Three weeks on, and enough people have convinced me to conclude my stay in the hospital. I was planning on letting dead dogs lie, but I guess that I need to get this nonsense out the way. Initially, apologies for lack of activity of late. It's so hot in Greece I can barely complete a thought.
Pre-warning, graphic description involving reference to bodily fluids/functions (poop).
So, if I must be blatantly honest, during my period in hospital I got 'examined'. As you can imagine, my friends have all got a good little kick out of this. This sort of interaction with your doctor is associated with emasculation with 'the lads', so I was on the receiving end of a bit of stick (innuendo unintented). The unusual thing about this, however, was what the doctor did arterward. Upon completion his brisk and violent examination he felt it necessary to wave his still-gloved hand in my face and, for some unrelated reason, started shouting at the nurses, "I am not Muhatma Ghandi," several times. At this point I began to question the legitimacy of this man's medical license as he continued to convey early signs of a postal rampage onto his subordinates and barking at me as if I was a dog. I know that people have bad days, and people are entitled to be a bit stroppy on an given occasion - you simply can't take that away from a man - but if he is conducting internal examinations of people with an unbridled rage issue...well, perhaps he should just learn how to suppress these feelings for the sake of professionalism. Remember, I am in no way an authority on professionalism in the workplace, but patients should be handled with a little more subtlety and tenderness. Popular opinion is that this is a common attitude by some doctors.
One positive point from my second day was that I got a full nights sleep. Unlike the first night, there was no interruption from gossiping nurses and doctors in the early hours of the morning. It turns out that they were all taking a little nap. Bless them.
The next day, an old man kept coming into my room and using my toilet. I was under the impression that I had been separated due to the contagious nature of my illness. I couldn't blame the man, he didn't have a room and he had nowhere else to go; the only problem was that he kept missing the pan. Due to the fact that I was in the urology ward, and that I have little knowledge of urinary infections, I found myself regularly disinfecting the bathroom prior to engaging it myself. Thus, a little planning and time management was needed if I was ever to venture to the receptacle, but I don't think that, realistically, I can write this into my CV.
When I saw the nurses next, they moved an elderly gentleman into my room. I took this as a sign that I was better and would be out soon. The man seemed nice enough, despite the language barrier. His family were coming and going all day and night. In fact, his wife never left and they didn't sleep until 4am and they left the lights on. I didn't complain. I just wanted to do my time and get out. The man didn't seem to be paying heed to doctor's instructions and kept finding himself in a lot of pain, at which the doctors and nurses kept having to re-enter the room and scold him like a dog that had shid on the carpet. It got slightly uncomfortable when a doctor (with nurse in tow) performed a procedure on the man. He was definitely in a lot of pain and I didn't know where to put myself. There were no curtain dividers so it was constantly in my peripherals. Fortunately, the Champions League was on, so I could block it out slightly. Not an ideal situation for me. Nor for him.
My condition meant that all I could eat was noodles and water; flavourless cuisine that still sits on my breath now. When I was in hospital I craved very specific kinds of food: a yoghurt flapjack, a yorkshire pudding, any chocolate, a chocolate milkshake, a Chinese buffet. You only realise what you miss when you go without.
I am out now, and it is seriously too hot to re-read this article or to develop any pride over the words that have been produced today. Hopefully, I will start writing again soon. Until then, my main objective is to stay out of hospital.