A Night at the Hospital

A Night at the Hospital

 

To date, I have spent two nights at the hospital: first was when my mom fell and had to undergo surgery on her left wrist back in 2006, and another exactly three weeks ago when my dad fell and had to undergo surgery on his left thigh. As a patient, one eventually gets used to the night routine at the hospital but as a caregiver, it can be a rather foreign and disorienting experience. And if you happen to stay the night as a caregiver in the open wards of a typical government hospital, you will more often than not feel like a complete nuisance throughout your stay.
 

My dad encountered some breathing difficulties after his surgery, thus requiring him to be on the oxygen mask. I was tasked to stay the night to accompany him in case he needed any assistance. Packed with a sleeping bag, my laptop and some students’ essays to mark, I tried to get into the ward about an hour and a half past the visiting hours but I was not prepared for the scene that welcomed me the moment I burst into the room. Hospital staff were busy changing the linens and picking up after dirty laundry. With piles of dirty bed sheets and hospital uniforms in the trolleys, the entire room looked more like a heavy-duty washing machine or a launderette. Well, at least I can vouch that they do change the sheets.

 

This is, no doubt, an exaggeration of what I had seen but you get the idea, uh?

 

My dad was admitted to a ward known as Wad Trauma. Yes, the label itself was traumatizing enough but I soon learned that the ward houses patients who had suffered bone injuries due to accidents. Most if not all patients were immobile and had to depend either on nurses or caregivers in order to move around or to grab things that were not within their reach. The TV room serves as an indicator to the condition of the patients in the ward: it was an empty and hardly ever utilized space with a single plastic chair (not even a sofa) and a TV that is perpetually switched off. After all, hardly any patient could actually make their way there. I suspect that the few Indiana Jones who successfully complete the obstacle course and reach the coveted area would most likely be on a wheelchair, hence the need for lots of space and less furniture.

An Image of Wad Trauma (stolen from the Internet)

 

It takes an Indian Jones to get to the TV room in Wad Trauma

 

 

Lest you think Wad Trauma is a forlorn place, spare me a few moments to describe the community in the ward. After spending 24/7 with each other, one has little choice but to regard everyone within the ward as part of a big family. Being cocooned in the ward cut both patients and their caregivers off from the world out there and sheltered us from negative influences such as racism, sexism, and all other -isms. Everyone in the ward received equal treatment and all were dependent on each other. Visitors should feel honoured, and not be surprised, if they received random requests from other patients for assistance to draw the curtains, to pass them some water etc. When help is needed, one does not stop to contemplate if the person is of the same gender, age group, or race. Any stranger who is willing to extend a helping hand is a friend, indeed. As a result, the community in the ward became very close-knitted.
 

There were at least three other female caregivers who had been staying overnight in the ward before I joined them. One was an elderly woman most likely in her 60s or even 70s who braved the cold hard floors of the hospital night after night, all for the love of her elderly husband. The other two were a mother and a wife/partner of the patients. When they first learned I was putting up a night in the ward, they were very concerned because they thought I did not have a mat or a sleeping bag with me. They had warned it would be very difficult to pass time if I were to sit on the chair the whole night through. Their warmth and genuine concern truly moved me, for I had hardly spent time with them before this.
 

By 10 PM, the ward went on a partial blackout mode and like obedient little children, everyone in the ward (both patients and caregivers) took it as a cue to go to bed. (Even some staff took the opportunity to catch a few moments of shut-eye.) Everyone that is, except yours truly. For me, sleeping at 10 PM is a sin, even if I am at the hospital. There was silence all over the ward with the exception of the beeping of machines that were hooked onto my dad and the patient sleeping right opposite us. Marking essays would have been very challenging under such dim lighting, so I switched on my laptop and started typing softly instead.

 

 

At slightly past midnight, there was some commotion as a new patient was pushed into the ward. I had just gone out for a while and when I entered, the pathway was blocked by a young man with very bad bruises on his face and his body. He was conscious but I suspect he had been involved in a car accident earlier. I listened surreptitiously as the nurses asked him to repeat his IC number and his sister’s contact number. The poor young man must have still been in a confused state because he was unable to provide the accurate details.

