Oh dear! In hospital once again – this time in the ICU where, my kind doctor said I would not only be constantly monitored, but would get a rest. Actually, an ICU is the last place in which one is allowed to rest.
For the first time in my life, I felt so sick that I wished for nothing more than a permanent rest in the sense of R.I.P. From dawn to dusk and later, you are being poked and prodded and pricked, having your temperature taken or being pricked for blood that had to be tested. I had various wires fixed to my body and a permanent cuff on my right arm on which, every few minutes, I’d feel as if someone gave me a nudge and then the cuff would gradually tighten automatically in a tight grasp and my blood pressure would be recorded on a monitor above my bed.
This didn’t prevent my b.p being also checked in the normal way and my temperature too taken morning, noon and night, and some blood for daily tests. A canula was fixed on my right hand and I was given two different antibiotics intravenously, as were other medications, including Lasix (a diuretic).
An oxygen mask was clamped over my face the whole day and night long, taken off from time to time only to be replaced by a nebuliser which was worse because it made me cough non-stop. I began to feel like `The Man in the Iron Mask”, and longed to be able to sleep without it at night, but had no luck.
If I happened to doze off early, I would be woken up at 10 p.m. to be given my last quota of pills for the day and I wakened at what seemed like the crack of dawn to besponged and have my blood pressure and temperature taken.
I had a shock to find that the ICU had two MALE nurses, one of whom helped to sponge me. So there I was, an octogenarian, undergoing the new and unwelcome (to me) experience of being handled by a male.
There was an efficient female nurse in charge and she obviously felt no explanation was needed when she briskly unclothed me. A thoughtful daughter had positioned a CD-player by my hospital bed and the nurse leaned over and pressed the “play” button.
The male nurse scrubbed the left side of my body and the female the right side, to the strains of “Onward Christian soldiers” and “Amazing Grace” issuing from my CD player. It seemed so incongruous that weak laughter bubbled up inside me.. The final indignity was having to submit to wearing pampers.
Meals were sent up hours before they were given to the patient.
I wasn’t in the least interested in food at this stage and would gladly have done without it, but the other male nurse would coax me to take a mouthful or two of an unpalatably cold meal. At this period, I felt so sick and lifeless that for the first time in my life, I wanted to die. But they don’t give up easily in an ICU. They busy themselves carrying out various standard procedures the whole day through. And I must say, that both male nurses were gentle and understanding and I soon ceased to feel uncomfortable with them.
An endurance test was the visit, thrice a day, from a Physiotherapist. He was a friendly young man who knew his business thoroughly and who was kind but firm with a reluctant patient like myself. I could submit to the good pummelling he gave me, making me turn from side to side, in his efforts to force the phlegm that congested my chest, but what was sheer torture was his poking a suction tube down my throat and twisting it around to make me cough up the phlegm. Only those who have had such an experience will understand how horrid it is. I called him a torturer, but he carried on, regardless. One evening, he arrived later than usual and I quickly feigned sleep, hoping he would go away. Not a hope! When I slowly raised my eyelids, there he was, waiting patiently by my bed.
I have to acknowledge that it was his perseverance that completely cleared all the congestion in my chest. He also did several different kinds of exercises with me to strengthen my leg and stomach muscles and these I still faithfully do.
Throughout this whole period, I was in the hands of the most caring doctor I know. He visited me at least thrice each day to check up on me and to offer words of encouragement. He saw to every detail of my treatment and didn’t hesitate to call in other specialists – a cardiologist and an anaesthetist – to see me. It’s not just me – this doctor takes the same meticulous care of every patient of his and that’s why he is so loved by us all.
Came the happy day when my oxygen mask was removed (but not my pampers) and I was able to move into a room.
Not having used my legs at all for nearly two weeks, I found myself trembling when I stood up and had to be assisted on both sides in order to force my feet to move. After two days, I was given the green light to go home.
I was taken to the car by wheelchair andwhen I alighted at home, too, a wheelchair awaited me. I tended towards using the wheelchair, but when the indefatigable Physio visited me at home, he persuaded me to use the walker on the first day, and then he insisted that I use only my walking stick and hold his hand and walk a fair distance up and down in the house.
Even more challenging was his wrapping a sheet round my middle and holding it firmly from behind, while I was exhorted to walk without holding his hand! My heart went pit-a-pat, but I had to do it. I owe my Physio a big debt of gratitude, for it’s entirely due to his efforts and his perseverance that I have been able to dispense with both wheelchair and walker and stand up and walk, holding my walking stick in my right hand and placing my left hand in another’s. I look forward to being able to walk without the hand-holding very soon.
The TLC lavished on me by my children has played a large part in my recovery. The kindness of friends has buoyed me up constantly.
It meant a lot to me that I was being upheld in prayer by individuals and groups in many places, but I’d like to share with you a message that moved me most deeply and made me realise afresh the value of human relationships.
My third son, Dilip, is a dedicated Toastmaster who has served as President of Toastmasters International. Here is part of the text of a message that had gone to all Toastmasters everywhere:-
“Anne Abayasekara, mother or Dr. Dilip Abayasekara, is critically ill and currently hospitalised. As members of one Toastmaster fraternity, I kindly request you to spend five minutes of your time in one silent voice, as one family, for the speedy recovery of his beloved mother.
A prayer chain is organized tomorrow, Thursday, 22nd March at 6 p.m. (Sri Lankan time). Wherever you are, in whichever city, and whichever part of the world, to whatever race or religion you belong, simply close your eyes and pray in the way you would normally offer your prayers for someone in need. As all of us do, Dilip deeply loves his mother and this would be one way we could show our simple contribution of gratitude. May Anne Abayasekara have a fast recovery to make her way back home, to live the life she used to live.”
There was a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes when I read that. I feel blessed beyond measure. |
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