Memoirs Of A Patient

In early January 2020 I decided to give my life one more chance, a fresh start. I created a so-called revival list. A table where I put my wishes, plans, ideas to accomplish in the year 2020. The purpose was simple and straightforward - to get better. In the first week of January, I performed more than in the past six months of my life. I felt like everything would only get better.

In February I booked a 'Ride' spinning class. The website promised it to be an unforgettable experience. I was about to undergo a full-body workout done on a unique bike, in total darkness to the beat and bass of energizing music.

The class welcomed the new members with a loud cheer while a lady-instructor gave a heart compelling speech. I was incredibly stimulated. Seconds later, the class put the headphones on, the lights went out, the music kicked in and the ride began.

Within the next 15 minutes, I was out of my breath: legs throbbed with excruciating pain, my body was dripping wet, and I felt like fainting. I had to slow down. The moment I leaned back to sit down, I heard a criticizing voice in my headphones :

"Hey you, in the second row! I can see you! Don’t stop now. You have come so far; you are stronger than this. Keep riding! You can do this, common!"

How could I let the instructor down? How could I quit now when I am so close?

Suddenly I wasn’t in the spin class anymore. I time-traveled back to the second half of the year 2019. I remember all the bad and ugly. Those who did me wrong and made me suffer. I got angry, livid, vengeful. I wished for a second chance where I would not have missed my sister’s wedding, family birthdays and where I would not ruin Christmas holidays. I was focused, like never before. I was riding towards something in the distance - towards new me: better, stronger, happier. Adrenaline kicked in and I pulled my but up high and peddled. I peddled until I dropped.

I dropped - literally. I could not feel my legs, hold balance and with the help of strangers, I was put into a taxi and left for home. Hours later, I was still unable to walk. In 48 hours my pain worsened: my upper legs became rigorously swollen, my body temperature raised, and my urine turned dark brown. I called 111, where I was advised to go immediately to the hospital. In no time, my partner drove me to the Emergency Department, where I received a diagnosis:

I was experiencing rhabdomyolysis — a rare but life-threatening condition. For short "Rhabdo", which results in muscle tissue breakdown, releasing toxins into the blood, which can seriously damage the kidneys, leading to kidney failure.

Doctor's advised I needed fluids to reduce strain in the kidney, until levels decrease. From that point, it was clear that I will be staying in the hospital for some time. And so the challenge 2020 began.

First night in the hospital was physically the hardest. I arrived in the Emergency Department just before midnight. I took over 3 hours to be seen by a doctor and to receive the above diagnosis.

People of all ages were seated in the waiting area, desperate to be seen by a doctor. Ultimately to be saved. I knew I was in for a very unsettling night. Emotions heightened, and the room lacked the one thing that is needed the most from patients - patience.

Just before the clock stroke 4 AM, I was put on a mobile bed and given my treatment. They parked my bed in between the assessment cubicles and waiting area as there were no rooms available upstairs in the ward. I did not sleep that night- I doubt anybody slept in Accident & Emergency department that night.

There's a monitor that's always beeping. There's a mix of sounds including people swearing, moaning, crying. There's silence. There's a space, where that sound changes from a mix to individual sounds of people treated in rooms. A nurse or doctor is asking a patient questions. And there I am, lying in bed, looking at the closed curtain and wondering if I am next.

People I have met while in the waiting area are slowly one by one disappearing behind the blue curtain and I am wondering "What will happen to them? Will they survive the night?"

Around 6 AM, I realize that I have been up all night. I should have been asleep by now. My body starts to shut down, and I experience shivers. Just then I realise that I haven't reached out to my partner nor my family. My phone ran out of battery, and I have no charger in my purse. No one is ever truly prepared for the emergency. A doctor comes to check up on me and apologizes for having no available beds in the ward upstairs. He offers his phone to use to call my partner. I could not be more grateful.

The staff I met that first night are warriors. They are thick-skinned and compassionate at the same time. They made my night more comfortable, bearing. With a deep sense of gratitude, just before 10 AM, I was sent upstairs to the Acute Admissions Unit.