 

 

After the patient was pushed to one of the cubicles, Wad Trauma resumed its silence. As I lay there in the dark, I began to understand why some elderly patients feel thoroughly insecure the moment night arrives. I recalled the night years ago in the same hospital when I accompanied my mom after her operation: there was an old Chinese woman who kept calling “Ah Hoong, Ah Hoong!” the whole night through. At first, the nurses tried to attend to her and explained that her son (Ah Hoong) was at home, but after a few hours they began to lose their patience. The old man sleeping right opposite my dad was also making a fuss, albeit with a much weaker voice. He insisted that the nurses contact his son so that the latter can accompany him at night. Again, I listened as the nurses tried to tell him that his son might only be able to come later but the old man was not willing to accept the explanation. I suppose he must have felt both uncomfortable and lonely.

 

My heart reached out to the old man but I had to take care of my old man, too. Just when I was about to doze off, the machine started to beep, indicating that my dad’s oxygen level had dropped once more. Every time that happened, I would panic and say a silent prayer as I fixed my eyes on the numbers and mentally pumped up the figure. Sometimes, I would just wake my dad up from his snoring and say, “Bah, please breathe properly.” There were times when the beeping was from the old man opposite us, and I had thought it was from my dad. The beepings went on the whole night through. I could hardly sleep under such circumstances.

 

 

One of the most memorable moments was when I had to use the washroom. The toilet in the ward was only for males, and there were no female washrooms nearby. It did not help that I am an extremely fussy pot when it comes to toilets. I could have easily used the males’ toilet but by nighttime, it usually stinks to the max. I decided to walk to the visitors’ toilet at the very end of the building ...

 

 

Have you ever walked all by yourself, way past midnight, in a brightly lit corridor that stretches for almost a mile? To be fair, it was not a mile (perhaps only 200 meters), but it was dead quiet. Not a single soul stirred. The doors to all the other wards were shut. I had expected to see some doctors or nurses moving about on night shift but none of them was in sight and the entire corridor was absolutely still. All I could hear was my own footsteps and the sound of my heavy breathing. Sometimes I could smell cigarettes from the stairwell, but there was never anyone lurking around.

 

 

I thanked the Lord that I never had any fascination for horror movies or even thrillers, else my imagination would have driven me nuts that night. I deliberately left my spectacles behind so that I would not be able to see too clearly. At least I could always blame my poor eyesight should I see something that I was not supposed to see. I dare not look at the giant sized mirrors along the way just in case I see an additional reflection. I kept singing hymns and talking to myself as I walked towards the toilet. As if this wasn’t bad enough, I had to walk the same path back to the ward. Although I usually do not need to use the washroom at night (I once held my pee for 11 hours on a flight from New Zealand to Malaysia), I had to answer "the gentle call of nature" at least three times in the middle of that particular night! The more trips I made, the more confident I gradually became. Days of staying back late in the dark and empty office had finally paid off.
 

Looking back, I can now laugh at myself. You see, far from being frightened by others (be it human or supernatural), it was actually my appearance which would have scared the daylight and moonlight out of anyone who happened to walk along the corridor during one of my washroom trips. I was clothed in a black T-shirt and black pair of jeans. My hair was disheveled and my face was as greasy as can be. I wondered if any of the staff reported that they had seen a fat female silhouette all in black who kept singing and talking to herself as she shuffled along the hospital corridor in the middle of the night.

 

 

 

By 7:00 AM, there was a sudden burst of energy across the ward. The lights were switched on and voila, there was a replay of the scene from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast when Belle goes to town in the morning. The first rays of the morning sun had touched the ward, bringing it to life. Nurses, doctors, and groups of medical students were all milling about on their rounds. Patients were not only awake, but very chirpy and talkative. Even the old man opposite us was much happier. It was a stark contrast to the still small miserable night, as if the fluorescent lights had successfully eliminated all traces of misery which were present few hours before. I wished I was a poet so that I could compose an aubade to fully illustrate the scene.
 

 

 

 

 

A brand new day had begun and everyone was just happy to see another day. I stayed on till after lunch but by then, I was totally drained. Dad’s condition had improved and the mask was finally removed. He was very conscious and was even able to entertain visitors who dropped by. I, on the other hand, could literally feel the earth revolving on its axis due to lack of sleep.

 

Putting up a night at the hospital as a patient may not be easy. Playing the role of a caregiver is not any easier ...