So I took a trip to the docs...
I have always had little stomach niggles: a gastric erosion cured by an antacid course in 2007, a hernia repaired in 2008, and an unexplained pain just below my left ribcage. Over the past 3 years I've tested most of the NHS expensive machines in a futile attempt to identify the cause of this pain. Since it was intermittent and bearable and we'd tested for all the big nasties, I wasn't too pushy, and left it.
Well last week, the pain intensified a little so I started a course of pantoprozole to treat a suspected gastric erosion. What I should have done, is check my medical history and I may have discovered that last time I took pantoprozole, I had a bad reaction to it and switched to Omeprozole after 2 days. To compound the issue, I went for a curry night on Saturday which culminated in an attempt to finish a bottle of Black Label. So all in all, I did my level best to break as many of the rules of ulcer avoidance as I could.
Anyway, as expected, Sunday was spent on the couch, but the following 3 days were not very comfortable and I decide on Thursday that it was time I seek advice from a doctor. After a brief telephone chat, she suggested I go and see her. It didn't take long for her to suggest a tummy prod, but when she did some flick test around my appendix area, my wince put a look onto her face which screamed to me, "Oh my". She then explained that the next 10 minutes must involve getting to the hospital, and nothing else.
I arrived at the RVI, took the short walk to the assessment unit, and settled into a wobbly pile of chairs feeling very young amongst lots of silver haired contestants. I call them contestants because a waiting room always appears to become a game of shifty eyes. The aim is to see how many people you can watch without being noticed.
I'm seen rather quickly, and initially my blood pressure is checked, and a hospital tag fitted. Annoyingly, the male, foreign nurse doesn't cut off the excess tag so I'm left with a 6cm bit of plastic flapping about. I put it down to culture differences and move on, carefully, so as not to put anyone's eye out...
I'm then moved down to the surgical ward and given a bed. This is all beginning to look very long term. I then have blood taken, and shortly after some porter bloke turns up with a chair on wheels and forces me to sit in it while he wheels me down to x-ray despite my protests that I am perfectly capable of walking there.
X-rays done and I'm returned, via wheel based chair, to my ward. I take the opportunity to scope out my neighbours. There are 8 beds but only 3 occupied. One of my fellow patients can only be described as the male version Of the Golden Girl, Dorothy Zbornak. The other has a tube with a bag on the end protruding from his stomach. I silently hope that's not how I end up. Both lads are pleasant enough so I settle in.
A nurse then turns up, female, blonde, pretty. Things are looking up! Then however, she assaults me. She shoves a cannula into my arm vein but forgets to tap it off so my precious blood freely flows onto the nice white sheets. She mumbles that's not supposed to happen, no $#@!. Eventually she gets enough blood into the container and shuffles off.
I then have a largely uneventful night, apart from the incredible wind machine in bed no.5 who provides the tunes.
The morning brings new hope, a chance to go home until I'm given a menu to choose from for Saturday. Soon after that a consultant breezes in with 5 wide eyed students in tow. He prods about my stomach, asking his students a few medical jargon filled question and breezes off, mumbling something about an ultra sound. The students shuffle along behind him not looking the least but enlightened.
I spend the day watching TV and wondering why I'm still here. By nightfall, curiosity gets the better of me and I ask the nurse who explains my blood tests indicated some inflammation but they don't yet know where or what. That helps me to feel a little more worthy of being around all the really sick people so I settle in for the long haul.
Dinner that night consists or something pretending to be shepherds pie, and mixed veg which appears to have been steamed in a dishwasher. I try a mouthful of the pie and decide my life is worth more than that. So I eat the peas, which taste like chicken. I couldn't even identify the pudding so I keep the lid on it for the safety of those around
me. Another uneventful night and on to Saturday.
Saturday is where the fun began. About lunchtime I begin to feel some pain just below my ribs. Over the next hour it intensifies to the point where I'm convinced one of my organs is attempting an escape by tunnelling under my ribcage. I take paracetamol, then codeine, and eventually a good dose of morphine. Interesting stuff, morphine.
So an hour of agony later, peace ensues. I have another X-ray, and settle down for the night. It's Sunday now, and I'm hoping they can fit me in today for an ultrasound... The wifi in this place sucks!
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Originally Posted by greens117
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