The Acute Admission Unit provides treatment to the majority of patients requiring emergency treatment. It gives care for all levels of sickness from walk-in to high-dependency.

There were five female patients in my room. Even though the room was relatively crowded, especially during family visitations, I felt like I had a considerable amount of space. I was unconsciously comparing the ward to my last night's nightmare. I was looking to a good night's rest, but my body was still unable to calm down. I have been through a lot in the past 24 hours. The doctors gave me additional treatment: fluids to help my body flush out the toxins, and strong painkillers to ease the muscle pain. I laid back and closed my eyes.

I started thinking about hospitals. I find hospitals fascinating because of the harmony and discord between the stories of nurses, patients and doctors. Between the halls of these institutions runs a complicated relationship between power, suffering and healing. By definition, the hospitals are sites of major life events. During my short stay, I have passed so many different faces, with intricate stories and unknown fates.

I remember seeing an elderly couple in the visitors’ room. The lady was in a wheelchair, the husband sitting next to her. For the half-hour that I watched, they did not exchange a word, they just held hands and looked at each other — a few times the man patted his wife's face. The feeling of love was so deep that I felt I was sharing in their communion and was shaken afterwards by their pain, their passion, something sad and also joyous — the complexity and fullness of human relationship.

Earlier, I overheard a conversation between an older woman and her daughter. Her daughter plead her ill mother to withdraw the life-long savings, as she needed to close the deal on the house, according to her husband, it could not wait anymore. The older woman reassured her daughter and promised to contact the bank later in the afternoon. Soon after the daughter left, the woman asked for a cup of tea. Her hands with frailty and caution, shook as she reached for the hot tea. Her hands ashen where the fading sunlight caught them, not ghostly like a white person, just subdued and greyish. I realized how vulnerable the woman was and how much of a toll the sickness had taken . She sipped tea and called a nurse. She had to make a call to a bank; after all, she made a promise to her daughter.

Nurse intercepted my daydreaming and informed me that they would move me to a High Observation Unit (HOBS). I looked around the room and searched for ladies I never got to meet: a professional carer, who while caring for others, lost her own health; a mother of three waiting for an appendicitis surgery; and the mystery patient. an older woman who did not speak a single word.

It was past 8 PM when they moved me to my new ward. The sickness moved from door to door like a salesman and just as unwanted it washed from the east wing to the west. Alike a tsunami of illness that picked off both strong and weak in equal number. There was no greater leveller than this bug, indifferent to wealth or pleading. I slept that night, and I dreamed: I had horrible nightmares.

The next day I jumped into the hospital routine: breakfast at 8 AM, blood tests at 9 AM, consultations with doctor at 10 AM, lunch at noon and then siesta. In the afternoon, I usually went downstairs for a cigarette. It was hard for me to move as my legs were still severely swollen, and I was unable to lift them up. I moved very cautiously, re-thinking every step fearing of putting to much weight on my legs.

I dreaded going downstairs as the smoking area was just outside of the A & E department, and I felt uncomfortable there. On my way down I met a man in his 80's, he was on bed, being moved by hospital staff. He was pale and needle-like, his eyes watered, and he reached out to me with both his hands.

" Please, please help me stand up...Please, please, why don't you help me stand up? Please, I am begging you.. " - he kept repeating.

We were mere seconds in the elevator together, but to me, it felt like hours. I felt helpless, miserable and hopeless.

Outside, while smoking a second cigarette, I was thinking about the elder man I saw earlier, tied to the hospital bed. It seemed to me that in the bed lies everyone's future unless they are lucky enough to pass in their home. Today it was an older man; all of his useful years; he's happy and healthy years are now in his past. His eyes once sparkled after a long day outside on his farm. His farm used to produce the best lamb meat and delicious cheese to nearby family-owned restaurants. In the evenings he used to work as carpenter. Often, he walked for miles looking for the perfect tree to cut and use for his creations: tables, chairs, clocks. Both his arms and legs were not so long ago, his most valuable tools. His feet have known the woods of Wales.

