Gradually I woke up and looked around me. To my left was a young girl explaining which methadone clinic she attended and explaining why the doctor had prescribed five Valium per day - she'd cut down from ten to help her baby. Yeah, well done girl.
Opposite, a lady had just woken up from a hysterectomy, and had thrown a left hook at a nurse when told "You can't get out of bed just yet and go downstairs, and anyway, there is no smoking allowed on hospital grounds." Out of bed she got, grabbed her cigarettes and took off down the hallway towards the lift, dragging her clattering drip on the ground behind her and cursing like a wharfie.
Outside, I could see the expanse of the city drifting off towards the horizon. It was rather nice actually, lots of trees.
Every couple of hours, they'd come and try to give me the Endone and I kept repeating 'I HAVE NO PAIN. WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO GIVE ME THAT WHEN I HAVE NO PAIN?' Occasionally I agreed to swallow a couple of Panadol to shut them up.
My blood pressure dropped very low. 105/70, then 100/65,
then 95/60, 90/55. They were pretty concerned about that. At one stage they left my chart on the bedside table so I took a look. Endone 20mg post-op.
20mg? Are you kidding? When the nurse came back, I demanded to know, "Why was I given 20mg of oxycodone when the normal dose is 5mg?' "Oh, I suppose the doctor judged it by your weight. You are quite heavy, you know, equal to two patients. So you should be able to handle 20mg."
I am NOT as heavy as two patients. Two ballerinas maybe.
"It nearly effing killed me," I repeated. Off she went. Who cares.
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