Checking in to the 9th floor

The charge nurse introduced herself and asked me if I had Covid or any signs of Covid. I said no. She was curious why I had been swabbed and tested for Covid. I told her that they had told me that it was required before my transfer.

She discusses this with the doctor.

Then I discovered I had been admitted to the cancer floor and anyone with Covid or Covid exposure can’t be on the floor. The patients here are all very immunocompromised.

I read the hospital menu as I want for my admissions tests. It’s torture as it is after 3 pm and I’ve had about 350 calories of food and 6 grams of protein all day. And then I see Monday lunch features maple glazed Brussel sprouts.

If you follow my blog, you may now Brussel sprouts are my favorite and I narrowly missed them. I was heartbroken.

** side note** Every staff person I have met at both of these facilities (I started at St. Luke’s Easton Campus) has been amazing.

The nurse finished most of my paperwork when a very handsome doctor strolls in, with sandy light brown hair and big eyes, swoops in to check my finger. He’s the specialist, the regular doctor and the nurse have all seen the cellulitis from the puncture/bite caused by a 3-pound kitten.

He tells me his plan for treatment—a maceration dressing. Now at first, I got this word mixed up with “eviscerate” and thought maybe they planned to make a brace of nails to poke holes in my flesh and let whatever was beneath the flesh ooze out.

The reality is far less gruesome but probably just as uncomfortable.

He carefully explained, but I’m going to summarize and share pictures. They put wet gauze around my hand, wrap it in a splint, wrap it in some soft stuff, tape it like a candy cane, put a plastic bag over it, wrap it in a heated blanket, put it in a big sling and hang it over my head.

“Ah,” I said. “The height of 2020 technology here.”

“It works,” he said.

He returned with a resident and an intern and they set to work. I love being in a teaching hospital because I learn so much.

I finally ordered some food and I meant to ask the kitchen staff if they had any Brussel sprouts left over from lunch but I forgot. I went with the beef brisket. And a sweet potato. Applesauce. Lemon meringue pie. Salad.

When it arrived, my tray only had spoons as utensils.

I have my left arm suspended from an IV pole. My right arm has an IV in the elbow. And I have to eat salad and cut meat with a spoon.

So the nurse came in for one of those routine things that nurses do, and I asked her, “Is it customary to not receive forks?”

She looked at my tray and started to laugh.

I must have looked a good tad baffled.

“It’s usually hard to get a spoon around here,” she said.

“They were saving them for me,” I replied.

Note the utensils

She found me some plastic utensils and I was able to dine more delicately. Later at shift change, the nurse and I managed to convince the night nurse that I was under doctor’s orders not to have a fork.

I should know not to joke about food as I had an NPO go into effect at midnight just in case I needed surgery in the morning.

I slept from about 1 to 4 a.m., and the resident undressed my contraption shortly after 6. The swelling had reduced, the redness gone, only one knuckle still swollen. The resident squeezed and poked and prodded but no discharge or puss oozed out.

This means no surgery!

The morning after

We will be doing another 12 hours of fluids, electrolytes and unasyn. And betadine soaks. I have noticed the knuckle is no longer swollen!

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