My trip to the hospital(s) and second life

I recently spent almost eight weeks in several hospitals. How did I end up there? Let me tell you what I learned. I had cooked some chicken breasts and gobbled down a couple of them. Not long after, I learned I just poisoned myself as I started to purge myself but obviously, not enough.

I laid down on my couch and had the thoughts of the upcoming trip I was planning on making. It was all smiles and happy thoughts as I followed my route around America. Then I went unconscious. If it wasn’t for packages left for me on the front steps from Amazon, friends of mine would have never checked on me.

The next thing I knew was I couldn’t open my eyes or speak. (I found out later that I was airlifted to Billings Clinic, and I didn’t even get to enjoy the ride.) I had a number of tubes running out of my body. I was stiff and in pain. A few days later, I could open my eyes for a minute or so. My brother stopped in, but all I could do was listen with my eyes closed. I remember one young intern was crying because they couldn’t get me to open my eyes. I was able to open them to see her and told her not to worry, and they went closed again. This went on for two weeks.

By the third week, my body got rid of the bad nasties in me, and I could open my eyes and began to recover my memory. You don’t know how scary it is to speak and all you hear is not what you were trying to say. My body improved, and they removed a lot of the hoses in me. I was still tied to the bed because of the hoses and machines with just enough lead line to make it to the bathroom, and they had a weird machine in the room that, if I moved, they would notice it and talk to me through the machine. 

 I was informed that I was going to be transferred to another hospital and fought (as much as an old beat up ol’ cowboy can do in my condition) like heck to make it home and to the hospital here. 

Then two days later they told me I wasn’t going home. Then I was told I would be going home. And a day or two later I was told no, I wasn’t. I finally got the word that I was OK to be transferred. I will miss the people who helped me there. Plus, having someone to cook my meals, give me a bath, brush my teeth, etc., was really nice.

The day finally arrived, and I was told I was being transferred. My good friends April and Lee Christensen showed up, and off we headed to Lovell. I was so glad that part of my life was behind me. Lee gave me a full background on what happened and how he and Bob Mangus, April and Mike aka Vito worked to get to me as my doors were locked solid. The ambulance had arrived, and I guess Brandi Pitt kept my arms from attacking anyone. So, I was unconscious yet still alive to fight. I was told that April was the only one who understood me and made my wishes known. 

We arrived here in Lovell, and the first thing to do was drive past my house. Three plus feet of snow covered everything, but it looked OK and off to the North Big Horn Hospital we went. We arrived, and they brought out a chariot for me as the snow started up again. I was taken into a room and shown what a nice view I had — even though it was snowing and over three feet of snow covered everything. So we would check once a day and then close the blinds.

I got used to the schedule — when they showed up to give me my meds, bring me breakfast, lunch and dinner, give me a shot, take my temperature, massage my feet, recover my new tattoo where they had sliced and diced me. I do not sleep well at nights, probably from all the night shifts I use to work, so I would toss and turn and turn on the TV, but I had trained myself to wake up whenever I heard the door open.

I had always been told that the hospital was the place to go to die, but here I am, starting my new second life. I can’t say enough about the staff, from nurses, doctors, CNAs, the lab, the pill gals, the blood vampire (just kidding) and the exercise people to anyone I may have missed. But I do have to give Amy, who was my regular nurse for days, many kudos for her help and professional job. I heard everyone who came into the room, and at night, they would look in on me, refill my ice water, just talk. I was still tied to the bed with a portable machine still attached to me.

I had grown my beard out — not intentionally but decided I’d wait until I got home and then shave. I looked like a 71-year-old cowboy who had been dragged through the mud and dirt and looked to be 90 years old. I had dropped 82 pounds to help my knees, and I lost another 20 pounds while in the hospital, so at 150 pounds I looked like death warmed over.

During my hospital visit, the shooting in Byron took place and all hands were in the ER. It is amazing to watch as the halls were empty as everyone pulled together and headed to the ER and do their jobs. They all did their jobs, and the next few days you could feel the difference in the hospital. 

Finally, I was allowed to go to the bathroom by taking the machine with me until they came and removed the machine completely. I was able to talk almost like normal. I could walk, and I even challenged the PT people to a race. My memory was returning, and now I was ready to go home as it was heading toward eight weeks away from home. 

My ride arrived – thanks, Lee — an I went home. A few days at home and I missed being taken care of. The hospital here may be a place for us old folks to go die, but what service! I died and returned for part two of my life, so it is not a place to go and die. I can’t thank the staff enough at either hospital. I worked 10 years in hospitals, and for the experiences I enjoyed while being a patient, I will never be able to thank them all. Man, I really miss being waited on.

I’m back home and getting stronger each day. My tulips are blooming, the trees are showing new growth, the garden is ready for planting, the lilies are sprouting and I take each day one at a time, thankful that the good Lord has given me a second chance, thankful for all the dedicated employees.