A week ago today (Thursday) I was discharged from the local hospital here in Bradford, the Bradford Royal Infirmary. I left with three stapled holes in my tummy and a pack of paracetamol. It started with tummy pains I was feeling all Monday, finally localising to my right side. The pain was pretty close to unbearable by late evening so I asked two of my flatmates, Danielle and Ahmed, to get a taxi with me to the hospital.
After an hour and a half of waiting patiently in pain, I twice went to the nurse's desk, nearly lying on her desk, initially pleasant later more aggressive, asking (demanding?) what time I'm to see the doctor. Finally, after a dramatic but completely true to life episode in front of the nurse's desk, they took me to the back to a bed where I could be checked and pumped with some morphine.
Anyway, to make a long story short, I ended up being completely doped up with painkillers in the hospital until Thursday. I was told at first it might be appendicitis, then I was told it was not, then I was told it probably was and that they needed to do some keyhole surgery (laparoscopy or something like that). As it turns out it was not appendicitis but a ruptured cyst that caused some problems. On Wednesday night, they performed the surgery and a week later I'm healing well.
My flatmate Danielle spent everyday with me at the hospital, although I was hardly conscious of her or anything going on around me. I also had a few other friends who kept me company and took care of me even after I was discharged. My mom flew in from Vancouver on Saturday and stayed until Wednesday to nurse me back to health. And now, I'm pretty much functioning at regular capacity, although the staples on the three holes of my tummy won't be coming out until Monday.
I'm glad I didn't have to stay much longer in that hospital although the nurses and others were kind to me. It's not a happy place at the best of times.
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