here are my current responses to some cherished activities:
1. Play my keyboard > No
2. Keep learning the lyrics for a song I want to sing > No
3. Welcome visitors to my home > No
4. Sit in Izy Coffee in the morning > A weak Yes (I can’t be in the apartment all day)
5. Talk to people at Izy > Yes (short conversations)
6. Go on Zoom calls with the Evolutionary Collective > No
7. Play the cello > No! (too much effort required)
Guess what, dear blog readers? I get to go home in a few hours! The latest blood results show that everything is now normal – except for my foot. And my family doctor can monitor the redness there. Something happened to the foot but the doctors wanted to investigate all possibilities, such as my immune system, to make sure something far more serious wasn’t happening.
I don’t know why I’ve been so tired but I have a nice bed at home to address that situation.
Usually I say that I write for others, not for me. For the last few days, however, creating public thoughts has been my therapy. Thank you for listening.
Georges is my roommate, about the same age as me. I’d guess 39. He speaks virtually no English … and then there’s my Dutch. I don’t have the energy to figure out what people are saying. I’m surrounded by high-speed Dutch conversations that are wearing me out.
But back to Georges. We smile a lot at each other. We’re both some version of “sick” but his cancer trumps my blood. Two nights ago, I kept him awake as I was panicking about the infection climbing my leg to my heart. (It didn’t) Last night it was Georges’ turn – prolonged spells of coughing. But why would I expect otherwise? I’m in a hospital.
The bloody mystery continues. The doctors this morning were wondering out loud about “something underneath” my red foot and previous pneumonia. Could my immune system be compromised in a way that hasn’t become clear? New blood results come this afternoon.
So often all I want to do is sleep. That sounds so old.
I’ll wait for test results before sending off this post. Pray, cross your fingers, or do anything else that comes naturally. Mind you, you won’t be reading these words yet, so how can you follow my request?
I just changed my mind. I’ll send the post now. I don’t know if I’ll have the oomph for more writing later.
As the “not knowing” stretches into the future, I sigh in bed. I’ve become so passive. Slow in the mind. Wondering when I’ll see home again.
The past weekdays have provided many cool conversations with staff members. Maybe it’s my imagination but it seems that the weekend nurses see me more as “patient” than “Bruce”. Or … perhaps it’s my dullness of the head that has created the difference.
I behold my foot, and it appears to be sticking out its tongue at me. “I’m still red. Too bad for you.” Actually it’s a little less red in both brightness and size. But I don’t have the energy to cheer.
Tomorrow the full crew of doctors shows up again. Another test or two are scheduled. Perhaps the clouds will part and a ray of sunshine will reach the blood infection.
I also hope the morning will bring the return of Katie, the smiling woman who asks what I want to eat and often delivers the trays. Her British glow fills the room. A few days ago, I asked her if she wanted to sing. And she started singing! My kind of human being. I’ve been practicing how to say Katie’s name the way she does. It’s approximately “Kay-tay”.
***
I’m making people laugh a little bit today. I’m retreating a lot to my phone and the Tour de France. And I’m more horizontal than vertical. I hope tomorrow is taller and wider and brighter.
Before the hospital stuff, there’s this, as reported by Cyclingnews:
The UCI has handed out a fine of 200 Swiss Francs to Julien Bernard (Lidl-Trek) after the French rider stopped to embrace his wife and celebrate with his fans on home roads during stage 7 of the Tour de France.
Bernard enjoyed a “dream moment” on the uphill part of the time trial course which was half an hour from his home, with friends and family lining every inch of the roadscheering ‘Julien!’ and holding signs that said ‘Allez JB’ as he came past.
“I was really looking forward to this day. I knew my wife and my friends did something on the climb,” said Bernard.
“I started quite fast in the TT, and then I wanted to enjoy every second on this climb with, as you see, my friends and all my family. It was a dream moment for me.”
But the jubilation was apparently too much for cycling’s governing body, who punished the Frenchman after the stage for “unseemly or inappropriate behaviour during the race and damage to the image of the sport”, according to the jury’s report.
A contrast in consciousness
***
I welcomed my friends Lydia and Luc to the hospital room last night. As I related what the senior doctor had said about not yet finding the source of my blood infection, I said that his words didn’t scare me. They made me curious. That felt like the truth.
I woke up a few hours later … terrified. My right foot had become redder – in intensity and span. Even though there was no fever, my mind collapsed. Maybe I’ve watched too many movies. I imagined the redness climbing beyond my ankle, up the leg, into the chest, and poisoning my heart.
My goodness. I consider myself to have evolved somewhat, thanks especially to my time with the Evolutionary Collective and to my many years of meditating. But I was losing touch.
