May 19, 2025 Hospital Memories

Everyone eventually goes to a hospital. It’s a fact of life for those in countries which have them.

On the hospital shows I like to watch, I see families waiting until the surgery for one of their own is over and caring for them afterwards. That really hasn’t been my experience.

I’ve just finished watching a hospital show centering on residents in obstetrics. It’s a fun show, but has moments of heartbreak, as one would expect. The husbands wait nervously as their children come into the world, and care for their wives before and after the event.

My first hospitalization was when Jane was born; the second was for Edward. While the Ex was there for Jane’s birth, he didn’t stick around to care for me. I was there for 3 days; he came for brief evening visits. The other mothers had their husbands or family to help them all day. I had to ask a resentful Philipino nurse to massage the painful knots in my shoulders.

On Edward’s due date, nothing was happening, and the Ex left to play basketball. I waited at home with my mother, who had come to watch Jane. Then everything started, and we called frantically for him to come take me to the hospital. We barely made it in time; second births are usually much faster than the first.

The Ex kept to the same pattern of appearances as before. My mom couldn’t come because of Jane as 3 year olds weren’t allowed to be in the same room as newborns. She likely assumed the Ex was with me, but, once again, I was the only mother who was alone.

My first operation under full anesthesia was to have my tubes tied. Basically, he took me into the surgical wing, then came back for me 2 or 3 hours later. Something could have happened; after all, it was my first time going under. The doctor was shocked he didn’t wait for me.

The next operation was to have a cadaver bone inserted in my neck to replace a disc that herniated after I was thrown from my nutcase Palomino. I traveled to the city where Jane lived to have this done, as I had no one out here in the country. She, too, didn’t wait for me, or care for me afterwards. A post-surgical mistake was made, resulting in me having to wear a cage around my neck for nearly 6 months. The usual time is 3.

I had a private room, and the nurses were spectacularly incompetent. They wouldn’t call the doctor, even though I told them I was to have a neck brace. Finally, they brought the wrong kind, which had to be removed immediately. I was in agony all night.

The next day, the doctors came and did a song and dance, but never apologized for their error. Too late for a lawsuit, I discovered the surgical chart said I had been given the correct brace, and lying on the chart was a criminal offense.

When I fell badly from Greyson in 2014, I was in the local hospital overnight. I had a concussion and my pelvis was broken. There was no one to collect me from the hospital; I had to call someone who at that point had ceased to be my friend.

My next surgery was in a local city, and finally I had a friend to come and stay through the operation. She took me home, and helped me for days afterwards.

My hospital memories are more like bad dreams.