Adelaide April 2009 the Royal Adelaide Hospital

Adelaide hospital



I was becoming breathless. It was painful to breathe…

“Alicia- do you think you could take me to the hospital? I’m having trouble breathing.”

In casualty they tried to send me away with panadene.

I wasn’t having that. “No, I’ve been on that all day and I’m finished with that stuff.”

“I’ll give you something stronger then…”

Back to Alicia’s house.

I got worse suddenly.

Gasping : “Alicia, can’t breathe”.

“Kenny will take you back to the hospital .”

Kenny and Maria delivered me to casualty..

“Do you want me to do this or will you do it?” The nurse said

I grasped the huge pear-shaped tablet and inspected it closely. I intuited that it was a suppository. I had heard other people talking about them. I’d never done this before . A suppository was supposed to block you up and prevent diarrhoea –wasn’t it?

I looked at it again and hesitated.

The nurse repeated “Are you going to do this or am I?

She was humourless and solemn.

“I’ll do it myself.” I said.

It was quite easy really.

I thought to myself: “ Here I am in agony. Can’t breathe, and all they are worried about is me shitting on the floor!”

Maria later told me that this was wrong. My knowledge of the functions of a suppository was inaccurate.. According to her they ‘dissolve’ and are absorbed and can be used for many ailments. I thought they were just used to constipate one’s colon so that one didn’t...you know ..

“Hello, Mr Nixon this Dr X”

I could dimly see above me a catscan of my lungs.

“ Mr. Nixon, you are in Casualty at the RAH and you have had a pulmonary embolism, in fact several. Can you see them?”

He looked like a teddy bear and sounded like ‘Big Brother’ in George Orwell’s “1984”

Like everyone else around me The Doctor looked about the same age as my sons.

I groaned. I could see the embolisms in my lungs. What did he want me to do- introduce myself and talk to the bloody things or what?

“We are going to admit you now..”

Have your bowels moved at all?

The bloke opposite me had had a major operation to remove his lymph nodes under his arm. He was drugged, groggy, but good-humoured in spite of the pain. .

He paused “Not for a few days” he said innocently.

The nurse seemed happy at this news. “Oh well, I think we’ll have to give you an enema, then” she said cheerily.

“Would you like one?”

He realized his mistake but continued to be amiable-like all Aussies males are expected to do in such circumstances.

“Well, no I think not” he said casually, “ I’m just nervous and I haven’t eaten for a few days. I think that’s why”

She went away to check with the Doctor..

I took careful note of this conversation

When she came to me she said

“Mr Nixon? Date of birth?

“14/07/1952”

I was waiting for her to ask me for the number of my mobile. How presumptious! Some people don’t have mobiles. I’d be offended if I were one of them.

But she didn’t ask me for my mobile number. Instead, she said

“And have you moved your bowels today?”

Yes, I lied . Twice.

“Good”

I was in hospital for ten days and only did a dump once.

As my good friend Len used to say. ‘ Sometimes in life you will need guile, Don’




“Good morning Petuh,.” Said a polite voice with a foreign accent on skype.

“G’day Charles” drawled Peter. “Yeyess, I can do that.

“. Yeyess…Charles, I can get you the stuff for twenty million. But I need two weeks –is that ok?”

“Yeyess Charles . No problem I need two weeks . Is that ok?’

It was the middle of the night in the Royal Adelaide Hospital Thorax ward.

I had been admitted two nights previously with breathlessness.

The previous night Peter in the opposite corner of the little ward had been stretchered in from Emergency with some balance disorder which was causing him to throw up violently.

“Yeyess Charles.” Petuh repeated evenly.” I need two weeks to get you the twenty million.”

At this time of the night? Drugs? Arms deal? I pretended to be asleep.

“Well, Charles, Pete drawled in his gravelly voice, I’m in an awkward place at the minute. You see, I have no income. But if you give me two weeks I will have the twenty million for you.”

I was concerned that Charles’ ‘Muscle’ was going to arrive in the ward at any moment and I was going to be part of the collateral damage. There would be no witnesses. They were all asleep

I went back to sleep.

The next night Robert Semmens was stretchered in to the bed beside me . He’d had a stroke while visiting his G.P.

I could hear a young woman’s voice whispering urgently to him..

“What is your name? “Where are we Robert? Do you know the name of the Australian Priminister?

What silly questions? Was I cracking up? Or was this some sort of game show? The voice sounded just like my own daughter’s! My daughter had been having some adjustment problems recently and had been behaving strangely. I was convinced she was in the next cubicle with Robert.

“Nurse, Nurse,” I said

Yeah? Said a male nurse.

Can you just check if my daughter is next door. I think she may have come to visit me and gone to the wrong cubicle?

“What is your name? Who is the Priminister of this country?”

My daughter had been telling me how well she had done recently in her Australian studies.

I thought she had flipped and was entertaining Robert in the next cubicle.

“Nurse, Nurse!”


