Home by Lunchtime

The last time I was admitted to hospital was 17 and a half years ago. I returned with a little bundle called Kelsie.

Hospital. That word can make the strongest man or woman quiver like a rabbit in a thunderstorm! I fall squarely in that category. If I can avoid taking medication, I will. If I can avoid having scans, X-rays, blood tests, I will. If I can find an alternate herbal remedy, I will. Then came the Hashimoto’s diagnosis which meant I had to put on my big girl pants and subject myself to multiple invasions on my body, every 6 months.

Sigh. If my energies were not spent picturing the worst-case scenario, then it was spent shivering about what the next process was going to be.

I have had a good run. Until I didn’t!

I had to go to hospital for minor surgery recently. I say minor but in my head anything the required me to be put to sleep was not minor.

My doctor found some anomalies. He wasnt' happy and needed to conduct a dual procedure to figure out what was going on. It wasn’t an elective for me. Words like benign, malignant and all that jazz. After considering all the options, multiple consultations, too many scans to count, we settled on a date and set about preparing for this procedure. A few hours at best and he assured me I would be home by lunchtime and able to recover in the comfort of my home.

That was the plan in any event.

Seamlessly enough, I created an online profile for the hospital, forms were filled, monies were paid and off we went at 5:30am. Although the nearest hospital to me is a few kilometers up the road, my doctor practices some 25km away.

The reception was already busy at 6:00am. I was handed a buzzer that would indicate I was up next to get the admin done for admission. Usually that buzzer indicates my food is ready for pick up!

That was when reality struck. What also struck was how many germs were on this device and how fast could I get rid of it and sanitise my hands!

A hop and a skip to the ward, which seemed to also have many children traipsing around. A quick visit from the anaesthetist who gasped, “At your age you have never had anaesthetic?” At my age! He also happened to be in the theatre the last time I was in hospital. At my age!!

Next a quick scolding from my doctor about why I wasn’t changed yet because the porter was ready to take me to theatre (errrrr the nurse assigned to me had told me, “Change in about 30 minutes.”)

The line up for theatre is like a fast food joint. Everyone buzzing around to pick up their order. All doctors and assistants scurrying around to make sure someone else doesn’t sneak another patient into an empty theatre room.

 A random doctor greeting me, “Mrs Naidoo…..” and me almost jumping off the bed and running away. It’s a Netflix script waiting to happen.

Woman came in for XYZ and went home without a kidney!

My doctor can see me fidgeting and reassures me, “You’re going to be fine.

You will be home by lunchtime.” 

That was the plan!

Some jokes in the theatre where I told the anaesthetist that there was a lady close by who was hoping he would forget to wake me up so she could go comfort my husband, to which he laughed, “I promise I will wake you up…….You’re going off to sleep now……….”

The next thing I knew I was in recovery, some blurry faces, machines beeping and back into that lovely, dreamless sleep that only comes from good drugs.

 A pretty uneventful process.

I sensed Roland next to me before I saw him because - well - good drugs.

If I am anti-hospital, he takes it a level higher. I felt sorry that he had to find himself ensconced within the walls of this monster to support me. I was also very glad I wasn’t alone like many patients were.

Much prayer from many, many people who surround me.

The anaesthetist came around again to check. He prompted me again to make sure I slept with my sleep apnea machine that night. Apparently, the anaesthetic wears off very slowly and could affect the sleep apnea.

And off he went.

My doctor came in. “Everything went well. I found something. I took samples but I’m not overly worried right now. See me in 9 days to discuss lab results. I told you-home by lunchtime.”  

Off he went.

Home. By lunchtime.

Which didn’t happen. Before you wonder what horrific turn of events took place, let me reassure you that through much prayer and trusting God, everything was clear. The lab results indicated non-malignant whatevers and I was released from the seeing my doctor again for another 8 months. Next time will be routine, annual checks.

No. What happened was that after my doctor discharged me on paper, the nurse forgot to discharge me. Physically.

Forgot.

Forgot to give me lunch. Forgot to remove the drip. Forgot to give me lunch. Forgot to check on me for hours. Oh sorry, I mentioned forgot to give me lunch twice already! Maybe that’s because the patient opposite me was chomping down on a delicious burger and fries while I watched like a drooling dog.

Forgot.

Now, I don’t know what your experience has been, at private or public hospitals, but the level of disorder and dismissiveness I saw that day made me very afraid to ever set foot into that place. Ever again.

I heard later, that last December, 2 babies went home with the wrong mommies.

Went home to the wrong family. And had to be brought back. And returned. Hmmmmmm-another Netflix script right there.

I guess being forgotten to be discharged was really not that serious after all.

When they finally got it right, something struck me. How much were we going to be billed for this? What should have been a discharge at 11am now became a discharge at 3:30pm. A whole day of billing.

A whole day of me analysing every little stain and dot I could see from my bed wondering what the heck had caused it.........urrrrghhhhhh.

So, despite being in pain and desperately wanting to go home, I asked Roland to enquire immediately about the billing.

You guessed it.

We were being billed for an entire day, although it was the nurse who forgot to follow through with the discharge process.

“Come sit Mrs. Adams, let me call up to the ward while we check,” says the billing clerk.

Who the HELL is Mrs Adams?? I mean- I’m a lover of Morticia and whole Addams clan but what fresh new drama was this?

Turns out this is a common practice in hospitals.

Forgetting to discharge patients.

I want to label it incompetence, but I think it’s much more than that.

Turns out, at least 3 people in my circle have experienced the same delayed discharge tactic.

Now between myself and Roland, you all know who the fighter is.

My mouth runs, my hands talk, and I will not back down until things have been made right. That day it wasn’t me.

Something along the lines of creating a scene and telling other patients they were being cheated and ending with, “Does this look like a resort to you? Which person in their right minds will just remain in this place if the doctor has discharged them?”

Home by lunchtime. Pffffffft.

I often stop people when they start to tell me some experiences they have had with certain illnesses. Or at certain places. Or with certain people. I even stopped my doctor during a consult when he wanted to show me how the procedure would take place. I said, “You are the expert. I don’t need to know anything more than that. Do what you need to do but don’t tell me!”

I don’t want to be told what level of pain to expect. I don’t want to know what went wrong when you went into theatre.

I don’t want to know the bed had bugs in this hotel or the food was disappointing at that eatery or the weather turned your holiday into mush.

What I don’t know won’t hurt me.

I refuse to watch reviews of places I will be going to on holiday to because I want to experience it for myself.

I’m breaking my cardinal rule. To tell you this experience. And I cannot wait to hear what your ‘home by lunchtime’ experience was.