Unfortunately I had to take a forced hiatus between travels in Asia and Europe for an operation, seeing as by my itinerary I should have been eating gelato in Northern Italy, I treated this medi-break as part of my adventures. I had jumped aboard the new medical tourism craze, people who go abroad to get some work done; their teeth capped, breasts enlarged etc. and have a nice holiday at the same time.
The location of my medicinal vacation – the home of the Central Deborah mine, a talking tram and the bitchiest Under 12 Girl’s basketball team in the late 1990s, Bendigo.
As a healthy and unadventurous child having to go to hospital was still unfamiliar as an adult. I was a lame patient. I filled out my admittance forms and had nothing of any interest to write, no mad cow, free of crazy diseases rampant in the 70s and having all my own teeth there was nothing juicy to expand upon. I was bored with my own health. I stumbled onto the fitness category and under ‘could you walk up two flights of stairs’ I considered my true ability and laughed to myself but faltered when it asked for an explanation. I considered if ‘laziness’ was a medical explanation and also if humour was permitted on medical documents. Just to double check the anaesthetist also asked if I could run up a hill and I said, “well, yes, I suppose I could… I wouldn’t enjoy it though”.
Several hours lapsed with me sitting in a waiting room in a blue and white striped gown, knee-high white compression socks and shower caps on my feet. A good look for me I thought. Being rather tall I spent most of this time trying to wrestle my hem down and my socks up. The old man next to me had his legs apart and I was glad I was next to him and not at the nurses’ station in front. I wondered how many people before me had sat on these leather seats with in their robes with no underwear and hoped they were all as considerate with their robe placement as I.
After a bit of confusion in which I informed them that I had in fact been prescribed pre-meds and hadn’t been given them and that I still needed to see a doctor for medical consent we were able to get the show on the road. I will be asking for a discount for helping them do their job. I was taken to my wheelie bed and wheeled down the hallway, not going to lie, quite fun. I cracked a few gags with the assistant who pointed out my surgeon, Dr Bowtie, who really should consider getting a bow tie made out of scrubs to make him more recognisable. Then I was promptly stabbed in the hand vein with a needle and sent off into the land of nod.
The surgeon slashed and dashed, never to be seen again nor heard from again and I woke up, quite reluctantly, from a deep drug-induced sleep only to be slapped in the face with the severe pain caused by people cutting me open, pulling my guts out, putting them all back in and sewing me up with a needle and thread. I would have kicked Dr Bowtie in the balls had I been able to find him or feel my legs.
They kept talking me round and I kept trying to go back to sleep. A few days later the doctor seemed quite surprised I had no idea what was going on as she had informed me during this time of a follow up appointment in 6 weeks. I thought ‘people don’t listen when they are unconscious’ would have been covered in Medicine 101.
Life on the ward didn’t resemble the TV dramas I was basing all my preconceptions on. No doctors looked like George Clooney for one and I don’t remember anyone on All Saints having to attend to Code Browns five times a day. It’s misleading to say the least. There was no glamour.
As I regained my senses I could hear the couple in the curtained room next to me whispering angrily. Apparently he decided that post-operation was a good time to confront his girlfriend for texting compromising pictures of herself to some other guy. The entertainment was beginning. It was just like Grey’s Anatomy. Shame the anaesthetic hangover meant I missed part two.
After about 30 hours I was given some food to eat. Placed on a tray ever so slightly out of reach was tragic selection of food items. “Careful, it’s hot” she said as she put down a plate with a cover, which was warm, but the single piece of toast inside hadn’t been warm for days. In fact rigor mortis had set in hours ago.
The brand Andersons Quality Tea was not quite honest as I prepared my Tupperware tea cup which wasn’t quite hot enough for the tea to infuse. I treated it like airplane food, ate it anyway in case I never get more. Plus it kills a good 15-20 minutes out of a long day. Anyways it would take more than abdominal surgery to turn me off my breakfast. I took great delight in pre-ordering my meals for the next day, do I want chicken surprise? or a bowl of gravy? Instant mash on the side? Jelly? or “poached” – hospital speak for “tinned” – fruit. Oh the choices. A culinary delight.
Room 9 had all the fun of hostel living. The old lady opposite who if she wasn’t snoring was shitting. I would have my book against my nose, inhaling the musty, old book smell to disguise another code brown. Everyone was bed ridden and miserable. Reading 'That’s Life' and watching 'Sunrise' hoping they were going to live to see another day. Such downers.
Although there is absolutely nothing to do, it’s not particularly restful in a hospital especially when you are woken up with a torch in your face hourly to take your vitals. Often the blood pressure monitor was broken which we would have to go through with each different nurse who needed to learn this themself. "Its broken, take it manually" I'd say as I flopped an arm out from under my covers and only opened one eye. There was a lot of time for sitting and waiting for food or medication. Getting out of bed, walking to the chair, to the bathroom, to the table by the window and back to the bed.
Things I learnt during my hours of life contemplation between naps:
- No matter how much I will want to in the future, white tights are not a good look on me.
- 2am by torch light is the ideal time to take out your IV.
- A hospital gown with a few adjustments, namely a means of stopping your bare skin showing, would make a nice summer frock.
- You would probably get better medical attention in Cuba.
- Doctors will only see patients that are paying to be there. Yay public healthcare.
- Hospital food really is pretty gross and at times unidentifiable.
- I am tank when it comes to prescription medicine and literally takes an anaesthetic to put me to sleep. Am therefore considering a prescription pain-killer addiction only I have to break a Panadol in half so I dare say i'll struggle.
- The idea of having to pay to watch TV in hospital is a disgrace. Your entertainment options are limited enough it’s just a punch in the neck to pay $9 a day for the privilege of looking at Koshie’s dumb face.
- Beds that go up and down are awesome.
- Putting the nurse call button on the TV channel changer is stupid. Oops sorry, just wanted to see who was on Oprah in the ads.
- A catheter would be useful when travelling, for all those time when you cannot find a McDonalds with a toilet or are lining up for the Sistine Chapel.
- Nurses work super hard and don't sleep. Are possibly vampires. (Need proof)
- Doctors inspire little confidence when they says things like: “what side are we cutting today?” “do you have a copy of your scans” – me? no
they don’t give me a copy of expensive ultrasound scans to take home but I would like to think you could get your hands on it.
After way too many hours alone with my thoughts a doctor who was actually in the vicinity of my surgery (at least wore scrubs on the day) finally took the time out of their day to stop by and inform me what they had cut out of my body two and a half days prior.
I was finally discharged. Let out on good behaviour, for general bravery and awesomeness in the field of healing. My bags were packed and I waited in the window like an orphan.
My brush with the public health system. Fun was had. Skin was cut. Ovaries were taken. Human excrement was smelt. It was time to leave and recuperate in the comfort of a home, on a couch with healthy people around and DVDs on hand.
The doctor signing me out floated the idea of me staying another night past me which was quickly shot down as I pushed past him with my bag. I was going home to rapidly recover and attempt to make a scheduled flight to England in 14 days time.
