Celestial Beings and Hospital
There was a tapping sound, I opened my eyes to see a beautiful face smiling down at me. She turned and walked across the room, my eyes followed. This seemed like a reasonable start to the day. Like a vision she floated back across the room and took my right hand in hers, she lifted my arm, tied a rubber band just bellow my biceps, and, looking into my eyes and smiling sweetly she slid a needle into my vein. I resisted the urge to say ouch, I thought that would be un-cool and unlikely to impress her, so I smiled and hoped that my grimace didn’t show. Looking satisfied with the syringe full of blood she had collected she left. I lay back and felt content to have been treated tenderly by such a lovely being so early in the day. A light tap on the door and in came another nurse, equally as beautiful. I now began to feel that I was being unfaithful to the first nurse with my thoughts. This nurse stuck something under my right armpit that later bleeped several times and made her look happy, and wrapped a strip around my left biceps which she pumped up until I I felt like my arm may soon drop of. Then she let it down, pointed at some numbers, said ‘good’ and left. Splendid, I seemed to have pleased this lovely lady. I made a note that there seemed to be lots of attention to my upper arms and that as soon as possible I should begin lifting heavy weights. Again a tap on the door, I looked at the clock hanging at an odd angle on the wall, not even seven in the morning and the third visit from a celestial being? This was a good morning. The door opened. Ooops. You know how in the films the Russian interrogator is generally a burly woman who clearly hates men, because none are interested in her from a romantic angle, and so she derives her pleasure from inflicting tremendous pain on them? That is who came in next. Well, in fairness to her she was gentle and painless as she went through the half dozen syringes that one at a time she emptied into the complex swirl of clear plastic tubes that twisted around the top of my left hand before disappearing under a mass of white tape and gauze and headed, I assume, directly into a vein. The liquid applied was clear and I kept expecting her to assure me, in a sinister tone, that I would eventually tell her what she wanted to know, and the sooner I did the quicker she would despatch me to my maker in a humane manner.
I noted with interest that so far both of my arms had received a considerable amount of attention but no one had thought to have a peak at my leg. As I considered this there came another tap on the door and in came yet another beautiful nurse. She took hold of my leg and rolled up my hospital issue pyjamas. I smiled, she smiled back, I wondered if she was thinking what I was thinking. I decided perhaps not as her attention seemed to be firmly on the hole in my leg. She mopped the hole with clear liquid and then she mopped it with red liquid. When she applied the red liquid she looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and pity that suggested discomfort was imminent. I braced myself and quickly did my best Bond pout and tried to pretend I felt nothing. Then I remembered that my best Bond pout makes me look rather like Donald Duck, and I almost burst out laughing. In an attempt to stifle the laugh I gave out what sounded like a whimper about to become a fully fledged sob. This never happens to Bond and it didn’t seem to impress her, although I found it most amusing.
Next came a lady (I won’t bore you with the detail that she too was pretty) with water and toilet paper. She seemed keen on a chat and so I explained about my bicycle journey and she told me how strong I was. I agreed and then I told her about the hole in my leg. She seemed a little puzzled and so I showed her the hole. This seemed to upset her and she fled.
I have to say that it is an interesting start to the day here in a Thai hospital
The visit to the hospital was swift. The hole itself wasn’t looking too bad, although I think that may be because I had by now become accustomed to it. I had had a couple of brief spells of shivering at night, which is odd in the hottest town in Thailand, but these had lasted no more than 10 minutes and so I dismissed them. Standing up was often uncomfortable but after less than a minute this seemed to pass. But the swelling of the whole of my lower leg was what prompted me to seek medical attention. A friend – not the one with the oil and enthusiasm for delving around in my hole with cotton buds – another friend, looked concerned and explained that she knew what this was and if left untreated there were lots of nasty things within my being that would from time to time pop out and make holes at random points all over my body. This upset me and, seeing this and being of a kindly nature she offered to take me to hospital.
I did not have to wait long at the clinic to see a doctor. He invited me into his office and taking a seat I explained, in Thai, that I speak very little Thai. He obviously mistook this statement of fact for modesty and began discussing the history of my wound in Thai. I stopped him as politely as I could and explained that I did not jest with him, my Thai is actually limited to the quantity size and brew of the beer I would like and which way it is to the nearest guest house, although from the replies I often receive it would seem that I need to perfect the guest house question. He seemed to understand and reverted to English. This pleased me very much as it made me feel several steps closer to getting things sorted out. He examined my leg and then he sat up. He looked thoughtful, took up a torch and then bent over and shone it into my hole. He repeated this several times. In fact he did it enough times to disturb my equilibrium and then he said ‘the antibiotics you are taking are not good enough’. We discussed what the best course of action would be and during this discourse he took up his torch several more times to pear into my hole. He then sent me to the nurse to have the hole cleaned up and have my first injection. I liked this very much, it seemed promising. As I sat on the bed with the nurse cleaning my hole the doctor came in. He took out his torch and once again he peered into my hole. He then examined the whole of my lower leg. He looked thoughtfully at the nurse and spoke to her, she looked thoughtful and they both set about examining my lower leg. I was worried. I began to consider life as a mono-pod. Not very good for a cyclist I thought. I began to wonder about modern prosthetics and thought about the Olympic sprinter with the bouncy legs. Realising that this line of thought was making me melancholy I pulled myself out of it. ‘I think you have cullulitis’ he said. ‘Ahh’ I said, realising that although not an eloquent sentence it best expressed my feelings at the time. He looked thoughtful again – something that I wish he would stop doing – and he started writing a letter
And so here I am. Thanakarn Hospital which, according to the sign on the wall of my room “Is Not Responsible Miss Items” I hope that this does not refer to lower limbs.
They wanted to keep me in over night so as to monitor me due to the large doses of IV antibiotics. This I found quite reasonable. I also found the doctor who visited me last night very reassuring…………………..
Well I’ll be blowed, as they say in the vernacular from whence I hail, the doctor came in just as I was writing the sentence about him. Pretty hot stuff this hey? Live reporting. He had a look at my hole and enquired as to my well being during the night and the upshot of it all is that I can leave the hospital and return every eight hours for the administration of more IV antibiotics. This pleases me very much. The only thing that will please me more is when my leg is fully recovered. Ohh, and maybe one of the celestial beings masquerading as nurses.