Hospital

Recently I have been sick and an operation was necessary here in France. As part of my hospital therapy, I kept a blog about the experience.

Thursday

Well here I sit in the waiting room at Langon Hospital awaiting my appointment with the surgeon. I feel fairly positive about the events to come. Physically I feel much better than the death welcoming bedbound soul earlier in the week. If a gall bladder operation is necessary, it will prevent the recurrence of the last five days and in view of our planned trip to South America in October, such things are best out of the way..

Since the onset of my problem after a dinner outing with friends, life has been pretty miserable. Painkillers and antibiotics notwithstanding, they still say I have a “gross infection” so to the knife I go. A few days in hospital after keyhole surgery will set me right and it will give me the experience of immersion in a French speaking environment – always a good learning opportunity.

Friday

Woke today feeling somewhat restricted but despite a very tender wound, reasonably chipper. The surgeon arrives and presents me with my reward - a gall stone the size of a pigeon’s egg. Apparently it was blocking the gall bladder entrance completely. Think I’ll see if I am eligible for the Guinness Book of Records.

She (surgeon) tells me they had to spend some time clearing away all the infection. Apparently keyhole surgery was impossible because of the danger of peritonitis and because the gall bladder was so hard and enlarged. She tells me I must have found the 5 days at home prior to hospitalisation very difficult. I fell quite chuffed at this vision of me as the brave suffering patient. Can I have my prize winning egg/stone mounted?

Jack arrives to visit and to take away the first of many lists. Then Clare and Elliot (his first action is to press the emergency button to summon the nurse) and then Ilan and Abby. Isaac being only 6 weeks old is too young to come into the hospital. It’s a lot of organisation for them just to come for a brief visit so I hope they don’t feel they have to come too often.

At this stage I am very much confined to bed – drip in one arm, drainage back attached to wound and I sit up with difficulty. The cut is about 4 inches long: it’s closed by staples There’s a control on one side to adjust bed heights and a light switch/nurse alarm on the other.

I’ve now got a telephone and a TV. Whoopee!

Saturday

Awake after a fairly good night, and taking my attached drainage bag in one hand and with the other pulling the drip, I trail after the nurse to the shower. There’s something awfully undignified about sitting naked in a shower, with a floppy bruised tummy, and old floppy boobs, unable to wash yourself without help. For the first time in my life I feel the indignity of old age. I guess it’s good preparation for things to come.

Back to my room feeling fresh and relaxed and eat my first (light) meal. Yoghurt and sugar. And of course coffee. I’m not in France for nothing. Still feeling very positive and planning to structure my time. I have a paper to read, 3 books, TV and a telephone. And of course this blog to keep. Properly managed, I can eke out these activities for weeks. I am already well into my book “Kensington Heights” by Leslie Thomas. Good hospital reading.

Pauline (our New Zealand- Fontet.) neighbour calls for a chat and then there’s a surprise one from Kate. The morning is passing quickly and Jack arrives, unhappy after a long but unsuccessful attempt to extend my mobile phone’s validity at France telecom.. We try to deal with the paperwork involved in claiming my health care on our HK scheme (provided a translation for the surgeon) and then a proper lunch arrives. (white bean salad with ham).

In the afternoon I finish my book and watch more TV. I don’t know how we can expect people to learn a foreign language through watching TV or video. I have watched hours of TV at Clare’s, at Hure and here in hospital in a fog of incomprehension. Without some kind of focus or purpose – i.e. fill in an answer sheet or apply this information now and without the chance of reconfirmation, (say that again, is this what you mean?) it seems a hopeless exercise to me. Still I’ll keep trying.

Bt night I am in total disorganisation and overcome by the activities of the day: going to the loo, a frequent occurrence due o the saline drip that passes irresolutely through my veins, sitting up, lying back, dropping things, readjusting my pillow, it’s been all go here. And I never want to see French television again. As well it’s hot in this room as the setting sun penetrates through the horizontal volet blades until about 9.30 pm and the rubber undersheet buckles more as the day goes on. The prospect of 5 more days is distinctly unpleasant. I take my painkillers and wait for sleep to mask the pain and the tedium.

Sunday

I awake at 6 (my third trip to the loo since I went to sleep- curse that drip) with a feeling of foreboding but after 2 dolipranes (what a cute name for paracetamol – my dollies), a shower, hair wash and breakfast in my chair, the world seems brighter.

I contemplate my small world –happiness resides in a pillow correctly placed, a remote control within reach, sequence and order (elevate head of bed, push self forward, hold overhead support, swing legs to side, stand up, turn drip stand (Fido) so the tube is not entangled, walk to bathroom, pull Fido inside close to toilet, sit down etc. And on the return, ensure pillow is in place high on the elevated head before you position yourself, because if you don’t, despite all this independence, you ‘all still have to call the nurse.

Phone call from Phyllis. Apparently gall stones are reaching high prices on EBay. Maybe mine will be my fortune. Jack, Clare and Abby call unexpectedly en route to a restaurant lunch (life in the free world) Abby explores the room, introduces herself to the nurse and informs her “ma nana et mon grandpa habitent un peu partout” (my nana and grandpa live a bit everywhere”)

A good lunch –potage, salade au riz, roast chicken with sautéed green vegs, fromage/pain, éclair, coffee + 2 dollies (of course)

Give up on trying to watch French TV and doze peacefully in front of the Tour de France. The winner, Castre (Sp) and the runner up Cadel (Aussie) are interviewed. I hope my Australian French accent isn’t the same as Cadel’s. . I plan a night’s TV watching knowing I may understand nothing. Well I’ve still got 2 novels, a magazine and today’s paper, not to mention this blog.

Monday

Feeling a bit glum over another night’s failed TV watching. Maybe the bit of my cerebral cortex related to aural comprehension has been damaged by old age (or alcohol). I resort to my old favourite “Amour Gloire et Beaute” (The Bold and the Beautiful”) where the dialogue is so banal, slow and repetitive, even I can understand it.

My organs have all been on strike since the operation and we await the signs that they are back at their post- le gaz, and a new word for me “les selles”. I guess it’s a bit more appropriate fro a 60 year old than “faire kaka”.

Jack has brought me in a pair of slippers more to avoid affronting French sensibilities than because of mine. The concept of going “nu-pieds” is bizarre in France. So dolled up in my pink towelling jiffies, I set out on my constitutional promenade along the corridor, only to be followed on the way back by a kindly nurse offering me a second night gown to use as a cloak. My own hospital gown, conveniently opening at the back has been displaying my somewhat pendulous buttocks to all and sundry despite my modestly attired toes. Oh well…

Tuesday

I have been given the all clear to leave if I want and not wanting to spend another night with my rubber undersheet, have accepted. Just as well: as a new gall bladder patient has been installed in my room and I wouldn’t want to be sharing, as my last night was quite restless. They’ve taken out half my staples and the drain’s gone too leaving a rather large hole in my side. No swimming for a few days.

The ward is comparatively empty, as it’s summer and only emergency operations are scheduled. I try and evaluate my first stay in hospital since Christopher was born. The food has been good, the staff helpful and language hasn’t been a problem. Despite my TV watching failure, I guess I have made some progress in communication in French.

I’m feeling pretty good except when I cough when the wound has to be held firmly by 2 hand and the pressure on my wound is quite painful. If I had to have this problem, the timing was a good as any. At least I was in a familiar environment, I had my family to support me and the medical facilities were good and efficient. Still it’s been a window on ageing and mortality that I wasn’t expecting. Hope it’s a long time to the next one.