Against all odds

   Eleven and a half months ago, I was admitted to a hospital for the first time in my life. Against all odds, (I think) I had Dengue Fever again, a mosquito-bourne disease that mainly affects the digestive system and lowers the body’s platelet count. Symptoms include pain behind the eyes, fever, head and body aches, cold sweat, abdominal pain, loss of appetite, diarrhea, nausea, vomiting and it makes you really weak.

   Last week, I started having flu-like symptoms. Once it didn’t get better (thinking the common flu was just passing through) and things turned to intense abdominal pain, nausea, the works, I reluctantly went to the hospital, was admitted and left in the dark as to what I had (supposedly it was dengue, again, but because the test could have just been reading the old virus, I’m still not sure).

But I don’t want to tell you about how awful all that was. It wasn’t quite as bad as last time, if you need a refresher you can go back and read D is for Dengue, my blog about that nonsense… I want to tell you what its like for an American to stay in a Filipino hospital. So here it goes.

Admission: The decision to be admitted was something that happened so fast, I was quite lost when I actually realized what was going on. I just wanted them to run the tests, tell me what was wrong and THEN decide if I should stay. But apparently things work differently here, because the decision I would stay, which was against my will, was made 5 minutes after walking into the doctor’s office. I proceeded to the ER, was asked why I was being admitted (to which I literally answered “eh.. I don’t know..?”), and to where I thought some tests would be done, but still nothing. An hour and 50 rounds of the symptom questions later, my room was ready and I got wheeled on my way.

The stupid IV: Also in the ER, which was more like a hallway lined with curtain-hidden beds, they prep an IV to stick in my arm. I didn’t love the idea of this because I had one during dengue: round 1, and, well it sucked. I also know that if I was capable of drinking enough fluid, which I definitely was, as IV shouldn’t be necessary- there’s always a risk of causing other problems- so I asked if it were necessary, said I didn’t want it, yada yada yada. To no avail. Because, as the excuse went, “If we need to give you medicine, we can administer it through the IV…” OR you could just stick another needle in my arm instead of having one there continuously to give me medicine! Anywho, got the stupid thing in and oh boy was it awful to be constantly attached to a dead, sac-of-water-like pet that provided no comfort… It also made it extremely difficult to go to the bathroom. The wheels on the stand were terrible, it barely fit through the doorway and there was a 5-inch ledge up into the bathroom, so I’d just take the bag off each time and bring it with me, holding the hook in my mouth each time I opened the bathroom door, then putting it on the towel hook in there. It was already a workout every time to pee, but the extra work was just ridiculous.

X-rays: This was pretty normal. I went before heading to my room. Wearing a tshirt and sports bra was apparently a problem for my abdominal scan, so I had to take my bra off… weak and lightheaded, with one hand, and IV, alone… After that nonsense, I just put one of those hospital gowns on that makes you look sickly even if you’re doing fine, and wore that for the next day and a half.

"Care-package”: I got this little “you’re about to be admitted to the hospital against your will and of course you didn’t bring anything with you because you thought you were going home” care pack. In it was a cup, a small neon green rag (that weirdly bled clear neon blue after washing…), a bar of soap and a bottle of rubbing alcohol (which is used to disinfect everything and as a hand sanitizer here). And that was it. It would have been nice to brush my teeth and maybe dry off after a shower, but, well no- that didn’t happen until my backpack has been packed by my friend Aileen and delivered by my counterpart, Eden. Lesson learned: always be prepared and expect to get stuck.

Identification: I got a "What is your name ma’am?” before each questioning session or drawing of blood but it wasn’t until I had to sign my bill paper at the end of my stay that I actually had to show some form of ID.

Medication: The hospital may or may not have the medication the doctor wants you to take. For me it was just pain meds because you can’t do anything but heal with a virus, and they had them there. But if they don’t, someone has to go to a pharmacy and buy them for you. This someone is your kasama.

