italian hospital
Through various occasions it has become apparent that I am, in short, a wuss. Whenever I experience pain or am severely anxious or see something especially gruesome, I pass out. I suppose on one hand it is quite handy: it is, for example, absolutely no use torturing me. I mean, what's the fun of torture if someone passes out at the mere sight of a needle? Exactly. But apart from this small advantage, it is rather an annoying thing.
We flew back to Rome last saturday. I had a cold, so I knew that it would probably be a little more painful than it usually already is... and it was. Nothing extreme, though, just a sharp pain in my ears as the plane descended. Suddenly, however, my vision blurred and I only just managed to tell Marilyn I didn't feel so well before passing out. What seemed like two seconds later I woke up and found my head lulling sideways, uncomfortably close to the seat of the person next to me. I felt vaguely embarassed and turned back.
I could hear people talk, but I couldn't speak so I just sat there as the plane became empty, aware of the curious glances of all the bypassers. Soon a guy from the first aid post appeared and talked to me and by this time I already felt a little better and I could make my way out of the plane, but he insisted on taking me to his post to examine me and I wasn't in any state to argue. To be frank, I'm hardly ever in a state to argue. So there I went, in the back of an ambulance. They examined me, found nothing and said that they would take me to a nearby hospital to have me examined further. I was still a little hazy and also beginning to get really nauseous, so I said ok ok ok fine whatever take my money sell my mother shave my head i don't care. So there I went back into the ambulance and this time they put the sirens on and I felt special.
In the hospital I got examined again and a female doctor explained that she was 90% sure that my passing out had been caused by the pain, but that she recommended staying there to do a few tests. But, she added, the neurologist wouldn't be there until monday, so she understood if I just wanted to go home and take the tests whenever I went back to Holland. I decided upon the last, because I really didn't want to stay there. Fine, she said, and as she called me a cab I sat there and waited and felt continuously worse. I wrote my mother and Marilyn text messages, which at first hand all came out as gibberish, and then started throwing up like a crazy motherfucker. I'd thrown up my breakfast earlier so all that came out now was bile. It went on forever and at some point the doctor said: You know what, you're just going to stay. Fine, I responded with my head in the garbage bin.
They put a tube into my arm and took me to a room. I fell asleep straight away and woke up a couple of hours later, feeling peachy and ready to go home, except that it was past eleven already so it seemed I just had to spend the night there.
Next day, I get woken at seven to take some sort of antibiotics and have my blood pressure taken. I'm fine, I tell them, but they do it all anyway. I ask one of the nurses when I can leave and she shakes her head: No doctors today, tomorrow you can ask them. (I soon learn that English is as much use here as Chinese) I feel sad and disappointed and I want to go home. The food is awful, I have nothing with me except for my Ipod and Marilyn can't come. I soon discover that I wet my pants when I blacked out, but no one can provide me with clean clothes, nor with a tooth brush. I'm glad I've lost my sense of smell.
On monday I get woken early again, but the doctors don't come in until 10. Mine is a grey guy with a worn, uninterested face. He grabs a box of candy off the table of the girl who sleeps in the same room as I do and distributes them around before doing anything else. I expect him to discuss the examinations, to ask me what happened to me, but instead he and the girl chat and laugh and soon he leaves again to get a cup of coffee. Eventually he returns and looks me over and asks me what I'm doing here. I explain it in Italian as well as I can and he nods and mumbles something about appointments and then he leaves. I have no idea what he's decided on, so I ask the girl next to me and she explains more slowly that I have a couple of examinations today and one tomorrow. Oh no, I think to myself, not another day! I run after him (carefully demonstrating my fitness!) and tell him that I wanted to leave thay day because I have an exam coming up. He discusses it with his colleague for a second and then says loudly as if I am a moron who is hard of hearing: Okay, okay. We do. Today. You. Go home. Today!
Grazie, grazie. I am happy and patiently await my examinations. They come and pick me up at my door with a wheelchair. The girl who pushes me is younger and smaller than I am, but I can't remember the word for 'walk', and I'm lazy anyway, so I sit down and have myself pushed from one room to the next, having scans made and reactions tested. When I'm done, she returns me to my room and I await the return of my doctor.
Nothing happens. When I go to ask, the nurse tells me: The doctor has left the building. I look at the clock. 14:10. "But he said I could leave today," I say. Again she shakes her head firmly: "You have another examination tomorrow. You must stay. Ask the doctor tomorrow."
GRRRRR.
That evening they bring me on oxygen mask. "I'm fine," I say. I am fine, I was fine the day before, I've been fine all along. But they insist, I need to put on the mask... I am reminded of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and the nurse does look like she could sedate me pretty easily. I say no more and put on the mask. During dinner I prepare Italian sentences in my head, so that next day I'll be able to make clear to the doctor that I am not staying one day longer. I longingly glance at the open window and think of slipping out.
Today, tuesday, the doctor assures me that I can leave. Just one more test and when it's fine, you can go. I glance at the nurses, saying with my eyes: You hear that? I am leaving. You're not going to stop me anymore.
The girl in my room has been released as well and she decides to wait for me so that she can bring me to the station. It takes forever until they're ready for my final examination, but at one o'clock, another doctor finally comes in. He tells me to follow his pen with my eyes, closes my eyes and pushes me around as to try and break my balance, and tells me to bring my finger to my nose, again with closed eyes.
It takes two minutes. He says it's fine and he leaves. Two minutes. He couldn't spare those two minutes yesterday?
