Why didn't I find out more about drainage tubes? I looked everywhere on the internet. I assumed they'd be about four inches long, one either side and taped to my sides so I couldn't see them, with a small-ish collection cup.
The hideous things were six feet long. They were absolutely vile. I was losing about 200ml from each side per day, and it'd gradually run down into a kind of pump-like thing, and from time to time the nurse would come and use that pump to get it into a see-through bag at the very end, from where it would be removed and measured every 24 hours.
Everywhere I went, the drainage tubes had to be dragged along, and I was always in fear of tripping over them on the way to the bathroom, until a nurse gave me a cotton bag to carry them in. Blood seeped from where they came out all the time. The blood everywhere was awful. When I lay down in bed for a few minutes, and then sat up, there'd be blood under me, on the sheets, on the pillow. When I got up and sat in a chair, blood ran down the back of it and onto the seat. Blood ran onto my new knickers, so I stopped wearing them. I had to wear a hospital gown all the time, as my own pjs would have got in the way of inspections of the mess.
I do not like blood. That is why I am not a doctor, a nurse or a vet. I hate blood. It makes me want to vomit, and I did vomit a few times at the sight of it. I also frequently vomited in sympathy with pregnant ladies. The nurses learnt to give me a vomit bag too if someone was coming in vomiting.
On one occasion I went to the toilet and sat down, and must have squeezed my left arm against the opening where the tube was coming from, because blood spurted onto the floor of the bathroom and made a horrible congealed red mess. Vomit.
I thought maybe the tubes would be in for three days. Not so, those tubes stay in until nothing is coming out of them, and plenty was coming out of them. Loss of blood and fluid was making me weak and sick. On the second day my drip was taken out because I was eating and drinking, but it wasn't enough.
The feeling of tightness from the stitches got worse over the days. I felt like the stitches were cutting into me, like there was a tight piece of rope tied round me.
Eventually I agreed to HALF an Endone tablet (2.5mg), just so I could get some sleep.
Each night, I slept maybe 2-3 hours. Nurses clattered in and out checking vital signs every hour or so. I would get up at 2am or 3am and go to the tea-making room where there was a soft chair, dragging along the sickening drainage tubes filled with blood, and I'd just sit there and cry, I was so depressed over it all. The back and sides of my hospital gown were always covered in blood. There was always some blood running down towards my legs. I have never seen so much of the nasty, horrible stuff.
By the sixth day of drainage, no sleep and the tight feeling, I wished I had a gun so I could just shoot myself and get it over with. It was nothing but misery and blood, light-headedness and boring food, vital signs taken and noisy nurses. I started to hallucinate about going down into Boganville in my hospital gown and trying to purchase a gun on the street with my credit card or something. I just wanted the depressing, dreadful thing to end. I could see it was no different from a cancer operation - it would be just as nasty, just as depressing. Huge bits of you were cut off, and it did something upsetting to your brain.
Women and teenage girls came in and out and had miscarriages or were found to have ectopic pregnancies and they'd cry through the night. The labour ward had a shortage of beds, so women in labour would stay in my room (there were 4-6 beds) in the throes of having babies all night long. Sleep through that? You have to be kidding.
There is something to be said for private hospitals. But I just didn't have thousands and thousands of spare moulah.
The lack of sleep drove me insane. But even if it had been dead quiet in there, there is no way I could have slept through the drains, the bleeding and the tight feeling.
Like any good bogan worth its salt, I had sneaked in some Valium, well hidden (as I know they do inspections of luggage at Bogan regional hospitals - I have some good hiding spots) so I took some of those from time to time, just to feel a bit sane.
When I read my file, I saw that Father had been in and had given me the Last Rites. That was good, it's nice to know some Father will do that when the end really does come. But I'd rather have had a Bishop.
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