So the little Hispanic woman that was all of 5 feet nothing had promised me a shower. She came back to my room a couple times in the next few hours saying, "just a little bit" or "few more minutes". It was kind of mean, really, like she was taunting me. I was beginning to wonder if I was really going to get a shower and my hair washed or if I was just going to have to live with the icky hair syndrome for the rest of my days. But, finally, true to her word, Tiny (I mean she was so short and small I feared if I fell she wouldn't be able to help me up!) did return and it was SHOWER TIME! woohoo!! I should have been concerned when I noticed that she had 2 bath towels (that's normal...one for my hair and one for my body, I presumed) and SIX wash cloths. I mean, I knew that it had been a couple days, but I didn't think I was a 6 washrag kind of dirty. oh well. I'll take what I can get.
A little preface here is due. My speech was coming back slowly and if I was retelling an experience or story that was from long ago, it seemed my speech was unaffected. Newer experiences or words I hadn't used in a while, not so much. Or, when I got tired or frustrated my speech was garbled and stuttered and my voice was still a lovely 5 year old high-pitched thing most of the time. So it was like long-term stuff was safe in my mind but new stuff was affected. And Tiny spoke English, but it was obviously a second language for her as it was a broken English. So I'm sure anybody listening to our conversation as she helped me out of bed and into the shower was laughing their butts off because we were quite a pair. But we managed to get in the shower.
The showers on the stroke floor are really huge. I suppose they have to be in order to get wheelchairs or walkers or the likes in there also, but I was in awe of the size of the shower. So, Tiny gets me in the shower and stripped down to my birthday suit. I had learned during my band days and changing on the bus that modesty was overrated, and any modesty that I had regained during the years since were stripped away with my clothing in the emergency room a couple days ago. When Tiny turned on the water it was glorious. Nice, warm spray coming down. Didn't matter to me that the water pressure was horrible, I could get my hair wet. I could stand under it and just soak. And I did, for about a nanosecond. I wasn't very good at standing. Correction. I sucked at standing. I couldn't stand. So I did this weird half-lean thing against the shower wall. Imagine the cartoons you have seen of the drunk guy leaning and sliding down a wall. That's pretty much what I looked like, except I didn't slide down too far...just to the seat of the shower.
So here I am, being soaked with water and once my hair was thoroughly drenched Tiny holds up a bottle, but with the label turned away from me so I can't see it (not that I could read it in the shower because something weird was happening and my eyes were kind of cloudy) and says, "Wash hair?" like there was any question whether or not I wanted to wash my hair. I emphatically said, "Yes!" So she commenced to dumping the whole little trial bottle on my head and said, "wash". I still couldn't get my left arm up there but I ducked my head down and with my right hand, I scrubbed every inch of my head. Then I scrubbed it again. Kneading my finger tips into my scalp and just rubbing the dickens out of it. But, and the women reading this will know what I'm talking about, not sure if the men will...you know how you can feel the shampoo bubble up in your hair and come through your hands and if you look at your hands there are bubbles on them. This wasn't the case. It smelled okay so it must be okay, right? I passed it off as some sterile hospital brand of shampoo that doesn't foam or some craziness.
