At some point into my hospital stay, possibly day 3, my darling daughter Sophie brought in some pyjamas. Now its not her fault that nanny buys me awful pyjamas every Christmas but there I was, being wheeled along to scans wearing fluffy leopard print pyjama bottoms and a red hoodie! (brown & red! yuck). Having scans where the outpatients are, with their normal clothes on. And here I am being wheeled in looking like a corpse with the most unflattering attire imaginable haha! Well I’m glad she brought me a hoodie because hood up, face down! And I must have absolutely reeked because I only remember having one shower in my entire stay. No bed washing or help for me.
I’ve still got those pyjamas(!) Anyway….
The days are ticking by, not really remembering anything, head is pure agony and everything is confusing me. I’m still more concerned about my right wrist that is now in plaster. I’m right handed. Trying to do anything left handed was (and still is) a little bit difficult.
It all gets a bit hazy but I don’t remember being fed very often. Always seemed to be having scans when the food orders were taken. Definitely remember being given toast as an evening meal at one point.
At some point in my stay (or when home? Genuinely can’t remember) it all comes back to me. I DID fall down the stairs. I remember now! My foot got caught in the carpet hole at the top, I twisted, whacked my head and tumbled down. I even remember at one point my eyes rolled, couldn’t see and I didn’t know if I was upside down. As I got to the bottom I put my arm up to shield my face and whacked my arm on the corner of the wall at the bottom. A very very common occurrence for sober people when they fall down the stairs so a very kindly doctor told me at some point. You instinctively put your hand up to protect your face and if I’d been intoxicated it would’ve made for an easier fall with less injuries.
I remember lying there thinking “I have NEVER hit my head that hard in my life, I need to lie down, I need my phone, I really need to lie down!” Bailey was standing over me (I’d let him out for his last wee) and then I can’t remember anything else until I woke the next day (in my bed?!) with blood everywhere.
I can’t remember how long I was in hospital – 13 days? – but I knew I needed to get out of there. I couldn’t sleep. And if I did get to sleep I was woken up every four hours to have my eyelids yanked open, light shone in and some really horrible anti-epilepsy drugs to try and swallow. I missed my daughter and I missed my boy Bailey (dog). ‘When can I go home?’ I would ask anytime a nurse came in. Not yet. In the end I pleaded and a doctor told me it wasn’t in my best interests etc. but okay then. I really didn’t know the ramifications of brain injury at this point. Pretty sure I didn’t know about the fractured skull, cheekbone & eye socket. All I knew was it felt like I had a sledgehammer stuck in my head and I wanted my own bed. At home.
Home. Which felt anything but for the next 6 months.