A Trip to the Hospital

There comes a time in one's life when you need to face the music - take the bull by the horns, grit your teeth and simply get on with it.
     The experience of hospitalization can be daunting for some, a little scary maybe, leaving you with a feeling of severe apprehension beforehand. But not for me! I was actually looking forward to it, with no pre-operation nerves whatsoever.
     In fact, I relished the idea, my thoughts positive. I packed a small bag with a few 'essentials' of my usual 'always take with you just in case' sort of things. A banana went in, a mandarin and my usual container of peppermint tea, (because the stomach has a nasty tendency to come back up the oesophagus and block the natural passage of food.) This has an interesting name called a hiatus hernia. Ah yes! Like many others I have one of those, but it's easily managed with a pill a few times a week, which keeps the wolf from the door - or rather food digesting. So I shrug it off and keep drinking the tea. I bless the person who once informed me of the benefits of drinking peppermint tea. It helps enormously with digestion and my container of this beneficial tea is taken with me to all corners of the globe if need be. It's become a necessary ritual. I'm delighted to add that even Qantas serve it in economy on long haul flights, much to my relief, but I still take a good supply 'just in case'! Also packed were a change of unmentionables, warm sox, a book, mobile phone and charger, etc. The latter was to prove essential a little later down the track.
     That small stomach 'issue' gets pushed briskly to one side as there is no use dwelling on it. It's insignificant, as is the painful shoulder. (Apart from the two bad tears in the rotator cuff from playing tennis, another spur has grown and that operation will just have to wait for now.) So too both hips need replacing, as I can't sit normally for long in the car or chair without stretching and fidgeting. I'm soon in agony. Very inconvenient at times! There are far worse off people in this world than my silly problems, so it puts things into perspective - most of the time! I'm told I have cataracts in both eyes which aren't serious as yet. At this rate I'll end up like something resembling the bionic woman! But one step at a time.
     So the day arrived. I wandered on time next door, as the remote garage door was lifting for my dear neighbour to drive me to the private hospital, not a long way from home. She has retired at a perfect time. We can help each other as much as necessary.
     Being dropped off in plenty of time, things soon began to happen and I was included onto the conveyor belt of patients who were to have a variety of things cut or taken out, altered, rearranged or removed altogether.
     There was a specific 'department' for 'my little issue' and into that I proceeded. Name, date of birth, past history and a huge list of pre-requisites were given several times over and red identification tags attached. Oh yes, I needed the red ones for specific identification. One to right ankle and one to right wrist. This was because I was foolish enough not wanting to end up in the river running through the center of Melbourne, so turned too suddenly up a path, consequently falling off my bike and breaking an ankle, leg bone, severing a ligament or two also. When I do something, I do it properly!  The handlebars folded so quickly that the bike landed on top of me. So they added a metal plate and four screws to the outside of my ankle. At least I was clever enough to choose the left leg and able to drive the car not too long afterwards with a boot - thus regaining a certain amount of independence, although needing to take crutches with me for far too long. These proved a cumbersome nuisance, but at least I was mobile. The operating theater staff needed to be reminded of such hazards! I do too, as when the screws protruding slightly, hit something, I go up the wall and down the other side.
     Then they needed to know if I had or were suffering from this, that or the other. I played safe and said no to everything - being healthy and eating my greens that is. The many consequences of smoking have never appealed to me anyway. Blood pressure, temperature and heart were all checked several times to make sure I wasn't going to die at an inappropriate time during the operation. They take particular care these days to cover their backs so to speak, to avoid being sued. I was even given a pair of socks covered in 'pimples' so I didn't slip on any floors later in the ward. But I have to get there first.
     Right on time, I was the first for the afternoon to be carved up. I enjoyed the young men taking charge as they wheeled my bed down corridors, around sharp bends, into the lift, then along more corridors.  To them I was just another candidate heading for the operating theater. Once the bend was so tight, they bumped me into a door, which resulted in me giving the culprit a black mark for his driving efforts! At one stage we passed some blessed fresh air infiltrating the constant temperature air-conditioning, when passing between the old and new building. I breathed deeply as if it was my last. I could now see why they did away with the very easy accessible car park to build an enormous new section to the hospital. It was certainly being used to capacity, as the conveyor belt moved on, at frightening speed. 