This person is still there, tethered to a heart that insists on beating despite his chances of recovery being non-existent.

I could not think about him anymore, I went back to my ward to lie down early.The next day I woke up to hospital staff asking me what I would like for lunch. I answered yes to all of the options, without listening. The ward bloomed with visitors.

By dinner time, I had no appetite. I felt alone, even though nurses, patients and strangers surrounded me. I felt hopeless; although the doctor reassured me, I am getting better. I felt helpless, even though I had an army of hospital staff helping me out. Just after 5 PM, I had a breakdown.

My legs were getting stronger, but it seemed that my spirit crumbled. I broke in tears. Charlotte closed the curtain and sat next to me on the bed; she asked how she could help me, once again. The first thought that came to my mind was that Charlotte intended to calm me down only so I do not cause further distress to others. That is how my mind worked - I saw everything pitch black. Anger, frustration, desperation and pity overwhelmed me. I spoke faster than I though. I cried more than I could wipe off, and my whole body shook until it hurt. My heart rate increased.

“Hospitals tend to have a reality of their own. All that you are feeling now is increased due to you being here, try to remember that. This too shall pass. And you will be home soon.”

My friend, once told me that in Serbia you're not allowed to be left alone in the hospitals There is always somebody with the patient. I remembered my mother- she died in 2013. My mother departed from pancreatic cancer; her case was hopeless since the initial diagnosis. She was the lucky one- she passed away in the bed. My oldest sister, found our mom breathless at 4 AM on the 23rd of September.

A telephone call woke me up that morning. I was thousands of miles away from my mother. Bojana told me she was unable to wake up our mother. I begged my sister to try harder, to shake her, push her, do all it takes. What if perhaps our mum was just asleep?

I decided to lock this memory far away in the depth of my brain. Somehow that night, in the hospital the painful memory found me and tormented me all night. That night I dreamed vivid dreams: a group of strangers were pursuing me in the dark hallways with intention to hurt me, as soon as the crowd swallowed me I woke up only to fall back asleep and dream of drowning inside a car. I was in the backseat, while my mother was on the drivers seat, she turned back to me and said:

“It will be all right, my child. Don't be scared".

My mother never drove a car.I woke up just before 6 AM. I stared at the ceiling for god knows how long until I fell asleep again, waking up in time for breakfast.

Days flow differently in hospital. When you are a patient, you don't differ workdays from weekends. Every day is a new day: one more day to live, to fight, to get better, to make amends. A hospital bed is a parked taxi with meter running- all you can do is try not to waste those minutes you have.

I woke up to another day. With a mindset of Scarlet O'Hara and I decided to make it count. Next to me, the older lady held an Ipad and looked unhappy; I asked if everything was alright. It appeared that the lady wasn't able to call her granddaughters. I made it my task to fix her Ipad. In less than an hour, she kissed me on a cheek and happily dialled her family. I was onto the next good deed.

My night table was a mess: magazines, cosmetic essentials, bags of food and dirty clothes. I started cleaning up the mess. I looked into the bags and saw that I have a huge amount of fruits: bananas, peaches, apricots, oranges and apples. I was unable to eat them all, so I decided to share.

I went for a walk. I approached every single patient in both HOBS and Acute Medicine Department and gave away goodies. I politely chatted with every one of the patients. The time flew by fast and I was back in my bed to rest my legs just in time for the tea. I have met everyone in both wards and came to realisation that I was the youngest and honestly, now, in the best physical shape.

I realized how arduous it must be to be sick when old. Just two days ago, I had a catheter; I was unable to sit on the loo, unable to shower, in constant pain, and so on. Day by day, I got better - I was still unable to run nor will be for the next three months, and it will hurt me to stand up and bend my knees, but I am young - I will recover. In time.

Elderly patients won't be getting better physically; the doctors will cure the patients latest problems but they won't bring back their youths. If an older lady is unable to breathe effortlessly now, she will be discharged when her breathing improves. But what about her back and joint pain, poor eyesight, tachycardia and high blood pressure? A doctor will advise her to eat healthier, go for walks and come in for check-ups - and she will oblige. But she won’t run the next London marathon.

