An Ashtray?

Spring time in Melbourne, even better than I had expected. Bright, sunny days in the mid 70's with a day or two of rain in between to help open up the flowers a little more. I was getting spoiled by my runs home from work, with scenes that made me smile the whole way, from crew teams racing up the Yarra River, to families walking along the boardwalks, businessmen in suits riding their bikes home from work, and friends meeting at all the busy cafe's along the river for a drink promptly at 5pm. With the CBD and the river to my left and cafe's and parks to my right (bridges in all shapes and sizes crossing at various points, some even attaching to cafe's that sit in the middle of the river), I could not have asked for a better route with more gorgeous scenery to run. The route takes me the same amount of time as taking public transport - so why not, right?

All this glory came to a screeching halt this past Saturday, when after a nasty fall, I could do nothing more than limp around for the remainder of the weekend. Thinking I had a sprained ankle, I waited until Monday morning to take myself to the Doctor for him to have a look. Without hesitation, he sent me to the hospital for an X-ray. With only a cane in hand (thanks to my Irish buds), I wobbled from the doctor across the street to the pharmacy to "hire" crutches (no you cannot get these from the doctor, you have to rent them from the hospital or pharmacy - and yes, all I can think about is the amount of armpit sweat that is soaked into the pads from previous renters). After obtaining my crutches, I catch taxi number 2 of the day to head off to Alfred Hospital (taxi #2, who I had to direct to the hospital, after directing taxi #1 to the doctors - taxi drivers here are NOT known for their sense of direction, or knowing where anything is in Melbourne for that matter). Refusing to pay for having to turn around twice on the way to the hospital, I made it to the front lobby where a attendant asked in an exacerbated tone if she could help me.

"Yes ma'am, I need an X-ray."

"A what?"

"An X-ray?"

"An ASHTRAY??"

"No! I believe I have BROKEN my ankle, therefore need to have an X-RAY done to verify this theory!"

"Down that hallway," she points without a even bothering to look up from her computer.

"Great, thanks." The hallway was about a 1/4 of a mile to the ER entrance of the hospital, no thanks to the cab driver, I had to carry myself to the correct entrance for injured people checking themselves into the hospital.

Already feeling so concerned for at this point, I stood at the ER front counter for a good 5 minutes before anyone even noticed, and even after that was told to move one window over to be asked some questions. Getting out of the one chair to move to the other wasn't enough, after answering basic questions, I moved about the waiting room about 3 times before being directed to a secondary waiting room, shuffled to 3 different examination rooms, an x-ray room, a cat scan room and back to the 2nd waiting room, all while carrying all my belongings, balancing on my crutches, with a nurse offering to hold my cane behind me (I couldn't leave it!)

Finally at about 4pm (this whole journey started at 8:30am) - I was escorted to a 4th examination room to be told I needed surgery. Back out to the waiting room, I waited for another hour before a nurse stuck an IV in my arm (in the middle of the waiting room, in front of loads of other patients and people walking by). I didn't have much hope left when she yelled out "oops!" -  Looking down to see the pillow supporting my arm soaked in blood, I could feel what remaining blood I had left drain out of my face and what little hope I did still have for the hospital was then completely vanished.
She changed the pillowcase and promptly scooted off to her next patient.

Finally it was my time to be wheel chaired up to the room where I would spend the next two nights (not sure why they now just figured I needed a wheelchair, but that was the least of my concerns at this point.)

Settling into the bed I would call home for the next 2 days, I told the nurse that yes, I was hungry, but no, I do not eat meat. To that she brought me this:

Rebecca, sweet Rebecca came to my rescue about an hour later in hand with Thai food, snacks, movies, my laptop and a change of clothes and toiletries. My hero!

Tuesday morning I woke bright and early to prepare for my surgery which took place in the "theater" (what they call their operating rooms here because of all the lights, noises and people). After reaching a significant level of nervousness in the recovery room waiting to be wheeled into the theater designated to me, I had been filled in on the procedure for anesthesia and what would happen after the surgery.

The next thing I knew, I was back in the recovery room in more pain than I have ever experienced in my life. The nurse gave me high levels of morphine to ease my pain (I was not aware that apparently I have a high tolerance to the stuff) - and finally felt loopy, but at ease. The pain had subsided enough for the ward staff to wheel me back to Ward 2F, Bed 1.

Sweet Marion, my manager from the Chocolate Box was there waiting with chocolates in hand for myself and for the nurses. I let mom and dad know I was ok (in my morphine stupor) and fell asleep for a good while. Even when Bec came to visit me that night, I was in no place to have visitors, let alone try to carry on a conversation with them. However, I had the whole staff convinced that I felt great and would be leaving the next morning.

Wednesday morning I woke up and was determined to GET outta there! Surviving off the muesli bars and tangerines that Bec had brought me, I convinced the staff I was eating enough to take all my medications, and that I was ok to leave. After one more x-ray (and nearly throwing up what little I had in my stomach on the ward staff pushing me to and from my x-ray --- he deserved it though, trying to hit on/make small talk to the girl from America who just had surgery!), I was given the download on how to use my crutches and bath stool, Bec arrived, and I was out the door!

Turning to say good-bye to my favorite ward nurse, an older gentleman who had kept my mind at ease throughout my whole stay, Nic, said: "there goes the girl who was in and out in 24 hours!"

Hospitals are my least favorite destination, especially when there are many other fun places to go and things to see. I am determined to recover as quickly as possible, and hey - now that I have a metal plate and screws in my ankle - I think that just made me a bionic woman - I won't wear out as fast!

It was just a little bump in the road - I will be up and going in no time. I am most upset about missing my run home and an evening of Bikram Yoga, but everything happens for a reason, I must remember that. In the mean time, if you ever happen to need medical assistance in Australia, just don't expect anything to happen quickly. Patience is more than a virtue here, it's a way of life.