Kasama: ‘Kasama’ is a Tagalog word (pronounced ka-sa-ma) meaning companion (its upod (oo-pode) in Hiligaynon and imaw (ee-maw) in Kinaray-a). When you’re hospitalized as a volunteer, you can have a kasama to keep you company, to go buy you medicine or in my case milk and cereal :) or other alternatives to a ‘American’ hospital diet in the Philippines. A big thanks to Sarah, for trucking across her island (a 10+ hour trip) and keeping me company with sandwich-making, bananagram-playing, movie-watching girl-talking and cereal-endulging, as not to ruin the plans we had previously made to spend the weekend together.

Food: This happened when I was hospitalized last year too but its worth re-noting. Dengue destroys your appetite for everything. The virus affects the gut in some way and anything that goes into your body upsets your stomach and intestines. So you wouldn’t want to eat right? Yea exactly. That concept is harder to understand on this side of the world. Food there started as rice and gross chicken adobo (and I like adobo!). Breakfast was bad even by non-American standards. Three pieces of white bread, three slices of processed cheese (like bad velveeta), a scoop of beef, potato and carrot something or other, and mix for a milk drink. Lunch after that, I wasn’t feeling well and didn’t eat anything. When the nurse on duty came in to check on me, she saw that I hadn’t eaten my rice and asked if I didn’t like it (in a very concerned voice). After explaining I just didn’t want to eat, which was really difficult to get across each time I reiterated myself, I also said that maybe just fruits and vegetables would be better. The following meal I get a plate of flavorless mashed potatoes, carrot slices and cucumbers. No dip, no dressing, no flavor… That night Sarah showered up and got sandwich stuff the next day, so my veggie trays just became fixings. If only ice cream, PB&Js and cereal could have been what they brought, I would have been a happy camper!

Water: You have to mix your packet of powdered milk with water

you have to take medicine, and most importantly you have to keep hydrated. But where’s the water? Weeeellllll, you have to bring your own… WHAT!? I’m stuck in the hospital and can barely walk to the bathroom, how I am I supposed to get water!?! This is where it pays to have friends. A BIG, gigantic thanks to my American friend Bruce Hall for caring to my every need (incl. driving me to the hospital, waiting with me, keeping my sanity through conversation, bringing me water, a computer, crossword puzzles, McDonald’s ice cream, pizza, fruit, bread and cereal!) But yea, no drinking water. Kind of absurd.

Ice: Once Sarah bought milk and yogurt drinks, we wanted to keep them cold (in a cooler Bruce brought). So as she left to go to the store, I told her to ask about ice… you know, a normal medical ‘tool’, right? I get a text a minute after she leaves saying, “they only have ice for ice baths. So unless you want one of those…” Luckily, 7-eleven was right across the street.

Checking my vitals: I understand that you have to ‘monitor’ me to make sure my body hadn’t spontaneously rejected all my organs overnight, but it just seemed like it was happening too often! Timing was interesting. The most notable occasion was this: Sarah got in at about 10 pm (I had already stayed there a night on my own). It was 12:30 am, we were finally winding down from our excitement and I wanted to warn her about the nurse checks throughout the night. I turn over and say, “So the nurses will come in the middle of the night to check-up on me, not really do anything (because they hadn’t the night before) and then leave, just a heads up…” 3-2-1.. cue army of nurses. A chorus of “good morning ma’am, good morning” filled the room. Holding back a smile, I let them check my blood pressure, pulse and temp. The second the door closes behind them we both burst out laughing at literally the best timing of that explanation ever. They had quite the habit of coming in when I was in the bathroom, and even came for one final check when I was ‘running an errand’ (see discharge, below) maybe an hour before I was discharged. 

   When the nurses did come, they came in a barkada (the Tagalog word for your typical, close group of friends). At least 6 nurses would enter together, one with the stethoscope for blood pressure, one taking my pulse, one sticking the thermometer into my armpit, two at the back with clipboards, probably doodling, and the last one apparently making sure whatever I was watching on tv was appropriate.

