The Finale

I woke up the next morning in the Davis Hospital ICU with a mask on my face and various monitoring devices attached to my body. My blood pressure was still abysmal so they began pumping me full of fluids, which made me feel like a giant water balloon. Lots of people came to see me despite me telling them not too. (On this note, if I'm ever in the hospital again don't waste your time, seriously. If you want me to feel better go about your life so only I have to be stuck in a hellhole.) My surgeon came to see me and make sure my hip was doing fine. He really is a great surgeon, I never had to use crutches. Another one of my doctors dropped in and said, "What the hell are you doing in here?" The ICU was miserable, but the nurses liked me. According to one I was, "A lot easier to deal with and not as racist." After two or three days of not eating they finally forced me to. Overdosing on narcotics really kills your appetite. I was moved to telemetry for a bit then finally sent home. This time I walked out.

I've had a lot of time to think about this experience. I harbor a lot of resentment towards Davis Hospital, especially since they billed my parents for my time there. After coming home I began to hear multiple stories of people who had experienced what I went through, but most of them weren't as lucky. Here's a reminder for everyone to learn CPR and First Aid. My dad never thought he'd use it, but he was well trained and saved my life.

The moral of this story: Don't go to Davis Hospital. Ever. One of my friend's parents already lived by this and took him to McKay instead. Smart move.