***Disclaimer – In this post I will be describing what it was like to stay in a foreign hospital. Please note that we, as Americans, are incredibly privileged. I do believe that the staff here cares, just maybe hasn’t been taught how to show their care to their patients. I am grateful for my time spent here.” ***
My first bedpan experience:
I had finally settled into my bed after my day of gurney rides when a nurse, we will call her Martha, came in and asked if I needed to use the restroom. Joshua and Jackie had barely left the room when Martha started yanking down my pants. I held onto my waistband with all I had trying to keep her from pulling them all way down with the door to my room wide open. I pointed to the door, asking her to close it. She shook her head and kept going. I then reached down, yanked my pants back up and pleaded with her. She was obviously frustrated as she mumbled under her breath and went to throw the door shut.
Martha, now annoyed, roughly pulled down my pants and slid the pan under me (again, quite painful with a fractured vertebra) She took a few steps and watched me as, I am embarrassed to say, had stage fright and wasn’t able to pee right away. I closed my eyes and imagined myself to be in a fancy bathroom surrounded by nothing but walls and privacy, rather than a sketchy hospital with angry Martha staring at me. I was eventually able to go. This moment will forever go down in history as my most embarrassing, awkward, vulnerable moment. I shared this delicate moment with a woman who obviously did not appreciate it as much as I did.
The next few days were a blur. Waking up in the morning wasn’t this grand moment of stretching, crawling out of bed and making a cup of coffee. It was simply opening my eyes and continuing to lay there. The hospital was not air conditioned and it had just rained so my room was hot, humid, and the mosquitos were hungry. I would lay there most of the day, sweating and fighting not to itch the new bites that had developed on my legs.
Around 9:30, my favorite meal of the day would arrive, breakfast. I could always count on breakfast. It would be two pieces of bread; on good days they would give butter AND jam. Unfortunately, the cook would usually set the tray out of my reach. I would lay in wait usually until about noon when my team arrived and one of them would hand me the tray and some of the delicious goodies, including coffee!!, that they had brought with them.
Sometimes, the woman who swept my floor would see the tray and sit it next to me on the bed. She would then sit next to me and try to talk but after several failed attempts she would stand and sweep her way out the door.
My team would leave later in day, around 5pm or so and I would go back to the boring reality of my situation. When no one is there, you have plenty of time to pity yourself. Especially in my condition.
I only had a nurse enter my room maybe twice a day. My nurse call button didn’t work so if I were in pain or needed to go to the bathroom I would have to wait patiently for someone to come into my room. Because they only gave pain meds when I asked… not having a nurse around was seriously frustrating. Sometimes the pain would build up and I would just lay there and cry. Mad at myself for being in this position, mad at the hospital for not caring, mad at the country for not having a better hospital, mad at God for not healing me immediately… you name it, I was mad about it.
To be continued…….
