Episode 4 – The Ambulance, the Hospital and the Jacaranda Tree
It was during the latter part of May 2007, some three months after arriving in Spain and smack in the middle of our bathroom renovation project that my stomach decided to have a massive haemorrhage at 7 o’clock in the morning. There is no need to go into the gory details, but I did manage to change our bathroom into an abattoir in a matter of seconds and it was blatantly clear to Sue that I needed to go to hospital immediately.
Sue had the presence of mind to contact the manager of our beloved construction company, fully aware that her knowledge of Spanish at that time enabled her to order a Tinto Verano without any problem but certainly not an ambulance. This time (and I will forever be in his debt) the manager stepped up to the plate and an ambulance arrived within minutes. I was examined, questioned, attached to some drips, hoisted onto a stretcher, bundled into the ambulance and eventually, after what seemed an eternity, wheeled into the emergency room at the local hospital.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself in a large ward, without my dentures and without my wife, feeling terribly weak, but not in pain, a tube sticking out of my nose, my arm connected to a saline drip and dying for a cigarette and a cup of tea.
For the very first time in my life I found myself in a situation where I was completely unable to communicate, predominantly because I did not speak Spanish and, let’s face it, phrases like ‘the house has seven windows’ or ‘the husband and wife are dancing’ do not get you very far when speaking to a nurse and it was a truly horrible experience, made even worse by the lack of teeth!
My first priority therefore was to locate my dentures without attracting the attention of the nurses and doctors milling around, but this is easier said than done when your nose and arms are attached to various tubes and bottles…….every time I moved I had to be very careful not to dislodge something and, as a consequence, die a horrible death before Sue came to visit me.
My instinct told me that said dentures were probably in the drawer of my bedside table, which was located to the left of me and as my left arm was free of any medical instruments and tubes all I had to do was to become double jointed, roll slightly to my left until the tube in my nose was at full stretching point and start fumbling in the drawer.
It only took me an hour and fifteen minutes, but then my fingers clasped a blue box labelled ‘dentadura – P vandewater’ and three minutes later I had my dignity back.
A very worried Sue came to visit me as soon as she was allowed to, but in her stressed state she didn’t bring any books nor my reading glasses so that all I could do whilst in the emergency ward was to look at the nurses, look at the other patients, look at the general décor, look at the food that kept passing me by and count my blessings.
Two days later I was moved to another room. I had not eaten for two days, I had a tube stuck down my stomach by not one, but two, extremely cruel Spanish nurses who insisted on having a very animated discussion with each other whilst I gagged and my dentures had gone missing once more so my mood was a little iffy to say the least.
My new room was already occupied by a middle aged Spanish gentleman and it became very obvious that he wasn’t too keen on having me there to keep him company.
By virtue of him being there before me he had taken complete ownership of the TV remote control, which was switched firmly to the ‘off’ position, hidden under his pillow and remained there until I was eventually discharged.
I tried a few hola’s and a buenos días, but he steadfastly ignored me and avoided eye contact at all times so we both concentrated on ignoring each other. To this day I don’t know what was wrong with him, but whatever it was he was completely at ease during the day and only suffered agonising pain when his visitors arrived, which was often. His moans, groans and shouts would increase in volume in sync with the number of people gathered around his bed which, at one point, numbered thirteen men, women and children. Once in a while the nurse would lecture the assembled guests and remind them that only four people were allowed to visit at the same time……the surplus would shuffle out into the hall and rush back in as soon as the nurse had disappeared.
Visiting hours in a Spanish hospital are best described as ‘flexible’ and it was not uncommon for the last lot to leave at around 11.45pm, leaving me completely exhausted and partially deaf. Boy……the Spanish can talk. They are at their happiest when they all talk at the same time, about different subjects and at maximum volume, completely oblivious to the fact that there is someone else in the next bed who has no visitors at all and is trying to go to sleep because it is nearly midnight.
Every night either my neighbour’s wife or daughter would stay and sleep on a chair.
When it was the turn of his wife to keep him company he would be grumpy, snarl and shout a lot and generally make her stay as miserable as possible, thus making her very unhappy with life in general as well as keeping me awake and longing to be home.
When the daughter stayed he always tried the same tactics, but she would have none of it…….told him to behave and shut up and all three of us would have a decent night’s sleep……I silently became very fond of the daughter.
Having been in hospital for five days and feeling no pain, not able to speak to anyone other than the translator who came round once per day to say hello and steal one of my books, missing Sue’s cooking and my waterbed and fed up to the teeth with my room mate, it became my goal to get discharged on the Friday. The doctor agreed that I was doing extremely well, apart from the ulcer they discovered during the stomach tube exercise and that the only thing that was required for me to be able to leave the hospital was the production of a healthy ‘kaka’. It didn’t take me long to get the meaning of this, so all my efforts now concentrated on eating and drinking enough stuff to produce the required output. I asked Sue to provide me with me prune sandwiches on brown bread, figs, baked beans and anything else that would expedite a kaka attack before the weekend……..the daughter of my neighbour became aware of my plight and provided a steady stream of vile tasting cafe solo from the vending machine…….my stomach rumbled constantly, I kept rushing into the loo…………..nothing happened.
Sue visited me on the Thursday and I assured her that I would be released from custody the next day and begged her to plan the weekend menu with love and great care……a fillet steak with béarnaise sauce for the Saturday and maybe a tender roast chicken with asparagus and new potatoes on the Sunday………….washed down with a good Rioja of course!
Friday became a key kaka day. More café solos were followed by multiple glasses of orange juice and then……. HALLELUJAH………….fifteen minutes before doctor time I produced my going home ticket. I had packed my little bag with my pyjamas, toiletries, books and even my denture case as provided by the hospital (for sentimental reasons) and I was ready to rock and roll all the way home.
The doctor arrived and asked me the million dollar kaka question and I was immensely proud to tell him that kaka had been a great success. He was pleased and smiled and then asked me about the colour of the kaka………………..I didn’t get discharged until the Monday !!
On the way home in a taxi I reflected on the week gone by. I was very lucky to be alive thanks to the diligence of Sue and my friend the construction manager. I had been treated with great courtesy and care by people I couldn’t even talk to. I had received warmth and attention from the daughter of ‘senor groan-a-lot’, I had been VERY homesick and I was now on my way back to the person that I love more then life itself………what could possibly improve perfection?
Then, for the very first time in my life, I saw a Jacaranda tree in bloom.
