There are multitudinous entities you naturally fear of hospitalisation. The only time patients relax is when they’re discharged and breathe in the fresh air on the way to the car.
You’re even tempted giving the parking attendant a cuddle after smilingly assisting you into the passenger side.
In the ward, there’s no time for smiles – except a grimace from the stern matron – or surgeon who finds you’re not eating your veggies. While ensconced in a general ward with the physically inflicted, you’re part of processes anything but consoling.
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You are commanded, no niceties here, to fill bottles with liquid and solid samples. Not easy without drink or nosh in eight hours. You’re woken up in a still darkened ward at four by Dracula’s sister to give blood. A scarcity of veins proves to be a timely and painful exercise.
You then fall into a disturbed sleep, only to be shaken an hour later to swallow your pills, grind through rock hard biscuit and slurp matured coffee. At last, back to sleep. Wrong.
“Time for a refreshing wash, Mr Buchler.” While lying down. It means rolling onto one side then the other to have you sponged down with ice-cold water (“Sorry, load shedding in the night, so no hot water.”) It follows the nether regions face unimaginable torture.
Must admit, in this case, you do feel refreshed and ready for a sound sleep. But it’s not to be.
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“Morning everybody, breakfast time.”
Although a bit peckish, flattened, dry and hard fried eggs, over-crisp bacon and unsalted bread without butter don’t quite cut it. Halfway through this unappetising interlude, the waitress returns.
“Here’s the delicious lunch menu to choose from.”
I was sorely tempted to shoo her away, but spotting the matron in the doorway, I though it prudent to study the delicious menu. I won’t bore you further with what constitutes delicious hospital cuisine.
What follow are no less discomforting. X-rays, sonars, computed tomography (CAT scans), biopsies and testicular tests. All this for the surgeon to make an accurate prognosis.
Suddenly, seen from this perspective, the ward experience is a necessary evil – in fact, something for which to be thankful. By the time you read this piece, I’ll either be home or still awaiting delicious lunch.
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