Code Blue

Certain things about hospital life aren't like you'd expect. There's a lot of people with your care in mind, but there are still ways you need to advocate for yourself. Learning to speak up about what I feel I need has been difficult even for a sharp, stubborn bastard like me. I'm surrounded by doctors and experts and it's easy to go with the flow, listen to the statistics and assume everyone has your best interests at heart.

The first incidence of real self-advocation was when I asked them to stop giving me Ativan. I can't prove it, it could be all in my head (har har -- it's an anti-anxiety drug as well as anti-nausea, you see) but I really felt like it was doing more harm than good. I was surprised when my caregivers listened and said things like "you know your body best."

The next thing was poop-related. In my mind it's like CSI: Scott's Colon up ins this place, so I've just been waiting for them to tell me what I need to know about it. I finally had to level with my nurse and say "Listen, there's getting on a good chance of me sharting in my sleep. Can we do something about this?"

The answer was hedged more than I would have liked. Not right away, is the unfortunate answer -- not before some more crack CSI teams (a pun!) investigate. But it started a process that might lead to Immodium, so once again opening my mouth was the right call.

My nurse leveled back with me: if you have an accident, she said, it wouldn't be the end of the world. It wouldn't be your fault. The chemo we gave you has done this to your body and we're here to get you through whatever happens. Small comfort (but some, I guess).

Later that night, my neighbor coded. Code Blue. Now if that isn't something that puts all our wet fart problems into perspective.