The call bell is my companion, and in came my nursing friend of a few nights – Marijke. She calmed me down. Whew … She and I have influenced each other. I play cello and she used to. She has approached the Poel music school about starting again in the fall. I suggested my teacher Lieven in the group lesson on Thursdays at 4:00 pm. My lesson!
Marijke says that I’ve inspired her. I thanked her for steering me away from thoughts of impending death.
***
There’s so much more that I want to say but the mind is slowing down. And the body is pretty pooped too.
Five people came walking into my room this morning: two doctors that I’d met, their supervisor, and a young man and woman who are probably interns. Lots of medical power.
The supervisor felt all over my right foot and listened to my chest. He had lots of questions. My response was basically that nothing was wrong before the fever showed up on Tuesday afternoon, except for having had pneumonia five months ago.
He looked puzzled. Turns out he was.
We don’t know what’s causing your blood infection
He talked about further investigations they’ll do, the only one of which I remember is the eyes.
Speaking of which, we made long and pure eye contact as he and his colleagues were leaving. Connection.
I spent an hour in Ophthalmology this afternoon. In Dutch it’s “Oogheelkunde”. Really high tech equipment in there. Five or six tests on various machines and then an extended time with an ophthalmologist. The result: normal for a guy getting older – cataracts gradually becoming worse, no disease.
So on we go to the next …
***
So many people at AZ Sint-Lucas have been kind to me. My very first day, a young woman came towards me in Emergency to take me to my room. As I settled into the wheelchair, she smiled and said:
“I saw you this morning in Panos on the Langemunt [a coffee, sandwich and dessert place]. You told the staff members that you saw they were happy people, and that you were going to check out the seated customers to see if they were happy people too. You walked by us and other tables, then went back to the counter. ‘Yep … they’re happy too!’ I laughed.”
As we rolled along, Céline said that I was so different from the typical Belgian person, who is not spontaneous. She loved the difference. I thanked her for saying something. I was happy that I had made her laugh. Often I do silly things and don’t know whether folks enjoy it.
I reflected woozily on the contrast: today’s morning Bruce and the afternoon version. We smiled and waved goodbye.
Here’s my current story: The fever is gone. I’m sleeping a good part of the day and all night.
The doctor visited me an hour ago. She says I don’t have pneumonia. Yay! There’s some type of blood infection, which she’s investigating.
My right foot is red, swollen and painful. It will get an “echo” test this afternoon. My right leg colours are a palette of tones. Lower thigh deep brown from a week of Eastbourne tennis. Lower leg pearly white since I wear compression stockings. And the redness below. Guess I have an artistic body.
I arrived at the hospital late Tuesday with a temperature of 39 Celsius (102 Fahrenheit). Overnight I was delirious. Completely lost. I pressed the call button many times, trying to get cooler. Sometimes though, the whole body was shaking. I was freezing and I asked for another blanket. The nurse said no – my temp was still 38 point something.
Not much sleep Tuesday night. I must have called out to the nurses hundreds of times (not the call bell). What I remember are some phrases: “Please come back.” “Help me.” “I don’t know what to do.” “Mommy!” I think I picked one and moaned it over and over again till I fell asleep.
It was astonishing to be so gone. And to be unable to compose a sentence. I’m used to that in Dutch – but not in English!
***
That’s enough for today. I’ve met marvelous people at AZ Sint-Lucas. I’ll tell you about them tomorrow. And now back to bed.
So immensely strange, this life. Yesterday’s post on Facebook had this title: “A spring in my step once more … ” I was heading to the elliptical at Basic-Fit, ready to begin again.
Within the post I said this: “The journey ahead is unknown. There will be many trials and joys.”
True.
I thought I was being smart – spending far less time on the machine than previously, and schussing at a slower speed. Nope.
I got my heart rate up to 117 beats per minute. That’s good. Then I headed home. I was watching the Tour de France on TV. Gosh, those guys are strong!
And then, suddenly … I was burning up. I was dizzy. Cycling and playing cello and singing didn’t matter at all.
I wetted a hand towel and laid down. I tried to sleep but there was no chance. A flicker of my male ego said that I’d be fine. Tough it out. It’s not really bad enough to go to Emergency.
But then I found myself stumbling down the stairs to the street. I had planned to take the bus to AZ Sint-Lucas, my local hospital. But there on the stairs was my neighbour Donia. Five months ago we had met at pretty much the same spot when I was also sick. She drove me then. I asked her to drive me now.
What a great person Donia is. She walked me arm-in-arm to her car since I was wobbly. At Emergency, she took my Identity Card and dealt with the triage woman while I slumped in my chair.
***
Well, well, well. I don’t have the energy to continue right now. It’s okay, Bruce. Go back to sleep.
Bruce's Blog 