I don’t often get the chance to say that but omg this past weekend was nothing but wild, and not especially in a good way. Okay, mostly not in a good way. Let’s start at the beginning, when on Friday I slipped after mopping up after the electrician and landed BLAM on the wet marble hallway floor. Not good. I knew at the time I would be getting serious grief from my left hip and KNEES the next day and sure enough… I did. The hip pain was so bad that I ended up getting a taxi over to Urgencias, just for a (hopefully) quick Xray to check that nothing was broken. And phew! Nothing was. That left me enough time to taxi back to the centre and meet up with Ana, Simon & Sara who were here for a quick overnight visit. And it was fabulous.

Then came Sunday morning. The plan had been to meet another lovely friend, UK beer maven Melissa on the last day of her weekend birthday trip to Sevilla. They had also done this last year and loved it so much they wanted to do it again. It was all planned, we would meet them at Vineria San Telmo. Except… and the squeamish of you can turn away now… I woke up to find that MY POO WAS RED. Okay, not a bright fire engine red, more of a deep burgundy red wine colour. This was more than a somewhat alarming, especially as I’ve been waiting for another colonoscopy since mid-September after an earlier similar experience. So damn… what to do?

I was half tempted to just let it go for another day or two and see how things, um, developed colour-wise. But then I foolishly looked up “blood in stools after a fall” and, predictably, read all kinds of scary shit (sorry). So what the hell. The quick in-and-out experience of the previous day’s Going To Emergency experience gave me a deluded sense of optimism that it could happen again. Well, it didn’t. In fact, it didn’t happen big time.

(warning! it’s a long one)

Got there around the same time, 11.30ish. Already a bit late to meet Melissa by 1.00 pm but, you know, I’d had a whole hour left over before meeting Ana & fam at 2.00 on Saturday aprés hospital, and so I was feeling like it was all going to work out. Well first of all, the regular Emergency dept (as opposed to the Traumatology one next door) was much busier and so getting to see the internal medicine specialist (actually a 12-year-old boy) took a bit longer. Still, after a relatively quick check over, and a rather unpleasant prodding, I was told that it was probably not serious but they wanted to take a blood test just in case. Fine.

Well, it took over two and a half hours to get the blood test results back (see you next time Melissa!) and then see the specialist again (who by this time had transformed into a 16-year-old girl) who, after making a quick call, said they wanted to put me in the Observation Room until… well, this is where things got fuzzy. I couldn’t seem to get a straight answer as to WHY they thought I should be observed, or for what exactly, and by this time The Dread was beginning to set in. For good reason, as it turned out.

I was wheeled up (not allowed to walk) to the sixth floor Observation area, which was lounge chairs only. Presuming that this was for short stays, I still wasn’t TOO worried. Well, turned out it was also for people who had “graduated” from a short observation period to needing a bed and that’s when I really started to worry. Because I still couldn’t get a straight answer out of anyone. Meanwhile, Peter was sent away and told he could come back at 8.15 for the Visiting Hour if I was not released before then. Eep.

It’s now about 4.00 pm and I am shown to my chair, which weirdly is facing the entrance (see below) and I dutifully climbed onto it, thinking it was going to be a long wait if I couldn’t go home before 8.00. Ha. Around 7.00 someone came to tell me I’d be staying overnight and full on panic set in. Because the last time I was stuck in Observation overnight I ended up having half my colon (and a massive tumour) removed. I tried to stay calm and arranged for Peter to bring a few things from home (charger cables, earbuds, a book, an extra mask, a scarf for the AC) and then really really tried to, you know, take it in stride. But I just couldn’t. More on that another day (this is already too long).

I was told the doctors would be doing their rounds on the floor around 9.00 am and that I would “likely” be given the green light to go home then. Likely?? Meanwhile I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything and I’m thinking wtf? To be honest, I was too terrified to eat anything (even though by this time it had been over 24 hours since my last meal) but it just didn’t make sense. I asked if they were planning more tests and all I got was “wait to see what the doctor says in the morning”. So of course I’m thinking… omg they think they might have to operate! Thus began a long lonely evening followed by sleepless night from hell.

