As many know, hospitals hum along during the week. That action comes to a grinding halt on the weekend. Last night was quiet and today will be slow--way slow. This lack of activity is good and bad. On the downside, I have too much time to think. I torture myself for hours on end. How did I let two wounds, horrible wounds develop? My answer remains the same--I have no idea. This so called answer is as unsatisfactory as is maddening. I have lost much sleep contemplating and berating myself. Yes this is not productive but what do you do at 2AM after being woken up for vital signs.
The only good news is that I bought a bed or will do so Monday. Actually I have not bought a bed but a luxury car--yes the bed cost a small fortune. Did I have a choice? In a word, no. The fact is even when healed my skin will forever be compromised. This fact is not in dispute. But insurance is very clear--a bed is not covered, it is not part of my contract. No appeals are possible. Who is at fault for this? Why me of course. One and all tell me I have terrible insurance. Tell me something I don't know. What the powers that be don't want to hear is why. Why do I have bad insurance that I fought tooth and nail to get.. This story falls on deaf ears and cold hearts. I will have much more to say about this as I heal.
To fend off boredom I am reading many crappy novels, what I call reading TV. I try to surf the net via my TV and tiny screen. This is an exercise in frustration. What I am sure to always do is never ask for help. In ten days I have hit the call button twice. This, I know, makes me a good patient. More than anything else, this reputation leads to good care. Hence I think of Irving Goffman and his work on institutions often. This is as relevent today as when it was written. When I get home it will be the first real book I will read. So dreams of home and normalcy, my old life, will dominate my thoughts today as visitors do a piss poor job of entertaining me. Hopefully said visitors will bring real food and better yet a beer.