First Night Activities

I faded in and out of consciousness through the first few hours of the night. Someone would come in every couple of hours, either the nurse to give me meds, mostly by IV, or the PCA to take vital signs. I always looked at the blood pressure, which was on the low side, around 104/60. My temperature was normal. The nurse also looked at my belly, listened for bowel sounds and said encouraging things about them. Like there were some. She also listened to my lungs, which I guess were also okay.

Around 5 or 6 in he morning, the nurse asked me if  I could get up to the chair. She wanted to change my bed and help me bathe. I said yes. She helped me to the side of the bed. Roll over a bit. Shift your legs off the edge. Lift your trunk with your arms. Try not to use your abdominal muscles. We managed it, but it hurt. And I moved very slowly. It's hard to lift with your arms while holding a folded blanket tight against your tummy.

Once she got me to the chair, which was right beside the bed, she placed a bathing bowl, or whatever, in front of me, dipped a washcloth into the warm water, and handed it to me.

Once she was done, she asked if I felt I could stay in the chair for a while. I got the feeling it would make her happy if I tried, so I said I would. I would much rather have got back to bed, punched my pain button, and zonked out for a couple of days. But I sat.

I thought about trying to read. Liz had left me a novel. I was reading, The Handmaid's Tale, by Margaret Atwood. During the five days I was there, I think I managed maybe ten pages. That first morning, I didn't even try. It seemed to take all my concentration just to think about picking up the book. I never got so far as to reach for it.

After maybe fifteen minutes, I started to feel a little off. Not pain. More like coming nausea. I held out as long as I could, which wasn't two whole minutes, and I pushed my call button.

"Can I help you?" came a voice from the button thing, or a speaker on the bed. I have trouble with direction of sounds.

"I'm feeling a little nauseated. I think I need to get back in bed," I said.

"Okay, I'll tell your nurse."

Having done something, I felt a little better. That lasted about a minute. Then the nausea came back. I deliberately breathed in deep and slowly, fighting back the nausea. But in about five minutes, and still before anyone came, the nausea suddenly jumped me, and I spouted all over the floor. It looked, and tasted, like water, splashing on the floor, and on my slippers, and some on my hospital gown.

I felt better. No more pressure in my stomach.

After another five minutes, the nurse came in.

"Feeling a little nausea?" she asked.

"I threw up," I explained.

"Oh," she said. She called the PCA. Between them, they changed my gown again, mopped the floor, and got me a new pair of slippers, which they placed on my tray for when I might need them. They helped me back into the bed.


"Sit back, and as far up the bed as you can," the nurse instructed. "Now lean toward the top of the bed, and lift your legs to the side. Okay, now roll onto your back."

As soon as I was settled on my back, I pushed the pain med button, and held my splint blanket against my tummy, waiting for sleep to come back. At that point, I decided that if I had known what the recovery would be like, I would have taken my chances with the cancer.