     The very pleasant anaesthetist visited me before the little drama in the operating theater got underway - giving me a rundown of proceedings. I'd had it in my mind to ask for an extra hour or two's deep sleep as I knew it would be my last for a very long time. Not a chance! He grinned but stuck to protocol, much to my disgust. He will do what he has to do and that's my lot. Well, it was a good try anyway and as the operation would be less than an hour's duration, I didn't have a hope in hell for a moment longer. I sighed pleasantly and smiled at him graciously in  acceptance. After all, I had no choice.
     Within the operating theatre where several men gathered, huge lights glared down, but thankfully not switched on. The equipment these days was a huge improvement from when I was five years old and tore my right knee open as I slipped and fell onto some crazy paving propped up against a wall, my father was using to build a terrace onto the back of the house. I even declared that scar on my first British passport.
     For a brief time you can't help feeling the center of attention. Then the needles went into my arm and my vision of those lights became blurred.
     I woke up in a long recovery ward of about a dozen or more beds all in a row each side of the room. Special nurses were allotted to look after you and a drip was attached to my left arm, the right was regularly being squeezed  and pummeled while the blood pressure was registering on the monitor behind the bed. I learned to read those monitors while watching the ones opposite for so long. For some unknown reason, many beds were wheeled in and out of position, while mine remained stationary. After a reasonable recovery period, the patients were wheeled to various wards where a vacancy existed if they were staying a night or longer. As I was to stay in for the night, I asked for a private room if one was available. Perhaps that was my biggest mistake. It took six long hours before my bed was finally moved to a ward and I was only sharing with one other lady, far younger than myself, but very pleasant.
     In the meantime, while thinking each time an orderly or man dressed in blue who moved the beds around approached, I waited with baited breath to see if it was mine. I wasn't that lucky. The nurses came and went as a new shift took charge.  They were polite and efficient and that recovery room must have seen many people that day. For example, the space next to me was changed with four different patients, as were the ones opposite. Men and women came and went - but I stopped put! At one time the staff gave up hope for me after phoning the appropriate person 'upstairs' to move me to a room and so just smiled.
     'I'm about to turn to stone,' I said to a passing nurse, trying to keep a stiff upper lip.
     More smiles. My derriere was aching, so too my hips. After hours being cooped up, knowing this wasn't for me, I even thought of jumping ship. But the bars prevented that. What now, and how can I relieve the hip pain. I was in agony, apart from the rest of me?
     I smiled sweetly and begged to walk to the little girl's room a good and wonderful fifteen meters away. It would definitely relieve the hips and the other bit would hopefully have blood circulating after feeling dead for some time on the hard bed. Oh to be home again!
     God bless that nurse who agreed to accompany me and it was sheer joy to walk away from that hard bed for a while - for some form, any form of circulation to return. Alas, it was all too brief and back to it I returned very reluctantly.
     Eventually a little food arrived in the form of a sandwich, a few dry biscuits in the usual 'Fort Knox' cellophane wrapper and same for an inviting piece of cheese. I devoured the lot after I finally worked out how to open the biscuit wrapper. Well at least it took my mind off my agony for a while. A piece of cellophane was torn-off thus becoming extremely static, much to my amusement. It would not detach itself from the end of my finger, and no manner of shaking, flicking or jiggling would remove it. This gave me the giggles and I held my finger up to a passing nurse for her to see. Again, it stuck to her finger, refusing to budge, but eventually detached itself after I became somewhat forceful.
     After the bed next to me had been removed with its occupant to a ward at least four times from men and ladies having had similar operations from a specific 'department' of the body, and the ones opposite several times, mercifully at last after a little muttering from a young man in blue about those people 'upstairs' needing a good kick up the ........,  it was time for me to go hence to yonder place. At two I arrived in the recovery room and as I thankfully vacated that particular room, the clock above said 8.03pm.
     Six hours later, I was at last on the move. It seemed to take forever down more corridors to eventually arrive in the ward.
     Unfortunately I'd missed a decent supper, so asked the young girl on duty for a little food if at all possible. It duly arrived - but not sweet potato soup to start with, or the roast beef with shiraz sauce served with vegetables, nor the chicken chasseur served with rice. An Italian style mixed bean and veggie hotpot with risoni was also on the mains section of the menu. For dessert there appeared a delightful choice of fruit yoghurt, apricot crumble with custard, ice cream, custard, and jelly. Then there were juices or a beverage to chose from. Alas, this wasn't to be this evening. I found this out later when given a menu to choose from, for lunch the next day.
