Tell me why, I don’t like…

3 05 2010

…hospitals. You were expecting me to continue the song, weren’t you (sung by the Boomtown Rats – I never knew that, either)? At least, I hope you were, otherwise I’d feel like a complete loser – or idiot, idiot works quite well, too – for singing in my head while typing this.

I seem to have the Curse Of The Hospital upon me (COTH, which sounds bizarrely enough like the word ‘cough’ – coincidence?) I don’t do well in hospital rooms or waiting rooms or any other kind of rooms you would find in a hospital… although the bathroom might be an exception…

The problem with hospitals is, they make me feel incredibly claustrophobic. It’s as if there just isn’t enough air, causing my lungs to go into a slow form of shock and withdrawal, which then leads so feeling faint, ears buzzing slightly, feeling hot and cold and sweaty and numb simultaneously, and hoping against hope that you won’t embarrass yourself while visiting someone. After all, how silly would you feel if you had to sit down suddenly or walk out of the room because you’re afraid you’ll collapse? You’d think that they’d have enough oxygen in a place like that, or that they’d at least turn up the AC a bit.

It has happened quite a few times, most recently (1) while we were visiting my Significant Other’s grandmother the day before she died, and (2) yesterday afternoon while visiting my mum in the Heart Unit at Panorama Medi-Clinic. While visiting SO’s grandmother, this on a day where it was between thirty and forty degrees Celsius, I had to walk out of the small, stuffy room and take a seat outside, which wasn’t exactly better, but at least I could plop down and compose myself without feeling too embarrassed. I had to sit with my head between my knees while my SO went to find a soda machine, returning with some Coke in order to get some sugar into my system. Luckily, the day was so hot and the place really was stuffy, not only for me but a few people, that I wasn’t the only one sitting right outside the room later.

Losing a grandmother is terrible, but the shock and scariness when it could be your own parent is even worse. My mum decided to go to the chemist on Saturday because she had a pain in her chest, and also because she sometimes had to breathe very deeply in order to feel better and ‘normal’ again before she could go on with whatever she was busy with. The chemist advised her to go to Panorama Medi-Clinic, and I’m terribly glad and grateful that he/she did, otherwise things could have been a lot worse at a later date.

It turns out that my enough oxygen wasn’t going to my mum’s heart – two of the arteries/veins/whatever-you-call-them (although I am positive that ‘arteries’ is the word I’m looking for) had reduced in width, narrowing so much that the air-supply was reduced to a minimum. If my mum hadn’t gone over the weekend, she might have had serious problems later; she might have had a heart-attack in a few months’ time, and then she probably could/would have died as a result. Luckily, after spending the night there Saturday, where they did tests, and spending the day and night there yesterday (more tests and stuff), my mum’s arteries/veins/whatevers are now better than ever, and she was able to leave the hospital this morning.

Yesterday afternoon at three-o’clock, my SO and I went to pay my mum a visit… and immediately, the COTH crept up on me. SO got me a chair, which I was grateful for, and I opened one of the Sparkles (a sweetie) I keep in my handbag for just such an occasion. The sugar made me feel better, at least temporarily, plus my aunt was there – my mum’s older sister (or eldest, I should say) – so I didn’t have to do much talking. My mum spoke the most, although she would stop talking and fall asleep for a few seconds every now and again. I managed to survive and hour, which I was very glad of, and left my mum with a pot of flowers for company until my dad and older sister went to see her at seven-o’clock. And you know, as soon as I walked out through the hospital’s doors, the COTH seemed to vanish just like that *clicking of fingers*

I don’t know what I’m going to do when I have my laparoscopy next week and the COTH comes to me again… It’s no good if the gynaecologist cannot anaesthetise me due to the fact that I’ve fainted. I shall be down and out for at least a little while, but I certainly don’t want to wake up while they’re busy making the incision and checking my ovaries. So in the meantime, I’ll just hope that the dreaded COTH will stay at bay. Otherwise I’ll have to get an exorcist or something, or a new, dependable, non-malfunctional system/body – anybody got one of those for me?! (It was worth asking, at least…)

Perhaps I'm just scared of hospitals... but don't tell anyone, because that just sounds silly... doesn't it?

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