~o~
Friday 14th. Returned to base. [Home]
Tuesday morning, at 2am: I woke with agonizing pain across my upper chest. After a while I decided to call an ambulance as instructed. After hasty collection of clothes [and my mobile phone] into a handy shopping bag. I was whipped away to a first hospital 40km away. Blue lights flashing all the way. With sirens as needed. I had completely forgotten any of my multiple pairs of supermarket bought glasses. Which made life unnecessarily difficult in the coming days!
Shortly after being assessed by two gorgeous, young lady doctors. Does morphine usually have this effect? I was sent onto the main hospital in the city. Where I had been given the initial examination on Monday. More hurtling along the motorway with blue flashing lights and sirens. Meanwhile I was being topped up with more morphine for the intense pain.
The first evening there was punctuated by vomiting. I couldn't keep anything down. No water, tablets or food. This dangerous situation was overcome by simple, white poly bags. Attached to white, plastic trumpet flares. These saved me from liberally decorating the scenery. Which would have been unforgivable. As they were all taking such good care of me. I did not want to add to their labours.
Next morning, Wednesday, I was in much better shape. I had some tasty porridge oats in milk and black coffee. I was tested repeatedly for assorted signs of life. Meanwhile multiple electrodes attached to my chest had six [?] cables leading to a data box in a bag. This was provided with a loop of ribbon for easier carrying around the wards and corridors. Plus the inevitable visits to the toilet.
I should warn you that time runs at half speed in hospitals. My blood pressure was taken with a sleeve and a machine on a pole with castors. Likewise with blood test at irregular intervals. The nurses voluntarily attempted to speak English with varied success. Often improving rapidly with the slightest practice. I always praised their efforts and was always generous in my praise and thanks.
It was decided that I should be "repaired" that afternoon. I had two badly occluded arteries. One actually blocked. Which were supposed to be feeding vital blood to my heart. I was still in severe pain over my heart and my back on the same, left side.
After a brief, verbal recording of the coming procedures. By the strikingly attractive, lady surgeon. It all began. The surgeons decided to go in simultaneously via my wrist and groin. Local anesthetics protected me completely from the coming mechanical operations. Insertion tools for the catheters were inserted into suitable arteries. For the long trip up to my shoulder and across to my heart.
I was liberally covered in plastic sheets and presumably extra radiation protection. The least of my worries at that point. My view of the surgeons was largely blocked by a special, semi-transparent screen. I was aware only of two dark shapes moving about. It was impossible to identify whom they might be.
A large TV screen showed my heart and all its plumbing. As a large x-ray head moved back and forth and rotated around my center of gravity. So-called, contrast fluid being injected as needed. The operating table moved, often jerkily, at intervals. To centre the view or to provide another viewing angle. There was no obvious pain, at all, from all of their highly skilled efforts on my behalf. Only some sense of movement within my upper arm.
This went on for three, whole hours. As they fought to open the blocked arteries with ever larger, sausage balloons. At least this was my impression from the ever increasing sizes being quoted in the background. The intense pain in my chest persisted. With my back hurting even more! As I desperately tried to writhe without the slightest physical movement. In a vain attempt to reduce my horrible back pain.
Then my left cheek suddenly started to tickle from the cooling breeze of the passing, x-ray head. So I began to concentrate on the tickle. Too afraid to move in case I spoilt their work. On occasion I was asked, in English, how I was doing. To which I answered "I am still here." The surgeon responded with an amusing "so are we!" A lady surgeon came around the operating table to check on me now and then. Which was comforting. I hadn't seen a face in what seemed like hours. As the support staff had largely retreated to the edges of the room. Presumably to avoid radiation overdoses.
Inevitably it all, finally, came to an end. I was generous in my bilingual gratitude to all involved. Their level of skill leaves me without adequate words. They had used 15 balloons and inserted four stents. This involved a lot of what sounded like mechanical ratcheting and sudden loud bangs. As the high inflation pressures were let off. I am largely guessing here. The nearest I could imagine was an industrial stapler or pop-riveter on steroids. I never saw the actual equipment involved. Having been too afraid to watch any YT videos of this part of the operation before the event.
Then I was wheeled back to my large, solo room with its own toilet cubicle. My right forearm started to swell and take on an expanding cloud of violet. It became ever more painful above the twin, inflatable bracelets. Intended to stop my arteries from redecorating the room. A tasty contrast, to the golden, surgical cleansing fluid. Which was adding highlights around the edges. A royal flush!
After that I was checked at frequent intervals by the lovely, highly skilled nurses. I was still suffering from fleeting pain over my heart and behind it. Being very afraid that it would worsen. So that I'd and I'd have to be taken back for more repairs. Or the easier way out. To take the journey down to the morgue.
