Okay, so I was a little upset when I wrote that last post.
I wrote it sitting in my hospital bed in a nursing home, listening to one of my two Alzheimer’d roomies yell, “Stop that! What is wrong with you?!” while a well-meaning staffer tried to change her diap– uh, ‘briefs’. (They tried to put me in briefs too, but I made it clear that I could take care of myself, thank you very much.)
What happened a week earlier was, I couldn’t shit any more.
I’d been hospitalized for a bowel obstruction last summer so I recognized the symptoms: another night of unrelenting gut pain and vomiting. As I moaned, my sweet dog tried to lick me better. But when I grabbed a bucket and started hurling, she clambered into the driver’s seat, looking for a way out. Poor Scout wanted to get as far away from me as possible.
The next morning I called 911 for an ambulance and lo and behold, one actually came out to my desert camp, three miles from the nearest paved road. My friends Linda and Gloria promised to take care of Scout and off I went, wincing at every bump in the dirt road.
The ER staff watched me for a few hours and decided I was okay. They gave me water to drink and told me to come back if I had more pain. The water threatened to come back up as Linda’s Jeep lurched down the bumpy road.
After another night of agony, I asked Linda to take me back to the ER. This time they admitted me. Two days later, I was on the operating table.
Turns out, bowel obstructions are most often caused, not by extreme constipation but by scar tissue from previous abdominal surgeries such as hysterectomies and C-sections, like mine. The scars grow over time and attach to the bowel, twisting and distorting it, until nothing can get through.
I remember waking up to bright lights, faces briefly entering my line of vision, and noise. Lots of noise. I was confused at first, not remembering what was going on, and then I heard Dr. Sahlolbei’s voice say, “You were in trouble. It’s a good thing we went in.” Then I went blank again.
My son, Robby drove four hours from San Diego to get Scout and to pack up and drive the van to the nursing home where I’d decided to recuperate once the hospital released me. I knew I wouldn’t be up to taking care of myself right away, especially not in the van, but at least I would have it when I got out so I could drive back to San Diego.
So there I sat, listening through the curtain to my roommates’ dramas, their relatives’ visits, the constant blare of their TV. And while I listened, I felt sorry for my—oh, let’s be honest—I felt superior.
Unlike them, I still had most of my wits about me.
Unlike them, I could go to the bathroom by myself (despite the need for laxative encouragement).
Unlike them, I would be leaving this place.
This time.
There is nothing like being stuck in a nursing home for two weeks to make you think. You think about how your own mother spent a year in one, complete with a constantly screaming roommate. You feel guilty about that but mostly you think about your own impending mortality.
You’re almost 70 now. There will come a time, not that far off, when you will need someone to wipe your ass, and after that and a thousand other humiliations, a time when you will end. There will be no more you.
It’s a sobering thought.
Vandwellers talk about this. Some plan for the end by saying they will blow their brains out somewhere in nature before they become helpless. Others say they will take pills. Whatever the method, the end result is suicide. I don’t think I could do that, but we never really know what we will do until faced with the situation.
All I know is, I never, ever want to go back into a nursing home.
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Take it one day at a time. Thinking of a future unable to care for one’s self is scary even when you are in sticks and bricks. I just try not to look that far ahead. I worked in a retirement community for 7 years. The end is not always pretty so enjoy what you have now.
Thanks, Linda!
LaVonne,
You must appreciate the irony of the title of your book…………..
Take care, I’ve had the same thing.
Haha, took me a minute!
Thanks for writtng about that, even though I dont want to know any of it. Its depressng to think about. Still; its a good read. It does help me feel greatful for what I still have. It encourages my commitment to the moment.
Keep em comming. I enjoy all your posts. Even the depressing ones. 🙂
Today I worked on version 3 of window screens for the Prius. Sigh.. happy trails.
Yeah, I got a little serious there for a bit but I am recovering. 😉
Well done LaVonne, a nice long post with feeling and purpose.
In New Zealand we have a different type of health system, the names of institutions are similar but the functions quite different. A “Nursing Home” here is one step from the “Hospice” which is always connected to the undertaker, no returns from there.
So I was very concerned about you being in such a place, but thanks to the god of your choice or perserverence of your own spirit, you have removed yourself there.
Last time I was in San Diego, 36 years ago, it looked like a nice place. On the way there on AMTRAC we visited a place called San Juan Capistrano, a trip to there will make your van fell like luxury, in comparison to the way the monks lived. And its a very pretty place with lots to make your heart invigorated and spirt soar back to good health.
My own health has been…variable. Today I fell lucid, a little snarky as well, but lucid.
I feel frustrated that I cannot jump on a plane to give you a hug and play with scout, and buy 100 of your books to give away at markets to anyone who looks sad and confused.
We all would like a new picture of Scout in San D, I’m sure.
Get well, get a tan, get writing.
BFG
Thanks, Andrew (I got that right, right?) I wish you could come here too, but I wish even more that I could go there. Who knows, maybe someday. 🙂
I watched a video on utube that your in, that’s why I’m here. I hope you are completely healed and back on the road. Take good care. Happy trails.
Thank you so much, Joe! Yes, I am finally healed up and ready to hit the road again in another month or so. Happy Trails to you!
I remember my first experience in a nursing home. I was training for my job in the military and a guy across the hall asked me to come along one Sunday to a nursing home ministry that his church did. I was dumbfounded. Some of those people seemed not to know who they even were. I’m not sure many of them even got anything out of the “service” that was held for them. I came away from that experience never wanting to have to go into a nursing home.
I found out about your site from the interview done on the Enigmatic Nomadics YouTube channel.
Yes, nursing homes can be a serious downer. But I have heard there are good ones. Somewhere.
I am so glad that you are doing better LaVonne. I watched your interview on u tube and I wanted to know more about you. We are about the same age and I think you are very brave. I ask myself the same questions about the end of life. So far I don’t have a good answer. Your book looks like it would be good. I am real sure I need it! LOL
I will try to keep up with your adventures and keep you in my prayers.
Jackie
Thank you, Jackie!
Hi LaVonne, Just came across your blog and feel like I have found a kindered spirit. So sorry to hear that you have been ill. I too had a Csection, and I have never heard about the possible long term issues! YIKES!
Thank you for your honesty, wit and compassion.
Hope your recovery goes quickly and you and scout can be on the road again soon!
Sandi
Thank you, Sandi — it’s good to meet a kindred spirit! Yes, unfortunately, the doctors told me there is nothing I can do to prevent a recurrence. 🙁 But I am all better for now and camped with Scout and several good friends in the mountains near Flagstaff, AZ. Are you a vandweller too, or thinking about it?
I am a home dweller but am constantly looking at youtube videos of people on the move. (that is how I came across your website!!), and thinking about what type of vehicle I would get and how I would set it up. ( I love organizing small spaces, go figure). Looking forward to your posts on your recovery. How Scout did in your absence and what is next.
Be well.