One of my dear friends, Dottie Dettmering, is 95 years young, and a member of my writers critique group, The Scribblers. The group meets in a local retirement community, and we’ve been asked to write an article for the community’s newsletter each month. Dot submitted an essay she had written a few years ago, entitled “There’s Always Something To Write About.” I’ve included the item below, for your enjoyment. But…watch for a “surprise” at the end:
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I had gone to sleep on Wednesday night feeling good, but woke up at 5:30 a.m. with a headache. I got up to go to the bathroom and realized something was wrong. I could walk all right, but I couldn’t think of what I wanted to think. Now I know that sounds queer, but it’s the truth. I seemed to know what I wanted to think about, but the words would not form in my mind.

Immediately I thought “STROKE” and my blood pressure jumped to 250. I imagined my face getting red and my tongue swelling. Now, I can blame it on the medication, but at the time I was scared and prone to exaggeration.

I phoned my neighbor. She came over immediately in her robe and bare feet. When she saw me, she called 911. In a few minutes my bedroom was overflowing with firemen…and me in my pajamas!

Going to the Emergency Room in an ambulance, you get waited on immediately. I was the earliest patient, so no one was waiting for attention. The firemen left me a green blanket. I needed it, because I felt cold most of the time I was there.

The nurse came in with a student, who kept pricking me. A white-haired doctor stuck his nose in and said, “We’re going to admit you to the hospital. We want to know if you had a stroke.” (I wanted to know, too!)

I was transferred to a room on the neurology floor. Two attendants came in at once, a nurse and a ‘three-letter’ helper. They put their names on the bulletin board so I could see.

Dr. Herman, the neurologist, who looked about seventeen years old, asked, “Do you know where you are?” and “When is your birthday?” I know I answered them correctly, but he still insisted that I should have my head examined.

In a couple moments I was being rolled down one corridor after another, into a room with a huge machine. They blindfolded me and told me to lie still. It was very noisy.

The attendant who’d brought me left. I lay in the hallway until another was free to wheel me back. I got to my room in time for lunch.

My admitting physician came at dinnertime, reached over my tray, tipped over my glass of water, and left. ‘Three-letters’ came in to clean it up. “Oh, that doctor. He will probably blame it on me,” she lamented.

The water got all over my green blanket. She left it in a wad on the chair to dry. I wanted to straighten it out to dry properly, lifted my leg over the side of the bed, and the alarm went off. ‘Three-letters’ came running back, “You’re not supposed to get out of bed without an attendant, you know!” (I didn’t, but now I did.)

She pointed to my armband, “Fall Risk.” I don’t understand why, because twice I was walked around the nurses circle, three times each, and the attendant said I did very well.

I had to spend the night, and slept like the proverbial log, or is it dog?

I asked for a toothbrush. It was three inches long and had ten bristles. The toothpaste tasted awful. The paperwork took all next morning and part of the afternoon.

They THOUGHT I’d had a TIA, but they KNEW I had a bladder infection. So, I’m now on antibiotics.

I came home on Friday afternoon. In Saturday’s mail I got a letter from my HMO. Because I was not in the hospital long enough, they would not pay for my stay. I can ask for a review, but that will be another story.

You see, there is always something to write about.
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Funny, huh? Well, what is NOT so funny is that the exact same thing happened to Dottie three days ago. She is now in rehab/health care recovering from another TiA. Please send prayers and positive thoughts for Dottie’s recovery. She has SO many more stories to write.