Hospital Table Pushes Me Over The Edge

My day wasn't going so well anyway. After suffering through a 48-hour intestinal flu, my immune system took a turn for the worst. I didn't eat for 3 days, but once I did, I had uncontrollable diarrhea. I won't try to describe it--who'd want to hear it? After four ugly days I think I'm out of the woods, which is where Marty should have kept me during the ordeal.

I was at the hospital for my monthly Vidaza infusions. By mid-week, the doctor decided I didn't need that on top of my other agonies, and discontinued this series. They gave me saline every day with potassium since that was leaving my body with everything else. Marty went to the cafeteria to get me something to eat. The nurse brought over a narrow table on wheels that can be adjusted for height and used when patients are in bed or sitting in a chair. I took one look at that table and burst into tears. "Are you in pain, honey, asked the nurse?" I chokingly tried to explain that the table brought back memories of my hospital days. It was a trigger that opened the hole into which I'd stuffed mostly negative thoughts about my situation.

Today I walked to the library and checked out the new Joyce Carol Oates book. I'm feeling weak, and I still don't trust my lower digestive system to behave itself, but I'm hoping I've seen the end of it.