Midnight Trouble.
I woke up at 2am, wanting to go to the loo. Then I came back to my bed. And after 20 seconds, I wanted to go to the loo again. So I went again, and then I came back to my bed. Then I wanted to go again. This repeated five times. Then I thought I made many flushing sounds, and I didn’t want to wake JD up.
So I came downstairs, and laid down on the sofa. I wanted to go to the loo again. So I battled with my need for the loo for two hours, then the pain started to be visible. Blood came out quite vividly. And it didn’t stop. I went upstairs, and told JD. He was so calm. He got up immediately. He said, ‘It’s OK. We are going to A&E at Homerton Hospital; it will take only 10 minutes, and they will give you some medicine. Everything will be fine.’
I thought about the night I had appendix surgery when I was 16. My Mom took me to the hospital, after I crawled to my mum’s bedroom to tell I cannot bear it anymore after four hours of pain, wishing it will all go away, if i bear it some more.
So we got into the car, and pierced the dark streets of Hackney, keeping to all the traffic light signs, the car shaking over all the road-bumps. I did not say a word, neither did JD. It was a beautiful night. I thought about how cool it would be to come out with a projector and do some guerrilla art projection on to the abandoned streets and houses in Hackney. It’s a tough town. Homerton Hospital is in the middle of it. JD used to work there for four years, so he didn’t need to blink to find the right road.
Hospital is not an easy place to be. In fact, it’s a horrible place to be. There are thousands of bacteria and germs, sick people, rude nurses, boring doctors, and bad news. I don’t know how anyone can bear to be a physician. They took urine samples, and asked questions. An Asian-looking nurse was struggling to turn on her PC. She asked when I had my period, so I said ‘last Friday’. She asked again, ‘what date is it?’ I thought to myself: “Agh, I don’t know. I am in pain, and your computer is fucked”. Then one of her colleagues came to the room, and gave us a look, then gestured with her hand: ‘coffee time’. I thought: Great, my nurse with the fucked up PC needs to go for her coffee break.
She didn’t say ‘follow me’, but she stood up and started to walk. So I did too, hoping she is going to take me to the office where the PC works, or put me with a different nurse, or even give me some freaking antibiotics or something.
She didn’t say ‘stop following me’, but she put me on a chair where all the waitings happen in the hall. I desperately wanted to go to the loo again, then I remembered that the toilet didn’t have any tissue. So I asked the person at reception, ‘you don’t have tissues in the toilet.’ Another rude and pissed-off nurse said, ‘go to the disabled one, that should have some tissue.’
When I was struggling to squeeze myself to get blood out from my bladder, there was big hospital announcement: ‘Cleaner, please go to the ladies toilet, and refill the tissue. The patient is complaining’. So there we go, I am a complainer here.
I came out of the disabled toilet, and a young black lady with a pink shirt sat down on a black chair, looking badly depressed. She did say ‘follow me’ though. She took me to her office, which was also grim. She said ‘I am Doctor ___’. I didn’t catch her name, but whatever. She asked me exactly the same questions as the Asian nurse had been asking. The difference was that the Doctor had a working computer. But she was typing with her index fingers, very very slowly. I had this eager sense inside of me, wanting to type for her. She asked me the same routine questions, and additionally was asking about family history, fevers, allergies etc. The whole process was incredibly slow.
She finally gave me antibiotics. Then I came out from this dark hell, and JD drove me home. I sent him to bed, as it was 4:30am. I drank a hell of a lot of water, antibiotics, paracetemols and vinegar. Yeah, funny. My friend who knows pretty much everything, says vinegar definitely helps. So I closed my eyes, inhaling, and drank a cup of vinegar. Very bitter and sour.
I don’t know which bit cured me, but the pain went away after one hour. I see the morning sun is slowly climb up to the edge of the sky. I put my head onto the sofa, thinking how a nightmare can be so vivid and real. Then I woke up, wanting to go to the loo.
Then the nightmare wasn’t so dreamy after all. A day passed by, and I feel OK now. But somehow, my desire to write about last night’s episode resuscitates my dead blog.
So it’s good thing.