   And then there’s what language we spoke. In the city, the dialect is different that at my site. I can kinda understand Hiligaynon, but not speak it. So some nurses would just use English because clearly we spoke that, but others would go off in Hiligaynon like I were a Filipino (and I would respond in english, or kinaray-a, which they can understand but not speak). The classic case of hilarious translation was when the Hiligaynon-speaking nurse comes in asking me about my visits to the bathroom. She asks, “Nagpoopoo ikaw?” which literally translated to “Did you poopoo?” I couldn’t believe that this was the technical term for pooping, but it was definitely what was used.

The cleaning guy: Mid morning was ‘clean the room’ time. First a sweep through, then a mopping. Simple enough. It was just funny that the cleaning guy that came through would sneak as many peeks of whatever show I was watching when he was in there. I think I would have done the same thing. If he’s anything like me, inside that room was where I’ve watched the majority of TV in the last year.

Test Results: So do I have dengue or not? Did my platelet count drop? What is it now? Do I have a fever? Oh yea, my vitals are normal again, what a surprise… These are just a few of the thoughts going through my head while in the hospital. If any of you were kinda following my posting on FB, you saw I put I had dengue, again, then called it a false alarm. After that, and listening to what the doctors and nurses were saying, I just stopped speculating… Not too happy about being a guinea pig… I still don’t even know if it was dengue for sure. 

Discharge: The most frustrating part of bring stuck in the hospital was when I was literally stuck and couldn’t leave. Here’s the comedic, and I’ll admit quite bitter and sarcastic version of what happened my last day in the hospital…

    All better, A-OK, wanting to leave and I couldn’t. First it was getting cleared by the Infectious Disease doctor. 

    She comes in, looks at me and a minute later she says "You're good to go.”

Then we wait for my normal doctor. 10 o’clock, 11, noon… nothing. 

Me: “When’s the doctor coming!?!”

Nurse: “We’ll check…”

Me: “Oh, how reassuring!"

Finally at maybe 2:30 he comes in, asks, “How are you feeling?.. You should take some meds home, and you have the green light to leave.”

Me and Sarah: "Woohoo!!" So we pack up all our stuff, and head out to the nurse’s station to ‘check out’? 

Me: (to the nurse that’s shocked to see us) “Can I ‘check-out’?"

Nurse: "Nope, can’t let you leave. You have to pay the hospital bill first, silly." 

Me: “Well... PC takes care of that.”

Nurse: “No, ma'am we insist. Pretty sure someone has to physically come here and pay it.”

Me: “Ugh, ok you’re majesty. I’ll go figure it out.” And head back to the room.

Settled on the bed, an entire movie later, and after some call exchange between PCMO (PC med. office) and the hospital, I can go sign the bill. So I do… 

Me: "Can we leave now?”

Nurse: “Haha you think getting out of here is that easy? Nope, PCMO needs copies of the test results.”

Me: “Ok, well can you make copies?”

Nurse: “Sure, that’ll be 10 pesos..” I give her 10 pesos and she leaves.

10 minutes later.

Nurse: “You have to go make copies. Our one and only copy machine in the entire hospital doesn’t work and we nurses can’t leave the hospital grounds, so you go wander the streets over there until you find the weird store that sells those Magic cards and comic books that also happens to have a copy machine (ya know, as a side business…)”

Me: “Right. ok then.” So I leave the hospital, make some copies, come back and then I can leave… right? WRONG AGAIN!

Nurse: “I have to prepare your take home medication.”

Me: “Oh ok, and you had to wait til I got back from running your errand until you could get started?” 

   Another half of a movie later (the X-Men marathon is on), I get my medication, directions and a ride. Finally, after literally waiting the entire day to leave, we get out at 6 pm.

   And that’s how we escaped the zoo.