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Six Weeks in the System: A Survivor's Field Report

Yesterday, after about a month and a half away, I finally returned home.

The journey began in the middle of April when I underwent a cystoscopy to check for possible bladder issues. Thankfully, the results were clear. Unfortunately, the procedure irritated my urethra, and after a few days I found myself unable to urinate at all. Around April 25, I called 911 and was taken to Mount Sinai’s emergency room, where doctors diagnosed a urinary tract infection and inserted a catheter.

The next morning, I was admitted to a shared room. My roommate, a man who appeared to be around 90 years old, spent his nights coughing up blood, struggling to breathe, and moaning almost continuously. I tried earplugs, but they offered little relief. After several days, he stopped breathing and had to be resuscitated before being moved elsewhere. It was a difficult experience, and I often wondered why someone in such serious condition wasn’t being cared for in the ICU.

Most of the nurses seemed rather robotic in their interactions. One of them I privately nicknamed “Nurse Ratched,” after the infamous character from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.

Eventually, I was transferred to the Amsterdam Nursing Home for rehabilitation, located only about ten blocks from my apartment. Originally a traditional nursing home, Amsterdam has largely transitioned into a rehabilitation facility, with only one floor still housing permanent nursing-home residents. Most of the people there were elderly rehab patients, many of whom relied on wheelchairs or walkers.

After about three days, the catheter was removed. I was concerned that I still wouldn’t be able to urinate normally, but fortunately things returned to something close to normal fairly quickly.

One odd feature of the facility was its call-button system. Whenever any patient pressed the nurse-call button, a loud chime could be heard throughout the entire unit. Day and night, the constant dinging became a source of irritation. Adding to the frustration, response times were often slow. Sometimes a nurse would promise to refill a water pitcher or assist with a request, only to disappear for an extended period. To be fair, there were also several nurses and nursing assistants whom I came to like very much and who consistently went out of their way to be helpful.

I was fortunate to have my own room, complete with DirecTV. Unfortunately, there was no Fox Cable, only CNN and MSNBC. At least I was able to watch the floundering Mets on SNY.

The facility advertised its meals as “carb-consistent” for diabetic patients, but I found that description questionable. The menus often seemed heavy on carbohydrates, and my blood sugar fluctuated considerably during my stay. Medications were typically administered all at once, which made me wonder how effective that approach was compared with spacing them out throughout the day.

The primary reason I needed rehabilitation was that the urinary tract infection significantly worsened my Parkinson’s tremor and affected my mobility. Occupational therapy was usually scheduled in the morning, while physical therapy took place in the afternoon. The therapists were excellent—professional, encouraging, and highly skilled. By the time I was ready for discharge, they had helped me regain much of my balance and confidence.

I also made a couple of friends during my stay—two fellow “comrades-in-arms” navigating their own recoveries. We enjoyed participating in the facility’s activities together, with Bingo emerging as the undisputed highlight of the social calendar.

Yesterday, I finally returned home. It’s a strange adjustment after weeks of being surrounded by staff, therapists, and fellow patients. The apartment feels familiar, yet somehow different.

Fortunately, my good friend Pierre has been helping me with meals, cleaning, and various errands as I settle back into my routine.

I hope to return to writing new posts for Turfseer’s Newsletter very soon. First, I need to get organized, continue my physical therapy at home, and sort out a few lingering insurance matters.

Thank you for your patience during this unexpected interlude. I’m looking forward to getting back to regular writing in the days ahead.