It’s Wednesday night, so the heart story continues.
Last week, I left off having a blood clot.
They took my blood all the time to make sure that all the counts of everything were still great (or working toward getting to be what they needed them to be).
I was woken up at crazy times in the nights to get my blood drawn. It had to be drawn every so many hours.
The longer I stayed, and more blood draws I got, the bruise-ier my arms became. It became harder and harder to draw blood from my veins. They started using backs of my hands. I was becoming a human pin cushion.
I remember the hospital being sort of pretty at the time. Someone wheeled me down for a test on some floor at some point, and I saw a tree lit up.
I was hoping I’d see holiday decorations somewhere, and I did! I think it’s awesome how much the hospital tries to make the patients comfortable.
I got out of the hospital sometime around the 19th. My dad and grandma stopped by again. Adorable, of course. Sweet, for sure. But come on, y’all. I’m a grown up. (We know I love them, right?)
They didn’t come to the hospital. They knew how much I would’ve absolutely hated that. I really appreciate that they respected those wishes. We went out to dinner at some rad place that was delicious. They pretty much just wanted to make sure I made it out alive before they went back to Ohio in time for Christmas.
I stayed in Massachusetts. I had the pleasure of getting my blood drawn a lot after I got out of the hospital. I don’t remember how often I had to go. There was some sort of step-down schedule. But at first I think I went once a day or once every other day. (I suppose I may remember it feeling like more than it really was, but I honestly think it was at least every other day at first.)
Luckily, Mass Gen wasn’t too terribly far from my apartment, and it was in a pretty area. Plus, I loved walking around gorgeous Massachusetts in the wintertime. So, other than the fact that my already over-plucked arms had to be pinched and prodded again, it wasn’t horrible.
The people who took my blood were nice. The waiting room had magazines and a TV. What wasn’t to like?
That lasted, I think, basically though January-ish.
Before we jump to January and beyond, let me say a couple of things to wrap up December 2009.
I said in an earlier post that I’d say how my school was able to help me out. As I think I’ve mentioned before, half of my teachers were flexible and amazing. As the end of the semester came, I had A’s in their classes.
Half of my teachers did not want to work with me being in and out of class, and they said they would fail me.
I take responsibility a big chunk of it, though. It’s probably not too much of a coincidence that the teachers who worked with me, and supported me, taught classes I was excited about. I wanted to learn more about Music Production and Engineering. When I had been in class, I was almost always truly present, in the front row, note-taking, and excited to learn.
In those traditional music classes that I wasn’t super interested in (but had to take), my work wasn’t as good or thoughtful. My attitude wasn’t as excited and driven.
I didn’t come in as a jerk. I wasn’t straight up rude. But for those teachers, I think I was a student you could easily forget – not one you’d necessarily want to jump at the chance to help.
So, I don’t blame them that much. Of course there is a small part of me that feels like since I wasn’t a bad student, per se, and since a lot happened that was way out of my control, that I should’ve been given the chance to just pass – even if just barely, with a bad grade – just to finish out the class.
But, life doesn’t always bend to what you want when things are out of your control. That’s part of life. It’s not all in your control – from heart stuff to other people’s responses, actions, etc.
Do I really think I deserve more from the trad music teachers? Not really. I think they were justified in not going out of their way to help.
As far as classes were concerned, I was half failing and half succeeding. I’ll pick up next week with how that worked out with the school.