The other doctor returns and says that all the tests were fine, but that his colleague would like me to stay a couple more days to do more tests, but I don't have to. I think of all the harsh sentences I have prepared, but decide on a most polite: "I would like to go."
I go. And will never ever come back again.
We flew back to Rome last saturday. I had a cold, so I knew that it would probably be a little more painful than it usually already is... and it was. Nothing extreme, though, just a sharp pain in my ears as the plane descended. Suddenly, however, my vision blurred and I only just managed to tell Marilyn I didn't feel so well before passing out. What seemed like two seconds later I woke up and found my head lulling sideways, uncomfortably close to the seat of the person next to me. I felt vaguely embarassed and turned back.
I could hear people talk, but I couldn't speak so I just sat there as the plane became empty, aware of the curious glances of all the bypassers. Soon a guy from the first aid post appeared and talked to me and by this time I already felt a little better and I could make my way out of the plane, but he insisted on taking me to his post to examine me and I wasn't in any state to argue. To be frank, I'm hardly ever in a state to argue. So there I went, in the back of an ambulance. They examined me, found nothing and said that they would take me to a nearby hospital to have me examined further. I was still a little hazy and also beginning to get really nauseous, so I said ok ok ok fine whatever take my money sell my mother shave my head i don't care. So there I went back into the ambulance and this time they put the sirens on and I felt special.
In the hospital I got examined again and a female doctor explained that she was 90% sure that my passing out had been caused by the pain, but that she recommended staying there to do a few tests. But, she added, the neurologist wouldn't be there until monday, so she understood if I just wanted to go home and take the tests whenever I went back to Holland. I decided upon the last, because I really didn't want to stay there. Fine, she said, and as she called me a cab I sat there and waited and felt continuously worse. I wrote my mother and Marilyn text messages, which at first hand all came out as gibberish, and then started throwing up like a crazy motherfucker. I'd thrown up my breakfast earlier so all that came out now was bile. It went on forever and at some point the doctor said: You know what, you're just going to stay. Fine, I responded with my head in the garbage bin.
They put a tube into my arm and took me to a room. I fell asleep straight away and woke up a couple of hours later, feeling peachy and ready to go home, except that it was past eleven already so it seemed I just had to spend the night there.
Next day, I get woken at seven to take some sort of antibiotics and have my blood pressure taken. I'm fine, I tell them, but they do it all anyway. I ask one of the nurses when I can leave and she shakes her head: No doctors today, tomorrow you can ask them. (I soon learn that English is as much use here as Chinese) I feel sad and disappointed and I want to go home. The food is awful, I have nothing with me except for my Ipod and Marilyn can't come. I soon discover that I wet my pants when I blacked out, but no one can provide me with clean clothes, nor with a tooth brush. I'm glad I've lost my sense of smell.
On monday I get woken early again, but the doctors don't come in until 10. Mine is a grey guy with a worn, uninterested face. He grabs a box of candy off the table of the girl who sleeps in the same room as I do and distributes them around before doing anything else. I expect him to discuss the examinations, to ask me what happened to me, but instead he and the girl chat and laugh and soon he leaves again to get a cup of coffee. Eventually he returns and looks me over and asks me what I'm doing here. I explain it in Italian as well as I can and he nods and mumbles something about appointments and then he leaves. I have no idea what he's decided on, so I ask the girl next to me and she explains more slowly that I have a couple of examinations today and one tomorrow. Oh no, I think to myself, not another day! I run after him (carefully demonstrating my fitness!) and tell him that I wanted to leave thay day because I have an exam coming up. He discusses it with his colleague for a second and then says loudly as if I am a moron who is hard of hearing: Okay, okay. We do. Today. You. Go home. Today!
Grazie, grazie. I am happy and patiently await my examinations. They come and pick me up at my door with a wheelchair. The girl who pushes me is younger and smaller than I am, but I can't remember the word for 'walk', and I'm lazy anyway, so I sit down and have myself pushed from one room to the next, having scans made and reactions tested. When I'm done, she returns me to my room and I await the return of my doctor.
Nothing happens. When I go to ask, the nurse tells me: The doctor has left the building. I look at the clock. 14:10. "But he said I could leave today," I say. Again she shakes her head firmly: "You have another examination tomorrow. You must stay. Ask the doctor tomorrow."
GRRRRR.
That evening they bring me on oxygen mask. "I'm fine," I say. I am fine, I was fine the day before, I've been fine all along. But they insist, I need to put on the mask... I am reminded of One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest and the nurse does look like she could sedate me pretty easily. I say no more and put on the mask. During dinner I prepare Italian sentences in my head, so that next day I'll be able to make clear to the doctor that I am not staying one day longer. I longingly glance at the open window and think of slipping out.
Today, tuesday, the doctor assures me that I can leave. Just one more test and when it's fine, you can go. I glance at the nurses, saying with my eyes: You hear that? I am leaving. You're not going to stop me anymore.
The girl in my room has been released as well and she decides to wait for me so that she can bring me to the station. It takes forever until they're ready for my final examination, but at one o'clock, another doctor finally comes in. He tells me to follow his pen with my eyes, closes my eyes and pushes me around as to try and break my balance, and tells me to bring my finger to my nose, again with closed eyes.
It takes two minutes. He says it's fine and he leaves. Two minutes. He couldn't spare those two minutes yesterday?
The other doctor returns and says that all the tests were fine, but that his colleague would like me to stay a couple more days to do more tests, but I don't have to. I think of all the harsh sentences I have prepared, but decide on a most polite: "I would like to go."
I go. And will never ever come back again.