Fortunately the pain slowly subsided. So that I could concentrate on whether my right arm would burst before it actually turned completely black. Again, neither occurred. So I edged slowly towards accepting my treatment had been a complete success.
The following day I was ambulanced back to the furthest hospital from home. Where I joined two others in a larger room. There started the strangest relationship between one other patient and myself. He was an ex-soldier and self-proclaimed alcoholic. Living year round in a caravan. A near-spherical, rough diamond with a huge, shaggy beard. We shared the same sense of humour and matching intelligence.
As clear cut a case of walking PTSD as one could possibly wish for. He was absolutely determined that he never slept for days on end. Despite my own clear witness to the contrary. He had been a sergeant and still crippled by the pain and misery he had seen while serving in Yugoslavia and elsewhere. His sense of guilt could be measured on the Richter scale.
His command of English was absolutely phenomenal! We talked for hours. As I tried to explain away his mental symptoms. With my completely "amateur night" psychotherapy. He smoked rather heavily and had all sorts of ruses. To escape detection but leaving room smelling strongly of tobacco. I was happy to forgive him his escapades and found it amusing. His supposedly secret smoking breaks were anything but.
The two us spent the evening monitoring our oldest trio member. For repeated oxygen mask removal in his sleep. The octogenarian was clearly unhappy with the mask and constantly tried to lift it clear. Then he stopped breathing completely. We watched for a few second before calling the nurse. The screens went up as she worked. With other nurses looking in briefly to check progress.
Eventually the screens were removed. To reveal our third partner was still living but continuing to take rapid, shallow breaths. His lung were filled with fluid. The "pilot's" oxygen mask had been replaced with a nostril feed on a clear plastic hose. This had solved the mask removal problem and he seemed much more relaxed. The flailing arm movements had desisted. His night demons had simultaneously vanished.
Meanwhile the remaining two prisoners pretended to sleep. As we talked late into the early hours. My companion was shocked to learn that he coughed continuously while asleep. This was an astounding revelation to him. [His own words!] He had been absolutely certain he was awake all of the time. Up to that point he had refused a sleeping tablet. Only to accept it in the middle of the night. From the Norse male nurse. Though strictly on an a trial basis.
Hours later my rotund new friend woke from three hours of uninterrupted sleep. To find our third member sitting naked and bolt upright in bed. As the nurses prepared him for the ambulance journey. To have his heart plumbing checked in the city hospital from which I had returned.
This only added the confusion of the sergeant. There was much talk of his having entered a parallel universe. While I attempted to ease his fears and blamed the "horse tranquilizer." Which he had reluctantly taken in the night. He went off muttering. To find some food and have a first, surreptitious smoke of the day.
After further testing and my wandering the corridor in short steps and [very] slow motion I was eventually discharged. I sat outside our room while waiting for the sergeant's return. From having his leg circulation checks downstairs. We shook hands and then spontaneously hugged. I sincerely hope he survives his physical injuries and learns to calm his demons. His company was a revelation in itself. I had learned that no matter how bad things may seem. Countless others are suffering on a whole new level.
To the casual or uninterested eye a hospital is pure chaos. Yet its team of highly skilled and knowledgeable workers. Are carrying out their tasks to a routine which must closely match the exact needs of the constant supply of patients.
There is an unseen demand system for small items via the nurses. Like a fresh towel or perhaps a cup of coffee. Which avoids the need to provide literally everything on site at every single bed. It felt bad asking for these "favours." When the nursing staff were so obviously busy. Yet always willing, smooth, calm and un-rushed. So I was probably being far too polite. At least by average "customer satisfaction" standards. Their often warm grins. As they left the room with a "your welcome" after competing such a humble task. Showed that they appreciated my rather formal thanks. Too many patents take such kindnesses as an expected part of the service.
My brief stay in two hospitals showed clear differences. Yet both functioned as well-oiled machines. I was suitably impressed and tried to limit my own burden on their busy working day. I felt throughout that the "facade" of kind, personal care provided was really very genuine. Each member of staff brought their own, unique personality and skills to the provision of their routine tasks.
Watching the effortless movements of well-rehearsed staff was truly a delight. Like watching a master craftsman rapidly produce a work of art. From only the very basic materials. Simply watching the girls cleaning the room or bathroom. Or completely stripping a bed for the next patient. Was really quite fascinating. Almost factory-like in their flawless, unconscious, repetitive actions. No wasted energy or time consuming repetition. It was all so remarkably efficient! Yet remaining safely human in touch, communication and instant feedback. No robots required. Nor remotely desired!
~o~
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