Observation rooms are a beehive of (extremely noisy) activity all night long. Staff constantly coming and going, and patients too (those being moved to room and new ones coming in as chairs freed up), moving equipment around, answering phones, lights switched on and off, nonstop chatter and, even though l was assured the woman in the next chair, who’d arrived around 3.00 am hacking up a lung, wasn’t a Covid patient, I remained unassured. I’ve known too many people who caught the fucker during a hospital stay not to be worried, and I was just 4 days away from getting my booster. Anyhow, I literally did not sleep a wink.

Morning finally arrived and I watched the next shift coming in and the last remaining patients being offered breakfast and all I could think of was that I wanted to be at home. Then something odd happened. Before the doctors arrived (almost 10.00 am by now) I was offered breakfast. Huh? At first I said no but then thought a coffee sounded like a good idea (it wasn’t) and the nurse kept insisting I eat something. So I finally took her up on a packet of Maria biscuits and she was off to get them. Nothing was making any sense. Why was I being served breakfast an hour after breakfast time had finished, when I wasn’t supposed to be eating or drinking until I saw the doctor? Why was I even still there?

Finally! The doctor! I was happy to see she was a grown-up woman, at least in her mid 30s (those teenage docs are a little hard to take). And it was all going well until she asked if I had noticed any more blood in my stools. What stools? By this time I hadn’t eaten anything in over 36 hours so, you know, what did they expect was left to come out of me? When I stupidly told her I hadn’t had a bowel movement since Sunday morning she said that it would probably be best for me to wait until AFTER LUNCH to see what happened, at which point I totally lost it and literally begged her to send me home. Nope. She said she would see if someone could bring me a bit of extra breakfast and then she was gone.

I was frantic. BUT I thought okay, if eating a crap piece of dry bread masquerading as toast would help, you know, move things along, then I would do it. Of course the dreaded next breakfast never showed up so I asked if I could pop down to the cafeteria for a coffee and was met with a resounding NO. Should’ve guessed. The previous evening when Peter came back they wouldn’t even let me out into the hallway for a stroll. Until you are officially let out of the Observation Unit you must remain observed. It was just nuts.

More or less resigned to staying on until lunchtime I decided to make myself more comfortable. See that wheelchair in the pic below? That’s the one they use for wheeling new patients in and transferring patients to rooms. And I thought, oohhh that looks better. Those lounge chairs, which look like they should be comfy with all their padding and positions, were killing my back. Remember the not-broken hip? Still hurt like a mo-fo. So I tried out the wheelchair and it was perfect. Nice and firm with a straight back on it, good lower back support. So I got my phone and my book and settled in. Well, I had to move a couple of times when it was needed for patients, and then the porter said she was going to have a look and see if there was a spare one I could use.

A few minutes after that the doctor magically reappeared with my various reports in her hand and said I was free to go. Huh? So she said blah blah blah blah (wasn’t listening any more) and when she stopped talking I thanked her, took the reports, grabbed my stuff and WAS SO OUTTA THERE. Well, I first stopped in at the Digestivo Dept on the ground floor to pick up the EVACUANTE prep for my upcoming colonoscopy and when I showed them the report that was supposed to be an updated “preferential” request for it (been waiting since mid-September, remember?) apparently it wasn’t. Whaaat? Should’ve listened to what the doc was saying I guess but I really just wanted to be gone so bad and was also afraid to say anything in case she rescinded her freedom pass. Anyhow I can ask my GP about it when I see her again next week.

The important thing was I WAS OUT. And in a taxi home. It was only later that a couple of things occurred to me. I’ve been a hospital patient more times than I ever wanted to be and I remembered that… nobody gets sent home after lunch. You need the attending doctor to sign the release form and, after their daily morning rounds, they aren’t seen again until the next morning. So she was bullshitting me about waiting until after lunch “to see what happened”, just like they had lied to me about possibly going home that same evening I was admitted for observation. Also, they had said that the doctor would have to see new blood test results (which they took around 7 that morning) which she told me were perfect. But… there was also nothing in my previous blood test to warrant locking me up. It seems I was sent up to Observation because, I dunno, the teenagers were being cautious? Scared of getting a bad review (who did she call?)? Or was it punishment for me using emergency services two days in a row? I guess we’ll never know.