“No, I’ve already checked –it is one of our staff. It is not your daughter.

“But nurse, please can you check just once more. I am sure I heard her voice”

“Now look, mate,” said the nurse. He was irritated , angry even, “ I’m beginning to get worried about you. You’ve got a lot of narcotics in you mate. Your daughter is not next door!”

A few moments later a female nurse came to see me. She was about forty. She smiled.

“It was me who was next door! Routine procedure for a new arrival”

Next morning ‘Petuh’ looked a mess. He was washed out and exhausted. Completely dishevelled. He was the speaker of the South Australian Parliament.

Robert was an ‘old money liberal’ from a well-heeled Adelaide family. He told me his life story later. It wasn’t particularly interesting. Full of the usual good luck stories told by Aussie males to each other. About how people had been queueing up to offer him a job when he left school and then when he left university. etc. They made me sick: I’d heard them so many times before. Not what I wanted to hear when the only queue I was in was for the dole.

He’d had a dissolute but very enjoyable life, and I reckon Robert hadn’t done a day’s real work in his life. A former politician, he was now a government accountant.

The two of them knew each other and they were old political rivals. Peter Lewis was Labour and Robert a Liberal.. Together, they were hilarious. Aussies are so verbally articulate and witty. The two of them were a real laugh:

My landlady’s boyfriend is called Kenny. I don’t know what he does apart from servicing Alicia from time to time. He speaks no English. He is outside at the moment using a pneumatic drill at present –laying down some tiles on Alicia’s patio..

They had one spectacular row-but Kenny came running back like “Tuya” the desexed dog. Actually ‘Tuya’ is in the doghouse at present. He’s been blamed for poohing in the shower and has been sent back to puppy school for retraining..Poor tuya!. There’ll be a lot of CONMFK at puppy dog retraining school. Maybe CONMFK* for dogs is not so bad as I think it is for humans. Alicia told me she thinks it is ‘chile’ the Chiuahua who is the real culprit. This could be the beginning of the end for my Lesbian friends. Alicia is a formidable lady-but she smiles and is polite. And she doesn’t wear black. I could never imagine her in black. That’s the thing about Asian females. They don’t wear black.

“STIP” Stay in the present, I read somewhere. Damn good advice. That is how I survived Brunei for nine years. ‘Stay in the Present’ I would say to myself the night before term started as I went to sleep after taking my sleeping tablet..

“It worked. I survived didn’t ?”

What has Kenny got to do with all this? I don’t know. I like it when they argue away in Chinese and I don’t understand a word they are saying. Maybe Kenny feels like Tuya. I mean that Alicia is a formidable lady. But no, I don’t think so. Alicia often has a big smile on her face.

The noisy night is over and the morning arrives. Hospital wards are active at night. People constantly need painkillers and drugs.

“Have you heard the news? Says Robert animatedly? The rising intonation is correct. We perk up expectantly.

“ I went back to bloody sleep!” He said with perfect falling intonation.

Peter Lewis began to chuckle. He had a slow gravelly voice.

“You know the liberal party needs someone with a lime (lame) leftwing”–he drawled. He was referring to Robert’s left arm which had been paralised with the stroke.

I laughed out loud and hurt my lungs.

God! they were funny those two.

The first night I awoke at three am in agony. The painkillers had worn off. I couldn’t breathe. I stood up. No good. I sat down again . No good. Then I crouched on the bed –supporting myself by holding the bed with one arm. This was the only painfree position I could adopt.

“Please Nurse!”

Can I have painkillers?

How many have you had?

“I dunno.You should know” I thought to myself. “You’ve written them down.”

“ Give me the strong ones”, I squeaked “oxycodons.”

There was to and fro-ing with charts and confusion. They didn’t know what I’d had.

“Sit on the bed” with falling intonation, said the nurse-like the matron in Fawlty towers.

I couldn’t move as I was in the only pain free position on the entire planet.

I can’t!

“Sit on the bed” she repeated!

“I can’t. I’m in pain… duuh!”.

Saying “Duuh” required an exhalation of breath- which hurt me even more. But it was worth it.

“No need to be rude. I’m only a student” She flounced off back to her den. She was wearing black.

They gave me Panadene and left me standing there clutching the bed. I was glued to the bed like ‘Dante’s thinker’ for half an hour until the painkiller took effect.

The next night I was confused again.

I heard Robert next door in real distress. He was throwing up all over the place. From what I could hear he was on the floor with his head on the ground. The hospital staff wanted him to get back into bed but he knew if he lifted his head he would throw up.

“WE need you to get back into bed so we can inject you?”

“I can’t, I can’t” he groaned. I’ll throw up!

“No , you won’t you’ll feel better!”

“No, I won’t I’ll bloody throw up . How the hell would you know anyway you’re not the one who’s bloody sick?”

“I need you to give me the back of your hand!”

The Speaker of the house groaned, wretched, , and threw up violently.

