Medical Update

Don't worry, I won't go into detail about my hoo-haw's wonky layout these days. I'll spare you that. But here's where it all stands, I was saved from a St. Patrick's Day sick bay visit and instead went in the following Wednesday. At that point, I was feeling loads better and the swelling had gone down considerably. However, the OBGYN, took one look and announced, "yes, it will have to come out." So much for avoiding the cold, cruel scalpel.

After having read a completely alarmist piece on CNN entitled something along the lines of, "ALERT! AMERICANS ABROAD AVOID FOREIGN HOSPITALS AT ALL COSTS!" I reluctantly checked myself into St. Vincent's Hospital on Tuesday for a Wednesday morning operation. Now, I need to clarify something right away, whatever critiques I may have of my hospital stay are completely undermined by this simple fact...the entire experience, two nights stay, surgery under general anaesthetic and a few well-meant but mostly inedible vegetarian meals was all to be had for absolutely zero dinero. I paid nary a copper for my treatment. My government hates me and would let me and my cyst rot in the streets, but Ireland treats both its natives and her guests as equals. Thank you, Ireland, and, in this particular instance, nuts to you, America.

That said, let me tell you why it sucked. First off, St. Vincent's is a trick hospital. You walk into a swank lobby that looks as if a Saks 5th Ave. is located right near radiology, only to discover that this facade does not extend to the medical wards in the back, where I stayed. This bait and switch becomes fully apparent when you see the gouged room doors, chipped away to splinters by years of gurney banging (god, doesn't that sound like horrible fetish porn?). This is then compounded by a ladies toilet in the hall meant for use by many, but cleaned by few.

The gals on my ward (Kathleen, Esther, Anne, Loud, and Old) all had a mean age of 79 and a serious love of discussing their conditions in gruesome detail that left me shivering in my bed. I'm sure they thought little of me as I was completely uncommunicative and insisted on keeping my curtain drawn around my bed for the entirety of my stay. (It was overheard upon my leaving this morning, "There goes the Princess." This was reported to me later, so I cannot confirm its validity.)

My evenings were not what one would call restful. For reasons obscure and now just plain stupid, I refused sleeping pills and was left to contend with the cacophony of bodily noises that these musical women gave vent to. As if the chronic farting from Esther wasn't enough, Kathleen, to my immediate left, had a variety of snores ranging from lumberjack to creaking door in haunted house. The wind symphony would move around the room throughout the night and then in the morning they would all comment on how well they had slept. I guess blowing ass in addition to heavy meds is the secret to a good night's sleep. I'll save that experiment for my solitary room in the dorm.

To make matters worse, we were generally roused at 6:30 for a little blood pressure check. Loud, in the corner, would immediately start hooting for her tablets to be dispensed. I give her three more weeks and then she'll check into the free rehab ward.

The surgery itself was blissful in that I was unconscious. The surgery theatre staff were friendly, upbeat, professional and compassionate. My anaesthesiologist, an Egyptian, counseled me to stay in Dublin if I could. He had come for eight months and was now in his seventh year. Life advice, and then he knocked me out. I came to in recovery and was quickly whisked back to my dreary ward where I passed out for four hours, missing a guest with roses in hand, and then waking up to find I missed lunch (cod) and was offered a most unappetizing salad comprised of half an egg, a slice of cheese and something that looked like peas in mayonaise. Pass. Thank god loads of chocolate kept coming in from my outside sources, otherwise, I might have lost half a pound.

The upshot is, I'll go back in six weeks for a check up, am feeling tired but infinitely better and never underestimate the power of a laptop and five dvd rentals to pass the time.