This is a continuation of Neurological Nightmare: Part 1. If you’ve not read it, head here first!
I woke up on Wednesday, still in hospital, but this time in the new ward.
This ward had been quieter than the previous one, however it certainly was not peaceful. I was woken up every few hours to make sure I still had a pulse, had my IV fluids and medications changed, and I witnessed my roommates going through the same processes.
These are all very necessary things, and I do not want to give the impression that I harbour resentment towards nurses, or health care assistants, for doing them (after all… My sister is a nurse and I think she’d have an angry word to say with me if I did!). It is just that these things make it very difficult for a patient to rest and sleep in hospital. At the very time when you need the most rest.
Either way, the next day I found myself getting to know my roommates better. The two ladies across from me were elderly. One, in the furthest bed, wasn’t able to communicate with me much. She had a form of dementia and clearly had a lot of pain. Despite this, she always said she was fine whenever anyone asked her.
The lady across from me also had a form of dementia. She did like to have a chat, but she often spoke about things that didn’t make much sense or was in her own world. Still, she enjoyed talking so I didn’t mind. She was a sweet lady, but oh boy! She was also very feisty.
She also loved my husband. She kept telling me how lovely he was. I happen to agree!
The woman beside me was lovely. She was younger, perhaps in her early 40s. She had some serious physical health issues but what was upsetting was that because of her mental health problems, she wasn’t taken seriously by her social worker and family, when she said she thought her physical health wasn’t good. It wasn’t until she ended up very ill in hospital that they took her seriously.
There are so many things wrong with that! The stigma of mental health has not only affected her relationship with her family, but it also affected the care she got from her social worker. A person who is supposed to be there to help you. By dismissing her as not actually being physically ill, they presumed that because she has mental health issues that she must be malingering or imagining that she was sick. Instead of realising that one can have both physical and mental health conditions independent of one another.
I was thankful to have her to chat to during my time in hospital.
On Thursday, I had another MRI, but this time on my cervical spine (neck). I have a weird neck as a couple vertebrae are fused as part of a birth defect. I also used to have two herniated discs, although now it’s only one apparently. That’s from an accident years ago.
Finally the ward doctors checked in and said that nothing new seemed to be happening with my neck (simply based off what I had already said was wrong), and that they agreed that I was having complex migraines.
I kept being given morphine for pain relief, however the neurologist had mentioned I should not be on that and I should be on another migraine medication.
The ward doctors simply said they’d look into it and that was that.
The physiotherapist had come by too and we tried walking more with the walker. I was even wheeled to a set of stairs and they taught me how to safety go up and down stairs. It sounds funny! I was a 29 year old being taught how to go up the stairs, but because we have a flight of stairs to get into our flat, I couldn’t be cleared to go home until I could prove that I could safety navigate a stairwell.
Success! Physio cleared me to go home, but it wasn’t until Friday that the medical team discharged me.
I still wasn’t given the migraine meds that the neurologist recommended, but more morphine. I was also told to follow up with the neurologist my GP had referred me to originally.
So, I left the hospital with a partial diagnosis of complex migraines, morphine, and the hope that the neurologist I would see would provide more specific answers and a better treatment plan.
To be continued…