Remember that I am home and recovering well right now. Any mentions or pictures that look bad are not happening now. I think…

And much more! Initially the move to the lung transplant wing is exciting. It’s a move closer to getting out and getting better. I must tell you though, the actual ride from ICU to the (Halle’s) 7th floor was one that I barely survived (Halle’s was an old school department store in Cleveland and Mr. Jingeling was keeper of the Christmas keys. Click to listen and tell me what words you know we inserted on our own).

To get me from one bed to the transport bed a “Transport Team” was called to action. Mostly big guys that could lift and hold patients in place during transition. Can take a while to assemble them as they have other tasks. Well one guy that was part of the move Al movement looked capable of the job all by himself and he was pressed for time. No planning on his part he just hoisted me out of the bed to my feet and said I have to go. Good for everyone I was steady at this point. Not mobile. Steady. Once I flopped into bed the ride was just beginning.

The move crew debated which way to go. Once at the elevator I noticed there may be one way to get me on the elevator. Narrow hall. Little room to wiggle around. There was a cutout opposite the elevator door BUT you had to take a second to calculate the right approach. Well…I had three “new math” graduates plotting my demise. To not exaggerate but make it clear when we got to the third attempt I clearly stated what they should try now. One of them said, “Ya. That might work.” Once in the elevator they had to dismantle the footboard to get the door to close.

On the wing I now was getting introduced to the transplant way. A tight group of nurses and techs who made me feel like they really were concerned for me. Not that nicey nice thing but a genuine care to the point one night tech wrapped me up like in a swaddle. I was miserable. No sleep past two hours. In fact, two was a goal at first. Pain was bad. No matter what I tried I could not get relaxed. Forget comfort, I just wanted to relax for a bit. Well Michael did the magic trick and got me relief. Mind you I was on Tramadol, Fentanyl and epidural and it took a properly wrapped blankie to do the trick. The crew on the Lunger wing was amazing and a half. EVERY person was on their game a 7 days I was there. Did I mention amazing?

Time there was marked by vitals all the time. Getting out of bed and staying out. Walking and pooping (if possible) and rest to recover. That is hospital stay for everything, right? I planned on mastering all that quickly but the rest. Pooping had a special place too and I will only show you what they expected me to use until I could be sturdy enough for the actual toilet. I waited.

Daytime was filled with all sorts of visitors. Doctors, nurses, specialists and my wife and daughter. Reading was not feasible for me with the pain of hoses and tubes creating just enough distraction if you will to make it next to impossible for me. TV was great when I was stoned. I could hold off on the “good stuff” until late hoping to get some rest. Fentanyl was the good stuff for TGH and sadly in the past 20 years with my hospital excursions I am well versed in several of the name brand relievers. Let me state unequivocally that Tylenol ain’t one of the good ones. What is the point of passing that out except to pad a bill that is already amazing. Told a nurse once that I did not need any more Tylenol as I had traded them for Chicklets Gum (full size) because they gave the same amount of relief but tasted way better.

Back to the Relief Olympics...OxyContin was in 2000 for Uvulectomy (took out my punching bag), tonsils, and deviated septum (nose job). Liquid. This must be what Haight-Ashbury was like in the ’60s. Dreams like so bizarre and nice.

Gall bladder few years later brought on dilaudid. I felt it going through my veins. I was in intense pain in the waiting room and threatened to slam my head into the floor hoping to split my skull and then get relief. Bit of a drama queen. I remember telling a nurse after I had the juice flowing in me that I have people. People that I can call and they would be here in a minute to take care of things if I couldn’t get relief. Cindy was horrified. The nurse looked at me and said “Call them!” I’m bored!

Lungs brought me Fentanyl. Different but very good. Really a trippy high. Woke up once on it thinking my hospital room was a facade. Fake walls and actors pretending to help me! Am I sick? Did I actually have a transplant? I’m going home! I then was working my way out of the bed and walking out the door. Until all the tubes and hose gently reminded me maybe I am here for a good reason.

I’d call it a tie as to my “favorite” but really know how this stuff can get you. I started asking for more Tylenol next day.

I had to leave the “Land of Transplantopia” and start my life anew. New rules, new expectations, new disappointments and some old feelings that I had actually forgotten…like how to breathe.