Now I Know Who Pulls That Cord

After my surgery I was in the hospital for about 5 days. Most of it was pretty boring. I slept, took medicines, had my vitals taken, threw up and slept some more. And that's about it.

However, I do have one story.

I was (and still am) on something called sternal precautions. Basically it means that I cannot lift, push or pull anything over five pounds. At all. I also cannot use my hands to get up from a chair, get into a tub or do anything that exerts pressure on my sternum. Good times.

Once I had my catheter removed I began to realize the full implications of sternal precautions. The bathroom door weighed more than 5 pounds. Which wasn't a problem, I could push it open with my rear and then pop it into place so that it would stay open while I was busy. (There was a door on the stall in the bathroom, so no one else had to see my bizness.)

However, one morning, VERY early, I forgot to prop the door open. I was stuck. In a hospital bathroom. Which rates right up there with the Wal-Mart bathroom for aesthetics*. I really had no idea what to do. I didn't want to knock and wake up my rather grumpy roommate, nor did I have any burning desire to stay in the bathroom any longer than I had to. My bed was calling.

Then I remembered it. The little red string in the bathroom. The one I had often wondered at when in a hospital, "who pulls this thing?" It turns out, I do. Sure enough about a minute later, in walked a spunky little nurse's assistant. And she was snapping on some rubber gloves.

When she saw me just standing there she got a rather quizzical look on her face. I smiled and told her (much to her apparently dismay I might add) that all I needed was someone to open the door.

Free at last.

*I think I may be beginning to feel a little cooped up. Or I am even geekier than I thought. I almost bounded out of my chair with joy because I spelled aesthetics right the first time. But I refrained from bounding as it is against sternal precautions.