Zombie Meets Indulgent Sufferers - My recent stay in hospital.
I arrived at the Emergency Room, wrapped in my toasty blanket. Despite it being 28° outside of my furry throw rug, it was closer to 40°C inside my body, so it felt freezing to me. I slowly moved through the doors like the walking dead emerging from a post-apocalyptic horror scene. The admin nurse took one look at me and bade me sit in the red priority chairs, whilst I waited for my triage nurse to finish her tea. I lowered myself tentatively and, unable to remain upright, lay shivering across all three chairs.
The nurse arrived abruptly and suggested emphatically, before she had examined me, that I had Rhinovirus. I explained to her that, as Rhino = nose and my nasal passages were decidedly clear and my brain decidedly lucid that I begged to differ. She replied, “What do you mean by lucid?”
I pretended that the roll of my eyes was due to the fever and briefly explained lucidity as the opposite of brain fog, then went on to relay my actual symptoms. Above-normal temperature, low blood pressure, and cloudy urine. “Why do you have a blood pressure machine?” and “Why didn’t you take any Panadol?” Good lord, please, please, just take my vitals and move me to the treatment room already!
After Blood and Urine tests revealed that a nasty bacteria had indeed invaded my body, normal CRP (the protein produced that indicates inflammation) is around 0.3-5 mg/L, and mine was 176 mg/L, I was immediately put on intravenous fluids and antibiotics. As there was no bed available, I was sent on my merry way with a script and my trusty blanket, only to return several hours later with another soaring temperature and much discomfort.
“On a scale of 1-10, how much pain are you in?” I expressed this to be an extremely subjective question, and to provide context, explained that I had given birth three times without drugs, so that in comparison, this would be a 5, which is probably most people’s 9.
The Doc proceeded to push and prod. When he pressed on my back, I flinched and jerked, yelling OUCH, or maybe another four-letter word, I can’t be sure.. He replied, “As I suspected... Acute Pyelonephritis, you have a kidney infection. We are admitting you immediately”.
Well, this should be fun!
They found a space for me. Space, not a room. I was parked in a curtained-off area of the day surgery ward, where a lovely little Indian nurse checked on me at regular intervals, apologising profusely for the starkness of the space. I didn’t care in the least. I was just glad to finally have a diagnosis, other than Rhinovirus, and to be receiving treatment.
All the care staff were great. Doctors, nurses, the guys that wheeled me to the CT and X-ray rooms, to the lovely ladies who delivered my just-edible meals three times a day, all kind, soft spoken, and genuinely caring as well as efficient. So I found it difficult to believe the treatment they received from the petulant, if not cantankerous, patients around me.
During my time, roommates came and went. (Yes, they eventually found me a room).
First, there was a wheeling, dealing real-estate lady, who, in between negotiating properties, “you likey this one, it has pool. Good school make good price for you”, ”yelled at the staff for treating her like an animal. “You racist, you don’t treat me like this. I want to speak to boss.” “I want make complaint.” I overheard every conversation, and she had been treated with respect and kindness the entire time.
Next was Her Hysterectomy Highness, who was wheeled in whilst I was on the phone to a friend. She immediately sent the nurse over to ask me to stop talking as she needed to rest. I went for a walk and finished my phone conversation, and let the precious princess take a nap. I needed to move anyhow. I returned after a while, when Her Highness awoke and went on to apologise in advance for any wind she might make during the night. I replied that this wasn’t a hotel and that her farts weren’t as loud as her snoring. The woman sounded like a freight train!
Come on, kidney. You can do this. We need to escape this thankless, ungrateful cesspool.
Next came the NO Soy Milk woman. At the top of her voice (she was down the hall and along the corridor), “I can’t believe they don’t have Soy Milk!!!” What does she think this is, the Ritz! “I want to speak to the Dietician.” I don’t eat pineapple, grapes, apples, dairy, yoghurt… on and on. It’s damn day surgery, Darling. I do think you will survive 24 hours.
I wasn’t fully recovered, but I begged to be released. After five days, they relented, only allowing me to go with strict care instructions. I had wonderful care, except for Rhinovirus Nurse, and am extremely grateful to everyone at Royal North Shore Hospital. I saw my GP on Thursday and can report that I am now all clear of infection.
To all the entitled, thankless humans I encountered, I wish you a happy, grateful existence.
THE AUTHOR
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