Life as a Patient
“Is there anything else I can get for you?” “Yea you can make me feel better so I don’t have to be in this hell-hole anymore, thanks.” This is me barking at one of the nurses at St. Anne’s hospital this past week. I was trying to be pleasant because she was quite attractive and on any other day I would have been a flirt and asked for her number, but in my own, personal experience women don’t like guys in polka dotted, backless hospital attire who look like crap and can’t stop coughing up every organ in their body, so I gave up on being nice. I was sent in for observation after having shown multiple flu-like symptoms at my yearly check-up. My doctor, who looks like your typical high school geek complete with glasses, pocket protector, suspenders, and inhaler, told me that I needed to stay in the hospital for a few days to make sure I didn’t have Swine flu or something. I replied to his request “Umm no.” However, he felt the need to call my mom at work and inform her about my current health situation. Long story short, I went in to the hospital within minutes.So here I am. I walk in through the squeaky automatic doors remembering that sound and having flashbacks of my childhood visits to the E.R.. My legs are already tired because every time you go to the hospital, no matter what time it is, you have to park about 50 miles away on the top floor of some rusty parking structure. The smell is the same, that evil doctor smell that makes every kid get goose bumps up and down their body. I’m 18 years old and I still get the same eerie feeling. Step by step I approach the front desk looking angrily at the overweight secretary who is stuffing her face with a turkey-club sandwich while simultaneously trying to do paperwork. She puts her lunch down on her desk, probably for the first time in minutes because her hand print is permanently embedded in the whole wheat bread. “How can I help you?” she asks with a miserable frown. As she is speaking to my mom, I notice her desk is completely unorganized. Papers are thrown about in a non-orderly fashion covering every inch of her pathetic workspace. Why? For what reason does she feel the need to throw important paperwork all over her desk instead of simply placing it in folders? I am almost positive that one of the charts regarding a Mr. Silva’s heart condition, had mustard on it. I’m sure Mr. Silva would really appreciate that. She then turns to me and asks me multiple questions about how I am feeling. I am in a really bad mood so naturally I reply with sarcasm and insults. She then hands me a paper and says “You may sit and wait in the waiting room.” I reply, “No kidding? People use a waiting room for waiting? No way.” Again I’m being sarcastic and rude but at this point I really don’t care.
As I sit in the waiting room ignoring any attempt my mom makes to strike up a conversation with me, I begin to look around. The TV of course, is quiet enough so I can’t understand what is happening on this soap opera, but just loud enough for me to hear it and get annoyed that I can’t hear the characters voices. There is a below average snack bar right around the corner serving rock hard cookies, and stale muffins. The cashier running the “café” insists they carry fresh food but let’s face it, it’s a hospital. The pale grey walls and lame flowered wall paper don’t help the depressing atmosphere. Not to mention the uncomfortable chairs that always appear to be warm and cozy, but in reality are just cold and hard. After about an hour of waiting, when I can’t take staring at the fake plants and ugly people anymore, my name is called. “Courcier, Evan.” Finally, I have been chosen, I am going to the promise land, I have been accepted, I am all that is good in the world! Again I am being sarcastic because I am at my most miserable point of the day.
The hospital hallways provide a nice smell of lousy chicken pot pie, and body odor. I look into every room as I pass by with general curiosity and notice all the miserable people in their little hospital outfits. The worst part about seeing these people is knowing that within a few minutes, that’s going to be me. The room is typical. White walls, old TV, medical equipment, hospital bed covered in that paper which makes so much noise when you even breathe near it. The nurse comes in and she does her usual routine. My blood pressure is normal but my temperature is high. I answer her questions and once she leaves I throw on my back-less night gown that patients are required to wear. I sit in the room cold, nervous, and mad just listening to some of my surrounding sounds. Coughing, sneezing, people moaning and complaining, phones are ringing non-stop, doctors shouting medical jargon back and forth. “Give me 2 cc’s of Adeline STAT!” Typical hospital gossip and discussion, “So Debby what are you doing this Saturday? Going back to the movies again?”, “Is it time for lunch yet?” (Followed by laughter). I’m so glad these medical professionals can joke around and have fun while I’m sitting in this 7X7’ room shivering and feeling like crap. The TV remote doesn’t work so if I want to change the channel I have to buzz a nurse. Not going to lie, I kind of like having that authority because it allows me to take out some of my frustrations on these underpaid women. Fortunately for me, my nurse is extremely attractive. She’s about 5’6” with long black hair, bright green eyes, and full lips. I finally have a positive in my day.
Hours pass and I am still being monitored by various doctors and nurses and being waited on hand and foot. It could be worse but I’m still pissed off that I have to be here. It’s raining outside and the windows are fogging up which denies my access to the outside world. I feel trapped like a lab rat. I’m being poked with needles, I eat when they tell me to, I drink when they tell me to and there is nothing in my cage to play with. The atmosphere remains the same, gloomy with a chance of depression. It sounds like a weather forecast because my prediction for the next couple days is misery.
I now know how sick people feel on a daily basis. I have never stayed in a hospital before and I assumed that it was a pretty easy life. I was wrong. It sucks, I feel awful, I hate being surrounded by sick people, and I hate being poked at and observed 24/7. In this ethnography I experienced firsthand hospital life and just how bad it can be.
