Home from the Hospital

I just returned home from hip replacement surgery. I spent three days in a New York hospital, followed by five nights in a rehabilitation facility close to my New Jersey residence. It's good to be home, and continuing the rehabilitation plan on an outpatient basis.

Spending time in medical institutions presents a number of challenges. One is a distorted sense of time. In a way, the experience is weirdly similar one experiences in a casino. I admit that a hospital room has a clock and windows, while a casino typically does not. However, the combination of the influence of medication, visits at just about any hour by hospital staff members, and the typically unvaried hospital environment produces a disrupted sense of time.

Another challenge is how one is thrown into a new community of fellow patients. If one has a semi-private room, as I did, the relationship with one's roommate can make institutional life heaven or hell. I was very fortunate, in that each of my roommates were interesting, even lovely men. When my father, during his later years, became something of a frequent patient, his relationship with his roommate colored his disposition.

A third challenge is the sense of boredom of spending long hours cooped up. I very quickly swore off watching television; the Internet and DVDs were my psychological relief. I couldn't stand the television programming, which seemed far more dangerous a drug than any of the narcotics used during or after my surgery. I also made it a point to get out of bed, and out of my room, as often as possible. The bed and the TV were my principal adversaries during my hospital and rehab stays.

I also had a deep dread of getting an infection or catching something dreadful such as pneumonia as a result of a medical procedure. I felt vulnerable, at the mercy of random events and other patients' cooties. In fairness, the two facilities involved in my surgery and rehab were very clean, with staff often quite conscious -- and conscientious about -- the need for reasonably sterile environments. Still, I felt unsettled by the accidental, unintended, uncontrollable role of chance that opportunistic disease presented. Each cough ignited my fear of contracting pneumonia; each sneeze represented the unleashing of a sinister biological force into the atmosphere surrounding me and other patients.

The challenges mask one very important fact: I accomplished the purpose of being in the hospital and in the rehab facility. For that, I am very grateful.