NP: Glenn Scheper's status

[Glenn Scheper]

Thanks for each note of care extended, or just held quietly at the heart.

I feel an obligation to narrate. The hospital computer allows no copy & paste!

At 3.5 days since the accident, Thursday was a real low psychological point for me.
>>I had failed to "master the bedpan" despite climbing on and off it many times,
>>making position adjustments and trying out every kind of body image thought,
>>working at it from 9 pm to 4 am with two doses of Milk of Magnesia--nearly all night.
>>For the first time the possibility of being a failure, just at doing nothing--being a patient--
>>had arisen and I went into denial about the whole need for defecation. Eventually,
>>the nice nurse brought greater, irresistable tools to the task, and cheerfully went
>>through the subsequent steps that they caused, steps I label with embarrassment.
>>
>>Afterwards, it was impossible to assess what I wanted or needed. The naked body
>>is essentially managed supine between a frontal half-shirt, and the lower blue pad.
>>All other discreet curtains and closures, vessels and implements, expectations and
>>responsibilities, are an art of this new civilization not yet learned.
>>
>>Dyspepsia, errupting like a violent volcano, kept stroking my instrument. Each hiccup
>>or other modulation would grab some broken ribs and convulse the whole body. 
>>I was tempted by the dinner tray, eagerly wolfed down something like saucy chicken,
>>but it fought back, had me in tears trying to settle my tearing body, till I got some
>>attention...patience....more attention...patience... and "relcor", a relaxor drug I guess?
>>
>>I was drained, and wanted all and none of: to eat, drink; clean; badpan. Sleep might
>>be a respite, but only first after suffering the torture of reclining, and made harder by
>>the twin demons on my forelegs: A tool-steel exoskeleton on the right; a compression
>>sleeve on the left, that inflates ten seconds each minute like a relentless gnawing dog.
>>
>>At that point I could not enjoy an integrated body image, but felt like many different
>>slices of beef set for eternal torture and disability in many styles and ages of bed.
>>I wished I had died instead of survived the crash.
>>
>>But the night shift gave me a pain killer and sleeper in its pill complement at 8 pm,
>>and I awoke all better and different at midnight. I slipped out of the dog and the
>>night-worker even let me stand up to be weighed. I got into a lot of yogic or 
>>dance-like stretching and strenghtening, and massaging the ribs, like somebody
>>who had to take ownership over this body. I feel good! (Ouch.)
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