The Socks

What don’t they tell you at the hospital?  Basically everything. It’s because the experience of hospitalization was endlessly perplexing that this blog exists in the first place.  At least all of the confusion gave me something to write about. That’s my first consolation prize. There are lots of consolation prizes in hospitals, too.  It feels like receiving a certificate of participation in elementary school in the science fair or art contest or spelling bee- you don’t really get anything worth having, but here’s a piece of paper so you feel like something came of this immense disruption to your life.  Your dog will chew it up when you get home, but you can cherish it until then!

The most important thing they didn’t tell me about at the hospital and my most cherished consolation prize are one in the same.  It all starts at 2:30 in the morning on my first day as an inpatient. I was in the ER for a day and a half before getting admitted to a nearby hospital, and it was apparently very important that I get ambulanced over to my new digs IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.  At least they gave me a cozy blanket from the blanket warmer for the ride, and the ambulance had a nice leather interior (consolation prizes #2 and #3, for those playing along at home). I should also note that the blanket warmer was apparently just 20 feet from my bed in the ER, but no one had offered me a warm blanket until I was on my way out of the ER.  It was a nice parting gift.  

I arrived to my very large, private hospital room at about 3 in the morning.  It was a corner room with a nice view of the city (consolation prize #4), and my husband dubbed it “the hospital penthouse.”  I was deliriously tired when I arrived, but there’s all sorts of things that simply must be done when you arrive at a hospital before you can sleep.  I talked with five people over the next hour: two nurses, one admission staff person, and two doctors.  The first nurse was very attentive and sympathetic to the fact that I had a migraine headache; he hid his computer monitor behind a curtain, turned off all of the lights, etc.  He also gave me a detailed orientation to my hospital room. My bed went up and down like this, my nurse call button was here, the free toothbrush and toothpaste were on this table, the hospital grippy socks were draped over the end of my bed, etc.  The socks were yellow and size XL, according to the XL letters printed on each side of each sock. I guess this also makes them reversible, which is a nice feature for socks. The nurse told me that I should wear the yellow grippy socks if I needed to walk to the bathroom, so that I wouldn’t trip and fall.  I was content with the socks I was wearing, but I didn’t tell him this since he seemed nice and I didn’t want to bash on the reversible footwear.  

After nice nurse left, I did get up to go to the bathroom.  When I came back out and walked over to my bed, there was nice nurse again, waiting for me.  I was not sure why he was back so soon. “You should wear your grippy socks! They keep you from falling!”  he said. And I was perplexed, because I at this point had successfully re-entered my bed without event. I hadn’t even stubbed my toe.  I told nice nurse that I was ok with the socks I had, but he seemed unconvinced. It left me wondering if he somehow knew that I had left my bed without touching the yellow grippy socks, and that’s why he came back into my room.  This was the first time, but not the last, that I wondered just how carefully I was being watched.  

A few days passed, and I started a medication that made me dizzy and nauseous.  I also got transferred to a smaller, less awesome room on a different floor (the headache floor, apparently) at a slightly more acceptable time of the night.  Because I was feeling a bit under the weather, I raised no complaint about my bed being rolled over to my next room, even if I could have walked over there myself.  Besides, bringing the bed with me meant bringing the yellow grippy socks, which continued to watch over me (or perhaps just watch me) from the foot of the bed.  The new room came with a new nurse, who was not only friendly but also very enthusiastic about my in-bed bathroom options.  

Our first conversation went like this:

Nurse: “Hello my dear!  Would you like a bedpan or a commode??”

Me: “Ummm, I don’t think I need either of them.  I can walk to the bathroom just fine.”

Nurse: “Well you should pick one just in case you can’t get up without falling!  I’ll leave the bed pan over here, and the commode next to your bed.”

Me: “Really, I plan to use the bathroom.”

Nurse: “Ok.  I’ll just leave the commode here by the bathroom door, in case you don’t want to go all the way to the bathroom toilet!  It’s easier this way, sweetie.”

Me: “Erm, ok.  Thanks.”

On the following day, I met a nurse who understood that I don’t need a commode, and we hit it off right away.  She took the commode out of my room, and we later got to talking about the only thing we found ourselves to have in common: hospitals.  She taught me about all sorts of things, including things about grippy socks, which apparently come in a variety of colors. Some of them are light blue, purple, etc. But the yellow grippy socks, those are always special.  No matter what hospital you are in, and no matter what other colors of grippy socks exist in that hospital, yellow grippy socks are used to flag a patient as a fall risk.  It’s like a secret hospital code.

And suddenly, everything made sense.  Catching heat for going to the bathroom, getting a bedpan shoved in my face…it was all because of those yellow grippy socks draped over the foot of my bed, which someone had erroneously assigned to me.  I should have had different grippy socks from the get go! But at least my first source of confusion was resolved, making room for many, many other perplexing hospital moments. And I got a good laugh out of it (consolation prize #5).  Also, I got to take the yellow grippy socks home, where they continue to watch me, making sure I don’t fall while going to the bathroom (consolation prize #6).