It’s very surreal when two doctors are leaning over you, with masks covering their mouths, talking in a language you don’t understand.
This is the second time in my life that my primary doctor has called over a younger, less experienced doctor to see the “rarity.” I feel like a circus freak.
It’s also slightly disturbing when your guests all have to wear face masks, hair covers, and little booties over their shoes. Typhoid Mary -esque.
Due to the fact that I was in a private clinic, not a state one, after recommending that I be hospitalized, the doctor said, “I’ll take you to the reception where they’ll show you our prices.” As if I could pick a la carte.
On Sunday evening, the day I was first hospitalized, I saw the ENT specialist (Ears, Nose, and Throat). My primary doctor was afraid that I had an abcess that would have to be surgically drained. I had resigned myself to that fate, and patiently waited, hoping that it would ease the pain. After seven hours of waiting, the specialist finally arrived. He was a wizened old Soviet doctor. Instead of the modern equipment, he came in with these ridiculously old, non stainless steel tools. They were sterilized (they came in paper packets that he tore open), but they had that psuedo-rust on them nonetheless. He didn’t speak a word of English. I sat down and he roughly opened my mouth and used one of the tools to jam my tounge to the bottom of my mouth. Instantaneously he said to the other doctor, “What are you talking about, there’s no abcess here!” He prodded around a bit more, shoved a little metal thing up my nose and in my ears, and then said “stay here at least three more days, I’ll be back on Tuesday or Wednesday.” Oddly, he was very comforting. He was using horribly outdated equipment, but he imparted an air of authority and experience.
IVs are a fantastic idea, it’s like semi-permanent needle in your veins so they don’t have to stick you as many times.
IVs are cold when they’re first inserted.
It’s really freaky when blood gets backed up in your IV. You see it covered in red where it’s supposed to be clear. It also reinforces the idea that this is, in essence, a permament opening into your veins, and a two-way street.
While my tonsils were swollen, not only was it exceedingly painful to swallow, but it was quite difficult as well. Often, swallowing, instead of the intended direction of down the throat, would actually push the food away, towards the front of my mouth. I finally developed a system wherein I took tiny portions of food and put them into a “pre-launch” chamber at the top of my mouth, before swallowing.
During my stay at the hospital, I had two kinds of food. Real, and IV.
The real food was very good. They ordered it from a cafe down the road. I was shocked when they first said, “are you hungry? Here’s a menu.” The menu was very complete, and I had a two great meals everyday.
I can’t comment about the IV food, although I’m sure my body loved it. Basically a mix of Potassium, Glucose, and Insulin to help breakdown the Glucose.
For breakfast everyday I had oily “Kasha,” and yogurt. “Kasha,” is translated by my dictionary as “porridge,” or “gruel.” Often, when I look up a word, I don’t understand it’s English equivalent. That’s because it’s the English version, not the American one. In this case, porridge is what Goldilocks ate, and gruel is what we feed pigs. It turns out that what they mean to say is “Oatmeal.” Although it was oily (I don’t know why or how), it was quite tasty.
At night, my room was a mix of dark, light, and orange. There was an observation window by the other bed, on the other side of a curtain. It had blinds that were shut, but light seeped through anyways. On the other side of my bed were windows on the street. They also had shut blinds, but the orange of the streetlights crept through. In any case, it was darker than my dorm room, with it’s paper think curtains.
