Oh-hohohoho, I can tell really stories…
Unfortunately, I have been to hospitals and clinics again and again, because of Crohn’s disease, Bechterew’s disease, migraines, kidneys… my warranty seems to have expired.Anyway.
Location: Siloah-Hospital Hannover.OP: fistle with PDA anesthesia. Room: 4-room with shower and toilet in the room. Except for me two other PDA patients and one who had stoma surgery. All four of us are bedridden because we were basically paraplegic by the anaesthetic.
At 3 am at night, the night nurse storms into the room, slams open the door and scolds.If we could have got up, we would all have got up vertically in bed.
Sister unleashes a tirade: Who slammed the toilet in the hallway?There’s everywhere! As if I had nothing better to do than clean up your shit dirt! Etc.Etc. Etc.
The four of us look completely confused.One says, oh, we weren’t? Then comes the next hate tirade: Yes, of course, no one wants to admit it!
I get in touch and say, um, we can’t get up and have our own toilet anyway.
The sister looks amazed, looks back and forth, and storms out again.
No excuse, no excuse.
I do not need to tell you, at least one detailed complaint letter went to the appropriate ward doctor and the hospital.
I could fill a whole book with such stories…
EDIT: Oh, what’s the point, I’ll tell you a favorite.
Location: Henriettenstiftung Hannover-Kirchrode.Date: 22-23. December 2007. Reason: Life-threatening consequences of a gastrointestinal flu that has affected the whole family, but especially me. I was stabilised in the intensive care unit the night before and then moved to a normal double room.
The room neighbor was… funny.Very even.
He constantly opened the window and turned on the radio, with a station that had about three songs in the program.One of them was Last Christmas by George Michael.A song I didn’t like anyway, but after hearing this song about 363,972,490 times in a day, it brings me to the white glow. And when the song came, he turned up the volume. EVERY FUCKING TIME.
I politely asked him to make the radio out, but he did one on deafness.And the radio ran 24/7.
His partner also came to visit constantly, and the two snuggled so loudly and intrusively that I needed earplugs.Sometimes the partner crawled to his bed and the two snuggled even more violently.Thank God, for once, the room had curtains between the beds, which is common in England and the USA, but strangely not in Germany. (The hospital treats many British soldiers, so the curtains that were really a blessing.)
When the partner wasn’t there, the neighbor kept going to smoke one, and two things happened EVERY MAL.
First, when he was gone, sister came in, shut windows, turned off the radio (HALLELUJA!) and walked away.He came back, blew me up at “boah ey, why hassndu made the radio out,” I said resignedly, it wasn’t, it was the sister, he shrugged and turned on the torture device, pardon, radio and opened the window.
The second is, he had a urine catheter in it, with a pouch to collect the urine.If you, dear reader, think that he somehow had the bag on a stand or carried it by hand, you are very wrong.
Because he dragged the bag behind him on the floor.And EVERY MAL, the bag remains hanging from his bed. He was already out the door, the catheter was getting further and further, then 鈥?flooding 鈥?/i> he popped off and 鈥?PATSCH 鈥?he clapped at the door frame and flew after him.
I tried to hide behind my magazine and not watch, but I couldn’t look away either.I am completely obscure dismayed by how the catheter endured it. And what his lover might have left of his happystick.
A ward doctor was acquaintance of mine and told me that the neighbour had had a huge drinking party and of it a massive alcohol poisoning, which led to considerable brain damage.So he literally had a roof damage. And felt little pain. But the doctor told me he was one of the better patients on the ward and actually I was lucky…