     By this time, I'd made up my mind I wasn't leaving until I'd had a meal which I didn't have to cook myself. Years ago I'd vowed this when I had a large screw taken out of my leg at the same hospital - joking to the physician I'd be on the tennis court the next morning. It didn't go down too well after he cocked his head briefly with his eyebrows knitting together, so I gave up on that little joke, but missed out on a meal because they saw fit to kick me out beforehand.
     I was brought a pleasant and freshly made variety of sandwich triangles, lemon jelly, juice and tea instead. My heart sank. It did taste good though after such a frustrating long wait.
     I soon realized how much firmer hospital beds could be. Within no time, my hips were giving me grief, but at least I had a nice room and a television all to myself. I duly plugged my smart phone in behind the bed, tested the press button complex attached to a pillow, observing what all the buttons were for and settled in for the night - with Peppermint tea at the ready of course, 'just in case!' It soon became very useful indeed.
     Until late there was constant checking of pulse, temperature and blood pressure. In the recovery room they plug you in to the monitor, so it can be done regularly without a nurse to watch over you every moment. The latest equipment saves times and appears very efficient. They stick some metal gadget into your ear briefly though, to take your temperature. All so different 'these days'. No more trying to answer questions with a piece of glass hanging out of your mouth, always trying desperately to prevent it from falling out. Under the tongue it must stay and for what seems like forever. Those days have long gone. The monitors behind each bed in the recovery ward after the new occupant moves in, are very informative. A yellow light goes on when the bed is removed, so you can't escape or bail out, even if you wanted to. It gives the staff all the necessary information and the new building must have cost a whole heap of money I reckoned, while taking in the very latest in technology and equipment.   
     That night I had the luxury of not one, but two proper sleeping tablets with two pain killers for good measure. Oh great I thought! Blessed sleep at last. Wrong! The usual four hours were enjoyed at most, before voices were heard from the nurse and patient at 3.15am in the adjoining bed behind the curtain. That was my lot.
     I can't help thinking how different it was many years ago when quietness and hushed voices were observed. Lights were dimmed and bossy matrons in crisp starched uniforms scuttled about the wards keeping a close eye on the proceedings - or lack of them.  Even after having a baby, the afternoon nap was strictly observed, whether you embraced it or not.
     One has to move with the times and accept how things work these days. I'm wondering what the future will behold. The world has come a long way in a very short time. It's so easy to sink into lethargic beliefs from the past and rebel with what is thrown at you now. Being born after the war, I've been fortunate enough to remember steam trains, bread delivered by horse and cart and my poor mother washing clothes without a modern machine. No television, no frig; only a man delivering a huge block of ice on his shoulder at regular intervals and the 'little room' facilities weren't exactly the Ritz hotel either.
     I shared a spotlessly clean large bathroom, shower and all the accompaniments necessary for my all too brief hospital stay - it's been memorable at least.
     The best news I had concluding this latest and rare visit, was that there would be no further problems with this 'department'. Looking very smart and for once, somewhat animated which made me smile, the surgeon personally delivered the news at 10am the day after the operation, and I couldn't have felt happier, being close to tears. I think a little of my emotions rubbed off on him too.
     'See you in two weeks,' he waved, striding out of my room. The lady next door had already left. I smiled after him thinking he had done his job well. At least only time will tell, but I was convinced. It takes skill, perseverance and dedication to do what he does.
     The next day I enjoyed hearing the birds chirping in the park, morning sun glancing off dewy grass. I sniffed deeply at some late-flowering roses before reaching home after the usual morning walk. It was always good to be home again. My own bed felt deliciously comfortable. 
     That night I discovered three silver 'nipple' type square bits of tape still stuck to my chest, looking a bit like one side of a press stud. One under the left breast. Hmm... I guess they want you to have a few momentos of your stay and here's me asking if I could wear a T-shirt under my white gown to protect my modesty! 'Everything off!' the nurse repeated. So I humbly obeyed. After all, it is necessary for the operating theatre staff to have complete access to your body. I soon realized they needed to monitor your heart rate etc., and can't have you croaking it on their watch.
     The conveyor belt of patients will continue each day at the hospital, and there may be more visits on the horizon - but for now, it's all been worth it.