After My Hospital Roomie Wanted To Kill Me, It’s Easy To Say I Like The Infusion Center Better

October 18th, 2018

I’ll be honest, I feel like I’ve been doing people who read this “cancer blog” a disservice. The reason I say that is because by not talking about my hospital stay you don’t know who Rosemary is. Now I know what you’re thinking, “Great another sad story about how Marguerite got body parts removed all to realize those parts were infected with cancer. Wah, wah, wah.”

That’s not a fun story, so that won’t be this story.

My younger sister, Morgayne, reached out to me the other day and said, “For your next article I think maybe share a funny story from chemo?” And then I proceeded to say “gotta make that one happen first.” Not to say chemo hasn’t been a hoot and a half but no knee slapper worthy stories yet. Then I realized, though, that I may not have a funny chemo story yet, I have an entertaining story about my hospital buddy named Rosemary who as it just so happens probably wanted to kill me. Oh, the simple joys.

I entered into the emergency room Sunday morning, one day earlier than my surgery was scheduled because my mass had ruptured over the weekend in D.C. After getting poked, prodded, and moved every which way I was finally taken into a room at around 4 p.m. Little pro tip: obviously emergency rooms are important but if you can avoid one, avoid one like the plague.

Thanks to some connections and strings pulled, I was taken up to a room where I was met by Rosemary who didn’t glance my way or say one word to me. Totally fine with that. Rosemary was a 63-year-old woman who seemed normal at first. Granted, I tried not to eavesdrop on her issues but those sheets separating the two beds in the hospital room are so very thin.

I had never stayed in the hospital before so I didn’t how this women and I were going to jive. For the first night, we coexisted peacefully, or as peacefully as you can when it is physically impossible to get sleep with monitors and lights beeping at you all night. During my first night in the hospital, one of the night nurses had my back and politely shut off Rosemary’s TV and light for me when it was nearing 2 a.m. because I can guarantee you Rosemary was no longer up. When I woke up Monday morning at the ass crack of dawn to get prepped for surgery I could sense Rosemary’s disdain for me. Oh well, I for one didn’t have a say in what time these doctors would be opening me up.

After the surgery which, as we all know, went as smoothly as cancerly possible, I was taken back up into my room where I proceeded to rest.

Let it also be known that at this point we had already had a chat with the doctor about cancer, I had a catheter inside of me so I wasn’t going anywhere to use the bathroom, and my eyelids were as heavy as a hippo.

When the night time rolled around I was doing my damnedest to try to fall asleep but sleeping in a hospital is like sleeping through a frat party…not possible. Unfortunately for me, my special night nurse was not working that night so no one had my back against the wrath of Rosemary and all I wanted was sleep! Gosh, darn it Rosemary!

At 10 p.m. she asked for 2 sandwiches and if she didn’t get them she was going to call someone and complain. Not sure who she was going to call but it was going to be someone.

At 11 p.m. she asked for her compression socks to be taken off because they were hurting her.

At 12 a.m. she asked for another sandwich.

At 1 a.m. she still had her TV on full blast watching the news and her lights were on.

At 2 a.m. I was still awake and started to sniffle in my bed.

At 2:30 a.m. the nurse came in and saw me crying. She turned down Rosemary’s TV and dimmed her light. Kind nurse.

At 3 a.m. Rosemary woke up and started yelling at the nurse that I shut off her TV and turned off her light which, HELLO ROSEMARY, WAS PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE BECAUSE I WAS PEEING INTO A BAG AT THIS POINT IN MY LIFE!

At 3:15 a.m. Rosemary said she hated me and that I should move hospital rooms because I kept waking her up. With pleasure, Rosemary.

At 4 a.m. I finally fell asleep only to be woken up shortly after by a nurse coming to check in on Rosemary.

She told Rosemary she had to take her blood pressure pills. Rosemary, well, she was not having it. She told the nurse that she knew she wasn’t REALLY in a hospital and that all of this was fake. She refused to take her blood pressure medication and started laughing maniacally saying that the nurse wasn’t actually a nurse and that she wasn’t actually in the hospital. I was on some Advil and Tylenol but I can definitely vouch that we were, in fact, in an actual hospital.

This was the OG night nurse who had my back the night before so she checked on me to make sure I was ok after hearing about the ordeal that was last night. Then the nurse went back to Rosemary and Rosemary said, and I quote, “Is she okay? Did you kill her yet?”

What. The. Actual. Heck.

No, Rosemary, still here!

I felt sympathetic for Rosemary during the first night of my hospital stay when I thought she was a sweet old lady who was injured and had no family around her. That all changed after 5 sandwiches, 3 hours of blasting news, and one murder suggestion later.

All I gotta say is thank goodness the nurses moved her out of my room the next day. I thank my lucky stars that I get to sit pretty in the infusion center without the likes of Rosemary.

I feel like I must end this story by saving some face. Despite a suggested murder attempt, deep down, I do hope Rosemary is doing well.