patient without patience
I landed myself in hospital again. Not yesterday but fairly recently. I had learned from previous experience that when my head starts resembling a beach ball I should go and see the doctor. And I did. And he told me I would not be going home. Well I would as there were no beds available but I would have to get myself back into the hospital the following morning.
I did.
As always I told the doctor that I have a strange and irrational fear of the drip. I don’t mind needles but tell me it has a drip attached to it and will flip. The considerate man in a white coat messed the whole thing up the first time. Second time he had better luck but by this point I had already freaked out. Not that anybody cared.
Two days running I was prepared for surgery. 12hours with no food. It came 9PM and the final verdict was – no surgery. Today. Unfortunately at this point there was no longer any food available at the hospital. Luckily a friend of mine, who had been kind enough to pay me a visit, had not made it further then the downstairs lobby and could rescue me from a painful death with a pot of take away noodles.
Luckily the day after the “no surgery needed” verdict came just before dinner but as I had been kept unnourished, without even a drop of water since midnight I was slightly grumpy to say the least.
Hospitals are places in which you are supposed to get fixed. Unfortunately we were six in the same room and one of my sickly fellows snored. I mean really snored. The earth shaking noise was counterbalanced by a crisp crunching nurse and by the time it was time for my morning drip I was convinced I had not managed to close my eyes yet. This then ensured that I spend my days drowsy. My enjoyment came from regular heat rate and temperature checks. I had been provided with an excellent opportunity to see how low my rest rate could go and it amused me endlessly when the machine started flashing and beeping as the figures were, in its view, too low.
During my last day I was released from my straight into veins source of liquids and in between medications I was let roam free. As no longer constantly attached to a metal pole I could use stairs instead of the elevator. Despite regular coffee breaks being a great relief to me I was not willing to take the risk of upsetting the doctor by telling him that I did every time climb back up to the 14th floor. During one of my wanderings I hid the drip hand into my sleeve and went outside. Felt like a little kid with hi hand in a cookie jar. Forbidden pleasures.
When I biked back home after being released from the torture chamber (I did find it acceptable to bike it to the hospital when being admitted in and hence my loyal mode of transport was waiting for me outside when I left again) I decided I would never go back.
Unfortunately they still don’t know what is broken and hence have no idea how to fix it.
I did.
As always I told the doctor that I have a strange and irrational fear of the drip. I don’t mind needles but tell me it has a drip attached to it and will flip. The considerate man in a white coat messed the whole thing up the first time. Second time he had better luck but by this point I had already freaked out. Not that anybody cared.
Two days running I was prepared for surgery. 12hours with no food. It came 9PM and the final verdict was – no surgery. Today. Unfortunately at this point there was no longer any food available at the hospital. Luckily a friend of mine, who had been kind enough to pay me a visit, had not made it further then the downstairs lobby and could rescue me from a painful death with a pot of take away noodles.
Luckily the day after the “no surgery needed” verdict came just before dinner but as I had been kept unnourished, without even a drop of water since midnight I was slightly grumpy to say the least.
Hospitals are places in which you are supposed to get fixed. Unfortunately we were six in the same room and one of my sickly fellows snored. I mean really snored. The earth shaking noise was counterbalanced by a crisp crunching nurse and by the time it was time for my morning drip I was convinced I had not managed to close my eyes yet. This then ensured that I spend my days drowsy. My enjoyment came from regular heat rate and temperature checks. I had been provided with an excellent opportunity to see how low my rest rate could go and it amused me endlessly when the machine started flashing and beeping as the figures were, in its view, too low.
During my last day I was released from my straight into veins source of liquids and in between medications I was let roam free. As no longer constantly attached to a metal pole I could use stairs instead of the elevator. Despite regular coffee breaks being a great relief to me I was not willing to take the risk of upsetting the doctor by telling him that I did every time climb back up to the 14th floor. During one of my wanderings I hid the drip hand into my sleeve and went outside. Felt like a little kid with hi hand in a cookie jar. Forbidden pleasures.
When I biked back home after being released from the torture chamber (I did find it acceptable to bike it to the hospital when being admitted in and hence my loyal mode of transport was waiting for me outside when I left again) I decided I would never go back.
Unfortunately they still don’t know what is broken and hence have no idea how to fix it.
posted by riikka @ 6:31 PM
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