Usually, around this time of year, I add a post about goals for the year. However, the New Year has been a little different this year.
I spent my festive season in Devon. I finished work on the 22nd of December for a nice, long break. Before leaving Edinburgh, I developed an ear infection that continued over the holiday. I had to see a nurse in Devon who prescribed amoxicillin. I took some ibuprofen to help de-swell my ear after experiencing a fiery pain. On Christmas Day, I was almost sick after eating. It progressed to having stomach cramps and chest pains. On the train home, a lovely girl with a metal suitcase knocked me in the chest.
I decided something wasn’t right and discussed my symptoms with the GP. He prescribed more amoxicillin and omeprazole. New Year’s Eve and Day were spent in a typical fashion, although I ended up with one more knock to the chest.
My mum advised me on the 2nd of January to call 111 for advice. Staff at 111 referred me to an outpatient doctor, who told me to go to A&E. After check-in, I waited 2 hours to see a doctor.
My new doctor did an X-ray and a CT scan. He also took my blood and installed a cannula in my arm. He informed me that my blood count was 80 and asked if I had thought about transfusions. The average blood count for an adult male is 130. I started frantically texting my relatives to ask them about blood transfusions. Some religions do not accept blood transfusions. I theorised that blood is of the earth. Therefore, having this within my own moral rules would be perfectly acceptable.
I then sat in a corridor for several hours. I was not allowed to eat from midnight. Seven hours later, the nurses brought me a sandwich and a cup of tea. The doctor promptly confiscated my cup of tea. Another nurse did a very rough PCR test on me.
Finally, after 8-9 hours, I got moved back into a cubicle to be assessed by a surgeon. He announced it wasn’t a surgical issue and then promptly had a prolonged argument about where to send me next. Finally, he informed me that they had found a small amount of fluid in my pelvis that they couldn’t explain. My organs were intact with no issues.
They decided to send me to a surgical ward in the end. My fiancée could come in very briefly to see me and bring me a bag of clothes. A nurse came and asked me what I weighed – 76kg. She brought along some scales and discovered I had lost 5kg.
I was put onto an IV fluids drip and a PPI (proton-pump inhibitor). Nurses woke me at 6 am and informed me that I would be moving to another ward. I would have an endoscopy (camera down my throat) at 10 am. Before my move, a nurse came in with a bag of blood for the blood transfusion. I didn’t have any information about these, except that I needed one. She told me my blood type and then hooked me up.
I was then wheeled through a dizzying number of corridors and deposited in the vascular ward. At about 9:30, I got a text saying my PCR test had returned negative. 10 am came and went, with no movement or communication from the staff. I started to get a little afraid of having the endoscopy since it’s an invasive procedure. Nurses assured me that it would be OK and I would have some medicine to take the edge off things.
Finally, at 12:50, the nurses came to get me for the endoscopy. They wheeled down some more corridors and deposited in a waiting area. The staff were very kind, but they distracted me by playing the countdown number game. The next bit was a bit of a blur. I had a throat spray that numbed it and a sedative. I lay on my left side, and a camera was put down my throat. I could see it on the screen.
Afterwards, I returned to the ward. Ward nurses informed me that the gentleman next to me had tested positive for COVID. As a result, we weren’t allowed visitors and would be self-isolated as a room. I ended up having the best sleep I’d have in the hospital. I could chat with my partner at the door at 5 pm.
The following day, my doctor visited. They wanted to take further blood tests to ensure I wasn’t losing more blood. The gentleman opposite me had several visits from his doctor and councillors. He was facing a very traumatic procedure. Every few minutes, he would scream in pain. He was very unpleasant to all the staff and glared at me throughout my stay. Ward nurses come around at set times with your medication. I lost all perspective of the day and what was happening outside.
I stayed up a bit late that night chatting to the other gentleman on the ward. He was a retired pharmacist. My doctor visited me in the morning and informed me I could leave that day. The surgical team was happy with my progress. I could be treated as an out-patient. Further investigations warrant a capsular endoscopy, a blood test a week after discharge, and long-term omeprazole administration.
I was soon disappointed to find I would have to wait for the discharge letter. I waited approximately 6 hours for a junior doctor to come round. The doctor will be around in 20 minutes. During the 3-hour wait that followed, the nurses wheeled in a new patient to fill one of the beds. I also managed to have a conversation with the unfortunate fellow opposite me. Neither of us knew why there was a new patient, as the room was self-isolated.
The final straw came when they brought round the dinner trolley. My wonderful friend in America had organised a pizza for us when I got home. I informed the nurses I would be having that for tea. After some back-and-forth, the junior doctor finally discharged me.
So, the final thing to say is Happy New Year! I will follow up with a post about my resolutions and lessons learned from last year.