From Retreat to Recovery: A Week in the Hospital
I must have fallen hard when I arose from bed on Monday morning, Sept 30. We could blame it on the wet surface (as I do), or harbor the suspicion that this was a cardiac arrest (as the doctors seemed to believe). In any case, I found myself sprawled on the floor for the next six hours. I just didn’t have the muscle strength to lift myself back on the bed, nor could I reach my cell phone as time passed and the calls increased. Finally, someone opened the door, gasped at the sight of the old priest on the floor, and called the ambulance.
The diagnosis was Rhabdomyolysis, a word that I don’t remember encountering in the old Greek epics. It means the damaging effect of some nasty enzyme (creatine) on the muscle system. That’s apparently why I couldn’t get off the floor or crawl to the door. Hence, the treatment over the next week was intravenous injections of one thing or another into the blood stream to clean out the creatine.
The nurses and staff at the hospital provided wonderful care, but there are things that even they can not offer. Honest-to-goodness “bed rest,” at least if the patient is used to sleeping on his stomach but has to struggle through the tangle of cords to assume this position. The flow of visitors continued over the week, with some of them bringing nice little treats (like donuts and tasty health drinks) to upgrade the hospital diet.
Just one week after admittance, I was released from the hospital and sent off with four types of medication. Freedom at last: no cords, no drips, no vital sign readings at weird hours of the day and night! And gratitude for the fine care from the medical staff, the good cheer of visitors in-person and on-line, and the healing touch of the One I have come to rely on entirely.