As soon as the hair washing was done, Tiny grabs one of the six wash rags and dumps some body wash of some sort on it and hands it to me. I begin to wash my left arm, and body. Then, Tiny grabs it away from me, places it on the seat next to me and hands me a second wash rag with some kind of liquid cleaner on it and says louder than I have heard her talk to this point, "wash pee pee". I give her a weird look and took the rag. I mean, I was getting down there but I kind of like to start at the top of my body and work my way down. Ya know, hair, neck, back, front, arms, stomach, etc...Guess Tiny liked to work her way UP the body. So I obediently took the second rag and washed the nether regions. Then I picked up the first rag again and started back where I left off scrubbing and washing my body. I had managed to wash my hair, my neck, my arm before she had requested this change in order, so I started back on my chest and stomach. I had gotten to about my belly button when she took the rag away again and shoved a third rag in my hand and yelled this time, "WASH PEE PEE". I looked at her and said, "I did" and she said again and pointed, "Wash Pee Pee". I was like, "ok, ok..." so I obliged again and washed down there with the rag. I mean good grief, it wasn't like I was entertaining down there or anything. A single washing would have been sufficient, I'm sure. So we have now been through 3 of the 6 wash cloths. I pick up the original wash cloth that I started with again and tried my darndest to wash my back with my right hand, stretching it in any direction I could get to try to thoroughly get it scrubbed, because trust me, Tiny wasn't washing my back. She was preoccupied with her little bottles of cleaner and her pile of wash rags. So I get my back as good as I can and start on my legs. Left leg, leg ankle, left foot. Making sure to get between the toes and stuff and just as I start washing on my right leg, she snatches my rag away again and for the THIRD time, puts a new rag in my hand and yells at me to "WASH PEE PEE". I looked squarely at her and I was frustrated as all heck now, and I said, "I did." She didn't care. I thought she was gonna take the rag from me and do it herself based on the look on her face, so I was like, "ok, ok....I'll wash pee pee". So for the third time, I washed down there. My private areas were probably wondering if we were preparing for a party or something as much cleaning and attention as they were getting. With that done, I finished up washing my right side and I was done.
Tiny turned the water off and I carefully stood up holding on to the safety bars. I was doing the weird half-lean against the wall thing again as I put my hair up in one of the towels. The second towel Tiny was using to dry my back (NOW she wanted to help!), but then I realized her help was not so good when I got a wedgie as she was trying to ensure that my bottom was thoroughly dried. Yep, you have not lived until a 5 foot tall Hispanic woman gives you a bath towel wedgie. I was beyond thankful to be getting dressed.
Back in bed, I still had my towel on my head and was content to leave it there to soak up some of the water and help it dry since I didn't have a blow dryer handy. When I finally took the towel off, my hair was an absolutely icky slimey mess. In looking at the little bottles of various cleaners that Tiny had left in the tray near my bed, I realized why. She had used Johnson's and Johnson's Head to Toe Baby Wash on me. This was not made for color-treated hair, not that I expected that they'd have a shampoo in the hospital that would be, but this was made for people with virtually NO HAIR, BABIES!! So of course it could be weird and slimey. Tommy helped me pull my hair back in a ponytail where it would just have to stay for the time being. At least dinner would be coming soon.
We had mastered the art of picking what we wanted for dinner and the time schedule as to when to place the order for the next meal and such and I really didn't think that Turkey and Dressing was going to be edible so I had requested a hamburger and French fries. It was on the "approved list" so why not. Well, let me tell you why not. When it arrived, I'm not really sure what was sadder looking...the spongey brown piece of meat between the two incredibly dry wheat slices disguised as buns, or the absolutely burnt so hard they wouldn't even break French fries. Of course they had to monitor all food and liquid intake (by the way, I still wasn't drinking enough water they informed me). I took about 3 bites of the tasteless sandwich and deemed it unfit to eat. It had a not quite right taste, but I don't know what the taste was. I had been told that they were going to perform a TEE on Friday (transesophageal echocardiogram) which was short for, "we're gonna knock you out and run a camera down your throat and look at your heart" and that I couldn't have any food or water (again!) after midnight. This spongey burger was gonna be my last meal for a while. Fortunately, I knew my parents were coming up to visit me so asked them to please stop at Braums and get me a burger. I'm a picky eater so it was an easy order. Just a burger, plain and dry...meat and bread only and small French fries. THAT, my dear friends, was HEAVEN! Of course Auntie came in and had to determine how big the burger was and how many French fries were eaten so she could record it, but I didn't care. I ate that burger with so much happiness that I would have smiled all night long, if only my face was working so my left side could smile instead of the weird Joker-esque smile that it currently was allowing. That would hold me over until after the TEE, I thought, and did I mention that they were implanting a heart monitor at the same time?
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