I thought of us, patients, as cars in a repair factory. Where vehicles receive a wax, full cleaning and few small repairments but the engine, the source of energy, is still the same - and it has it's fixed lifetime. And no mechanic can fix that or replace.

I also realised that due to my insolence I pushed my closest away, especially my partner. Perhaps it is an age thing: belief of having all-time in the world and that people will just crawl back to you when you need. That day I began helping out fellow patients and thought of myself as Robin Hood of the ward. I believed I am in no need of a friend, I am all mighty.

But just then when I was again the only one with no visitors, I envisioned my future. I imagined myself in my 70s being alone, and it hurt. I understood- today I am the youngest and oldest I will ever be and that if I do not treat my loved ones with kindness then I perhaps, in 40 years will be back in the hospital bed with no familiar face holding my hand. And somehow I knew, it will not be as bearable as it is now.

As the clock struck 10 PM, I send out messages to my loved ones, updating them on my well being and asking about theirs. I also apologized for pushing them away. I came to accept my situation and to make the best out of it. I looked forward to tomorrow: hoping to be visited by them, sharing my learnings and asking for forgiveness and in no time, I was asleep, and I have never slept better.

After breakfast, the doctor told me that tomorrow afternoon I would be released from the hospital. My kidney was out of danger. Just before the doc left, he turned to me once again and said:

" I am still bewildered how you managed to crush your muscles like this, and it had no negative effect on your kidney. Your kidney must be powerful, or it is just you being tough. Anyway, you are doing great. Keep up."

That day we walked hand in hand as I told my partner all that I have encountered so far in the hospital. I concluded that I underwent a life-altering experience. The spin class instructor delivered on her promise: the class was challenging but not as demanding as the days that followed after.

My body and spirit were broken when in hospital, but somehow I believe I came stronger out of it. I understood that body and soul cannot be separated for purposes of treatment, for they are one and indivisible. Sick minds must be healed as well as sick bodies.

My body is healing, as well as my mind. It took months of exercise and physiotherapy to run a summer marathon. It took a year for me to write down the learning I received from my time being in the hospital.

The learning I take with me into the 2021.

1. Life is too short for what-ifs

I am a writer - heart and soul. Sometimes I can't distinguish reality from fiction and often my mind wanders off into the not so distant future and creates scenarios. I would not complain when the stories I construct are positive. But there are days and nights where I create horror and thriller scenarios and I breathe life into them by acting them out in front of my loved ones. And they too, suffer because of that. If I am to dwell on what-ifs, then never on tragic outcomes. And after all, Life is too short for me to dwell.

2.Nothing in this life is forever

The pain and grief I have had, have passed. All the setbacks in life are not deadly, but what is deadly is a poor attitude. With a pinch of optimism, I can get over them- and more.

3.I will take that extra trip to my visit my family

Losing loved ones is hard. I will always regret the times which I did not spend with my mum. That time she asked me to shop with her, to see a movie or just go for a walk. If only I could change that. I can't. I have come to the conclusion that I am never that busy or that important not to make it. I can't wait to spend more time with my family. And I will do it now, so I don't regret it later.

4.I am the source of my happiness

Often, I have sought a feeling of content from external sources, whether that was a person, a new pair of shoes or a chill pill. The tactic was unsuccessful due to limited effects. As soon as the feeling of joy wore out, I had an option of a going cold-turkey or seeking another short term fix. Accepting that there are no short term fixes and shortcuts, made me feel less anxious and scared of working on my happiness the hard way, and the only right way. Developing new habits which prosper my life and people around me: every single day, and as long as it takes.

5. And finally, work to learn to accept change and just go with it

Everything changes. Each stage of life has its rhythm: there will be different people around me, job- changes, illnesses, and pants sizes. Often, I get caught up in the moment and forget to remember that it is not the end of the world when the music changes. So what? It does not mean I have to stop dancing. Next time, I will pause, listen and then perhaps I will tune in and the change may be the best next thing that happened to me.

So, how will you remember 2020?

"It was hell of a ride."