Next morning. I glanced to my left. Robert was fine? But Peter, in the opposite corner looked like death warmed up.

It was Peter who had been sick in the night. He had been able to crawl across the floor almost as far as my bed before the nurses intercepted him.

Not very dignified for the speaker of the house.

Not to worry. I think Peter’s reputation will remain intact as I’m the only one who’ll ever remember the incident.

Unless somebody reads this some day and then meets Peter Lewis.

Sheilas


“Here comes one” I said to myself

What is it with Aussie women?

What’s your beef ladies?

Is it the history?

Is it your men?

Or is it you?

“What do you mean what do I mean?”

“I mean can there be any excuse for just how rude and overbearing you are?”

“Your intonation is appalling”

“You speak to strangers like they’re dogs.!”

Have you seen the matron in the Fawlty towers episode where she ‘shoes’ Basil out of the hospital ward when he is visiting his wife Sybil?

“You are like the Matron, ladies!”

“Number ten’ says the tall and lithe vampire at the IMVS.

“How can I help you then?” Her barely disguised contempt is betrayed by the inappropriately falling , not rising, intonation.

They all wear black. It makes them look even more vampirish.. For God’s sake any colour is more feminine than black. The SS wore black, girls. Anything but black!

I showed her my piece of paper from my GP for the blood test.

I had been fasting and come by bicycle and was feeling dizzy. I had just come out of hospital a few days ago and felt woozy..

There was a notice which said : “If you are fasting or feeling unwell please tell the nurse”


“You do realise that you have to wait here for two hours” said Denise. Her tone of voice was like the one I would have imagined that guard at Auschwitz ( Irma Grease?) used.

“No, my GP didn’t say”

“Well, she said without the slightest hint of sympathy . Do you want to reschedule or will you come through?”

“What?” I said irritably,

“What?” She said back irritably,

“Life is difficult” I grinned inanely at her.

“Only if you make it so” retorted Denise.

“Uh?” I said. Was this Sheila having a go at me?

“When you get over 50” I said, life is more difficult. You have to have things repeated to you”

“ Well then, are you coming through? If so, you can’t leave the building for two hours, you know.”

I was damned if I was going away because she wanted me to.

We sat in sulky, dismal silence for ten minutes while she took two blood samples.

I was dizzy and semi-conscious.

I resumed hostilities:

“I can do without the home-spun philosophy” I said

“What?” She said.

I don’t expect to receive your philosophial views on life in this context?

What?

“You implied life was only difficult if you make it difficult for yourself.” I said “meaning that you think I am making life difficult for myself”


“I didn’t mean that” she said.

“Well why did you say it then?” I thought to myself

“Which arm do you want me to use?”

Again, the falling intonation. Appalling. So rude.

My right arm was bruised and ugly from the warfarin and the clumsy blood tests of a Junior Doctor in the hospital.

“Well obviously not that one” I drawled, showing her my arm.

She was spitting chips.

She yanked my arm into place and took the blood sample.

I was going to have to wait for two hours after drinking some glucose.

Stony silence.

Can I post a letter?

“Nao”

Again, the falling intonation.

This one was rude. She was asking for it.

“Naow you wite for two hours and you can sit over there”

There were three rows of chairs sitting along the walls –just like a Doctor’s surgery.

There was nothing on the walls –not a poster or photograph nor a soft chair in the room.

No newspaper. I couldn’t even see any magazines. The room was completely empty.

Just the two of us. An occasional “customer” came and went. She was ever so polite to them.

We continued to sit in silence studiously ignoring each other and avoiding eye –contact. I was seething.

After half an hour I said

“Can I suggest you have a soft chair and some newspapers put in here for people like me?”

“What? We’re new here.” I have a newspaper ordered. She said dismissively.

Again the intonation was wrong.

Many Aussie females speak like they have had ‘assertiveness training ’. It’s not natural. There is no humility. They speak like they’re selling you something. They don’t make requests. They ‘command’ you to do things by the tone of their voice.

I find it intimidating. I suppose that’s why they do it.

That’s a bad sign. I have it on good authority that the ESL “industry’ in Adelaide is run by women.

I don’t think I could work with them again.



Girls, I think all this ‘assertiveness’ is affected and learned. It could be changed.

Now, I think I understand why my landlady’s dog is so popular with the girls in my house. He is a lovely spaniel who just rolls over when you go near him and invites you to scratch him.

He’s been desexed.

“You’ll be over 50 some day too, you bitch” I thought to myself.

I feel weak –maybe it’s the post hospital malaise. Like I’m in second gear climbing a steep hill. My feet are leaden. No appetite.

I’m off to the city (Adelaide) on my bicycle.

I’m going to buy Gogol’s “Diary of a Madman” or “Dead souls’.

No particular reason. I think I just like the titles.




* for the uninitiated CONMFK is the acronym for “Corporate, Orwellian, New Millenium Fuckspeak”