"How was your weekend?" I'm asked.
"Good thanks, apart from the hospital" I reply.
Yep, I was in hospital on Thursday and Friday and it was a very new experience for me, it's not often I'm a patient and I'm not sure I like it.
It all started at work on Thursday morning. I was seeing patients as normal when I suddenly had a weird pain in my chest, sort of sharp and heavy at the same time. "Indigestion" I thought, "but it's odd that my left arm feels a bit weird too".
So I did what all men do and ignored it until it went away. Which it did, for a while, and then came back.
"Ok, I'm sure it's nothing, I'll have a cup of tea and finish the patients for the morning and carry on with my day".
Problem was it kept coming back, especially while I was walking around at lunchtime. So I made a sensible decision for once and headed off to the Doc to check it out.
Now I'm not sure if you've ever tried to get a GP appointment in Perth at short notice but it's pretty tricky. So I drive to the doctors and walk in to be told there's really no appointments 'till tomorrow.
But, dear reader, I've discovered something. As soon as you say "oh that's a pity as I've been getting chest pains" the receptionist manages to squeeze you straight in! So the lovely Dr Cheong sees me, listens to my story and takes a quick ECG, which shows nothing odd.
That's good right?
Well apparently if you're a man of a certain age with chest pain it's best to get some blood tests to check it out. Now they can't do that at the GP as they have to be spaced out so it was suggested I go to the hospital and get them done there. Seems easy, pop into the Emergency Dept, get the bloods, go home.
Well not quite. I drive to Royal Perth Hospital, park in their eyewateringly expensive car park and wander into the ED. Again the magic words "chest pain" get me whisked past the queue and straight into the cubicle.
Suddenly I'm in a world of bustle, monitors, wires, needles, aspirin and questions. The same questions over and over and over again;
What's the pain like? When did it start? Describe it? What were you doing at the time? Any family history of heart conditions? Have you had this before? What is the pain like now, on a scale of 1 to 10, where 10 is the worst pain imaginable?
Now this last one was a bit embarrassing because by 1pm, when I was sitting on the trolley covered in wires, the pain had gone. Completely. So I was feeling a bit of a fraud to be honest. All these highly skilled and qualified people fussing over me when I actually felt ok. But I was assured that it's ok, we needed to get to the bottom of the pain.
So tests begin. Blood test number one: Troponin levels. This sees if there is any increase in this protein which indicates heart muscle damage. Result? "hmmm, not completely clear. We'll call that inconclusive'.
Ok, slightly worried now. But it's ok, the test gets repeated 12 hours after the initial pain. Which means 9.30 at night so you'll be waiting around 'till then. In the meantime I needed a hot MIBI scan and a chest X-ray.
The X-ray was easy, didn't even move, they just zapped me on the trolley, although I'm not overly sure about their radiation protection. Just shouting "X-ray in eleven" doesn't have quite the same effect as a lead lined cubicle. I'm not working there all day though so I'm not overly bothered.
The MIBI scan is a nuclear medicine test, you get injected with a tracer and then a big Star Trekkish machine scans you to see if you've got a heart. It's all a bit hilarious as the technician arrives with a lead box contains a lead lined syringe holding the radioactive tracer. He puts on lead lined gloves and proceeds to inject the damn stuff into you. Still it's good to know his dose is kept to a minimum. The scan happened an hour later and showed... Well it was "inconclusive". Great. It showed a possible area of muscle damage near the atrium. So guess what? You need more tests. We'll wheel you back to ED and they'll explain.
So I'm back in the ED waiting. I can however report that, contrary to all I've read in comics, getting injected with radiation does not give you super powers. Unless you count the ability to have radioactive pee for a day a superpower.
The further tests mean I need to go up to the AAU or acute assessment unit in English to be, well, assessed acutely funnily enough.
Now this is the first time I've ever been in a hospital ward as a patient and the repeating yourself was beginning to get a bit frustrating. Same questions, different doctors and nurses over and over again. Still at least all the staff are friendly, which considering what they have to put up with is a miracle. So I'm on the ward, still in my work clothes and boots. I'd resisted taking my shoes off case they thought I was settling in for a while. I was also keeping them on as the floor left a bit to be desired, squashed peas seeming to be making up quite a lot of the pattern. Nice view from the window though.
Now I'm waiting around. Finally I get to see the consultant at 8:30 who orders the final blood test. I thought I'd better ask what happens now? Do I come back tomorrow for the results?
His response? "Oh no, you're mine now. You're not going anywhere. You need a contrast CT of your coronary arteries and that can't be done till tomorrow. Sleep well!"
Oh my god! I'm an inpatient. And the cat needed feeding. And I have no toothbrush or pjs or clean pants. Thank your own personal gods for my wonderful friends. One phone call and AU was whizzing across Perth collecting stuff and feeding animals. He did a wonderful thing. Especially as I know how difficult it is to find the entrance to the RPH carpark. He found me eventually and I think he was a bit surprised that I looked ok. I think my live tweeting of the day so far had made everyone think I was at deaths door.
Its time now to settle down to a good nights rest in the hospital ward. Ready for my scan at 9am the next day. Except rest, especially sleep, is hard to come by in a public hospital ward. What with the bed, which may have been Guantanamo Bay surplus, the coughing and snoring patients and the clerking in of new arrivals at 1am on the ward (questioned by nurses who could get part time jobs with the CIA considering how they get so much info out of barely functioning people). Sleep was elusive to say the least. It was a very long night.
When morning broke I had a new neighbour. An aboriginal chap handcuffed to the bed accompanied by two corrections officers. Which is not something I often wake up to. He was amazingly relaxed for a man in his position and appeared to sleep for the next 36 hours solidly. Probably the first clean sheets the poor bugger had been in for a while.
Breakfast was interesting, consisting of a random selection of packets of stuff. A bit like the worst airline meal you can imagine. All the food was pretty terrible. Not just generally bad but unhealthy too. White bread, sugary drinks, jelly. It's like every hospital patient is a child being given treats for being good.
Anyhow 9am comes and goes and there's no sign of a scan coming my way but for good measure I'm given some big doses of beta blockers to slow my heart rate. Which normally would be fine but someone had been told that I needed a second cannula put in. Now I'm not good with needles. I'm fine sticking them in other people but not so keen on being at the pointy end, which I warned the Doc when he started. So he put in the needle and we were chatting then I was in a vividly coloured fantastic world full of noise and light. Shortly after I was waking up surrounded by the crash team feeling very sweaty, light headed and slightly foolish. Fainting, I don't recommend it. Especially in hospital as that will follow me to my grave now; "Watch out, he's a fainter". Oh they say vaso-vagal attack to make you feel better but I know what they're thinking.
Another Doc was called and I promised not to do it again and they had another go. Or actually five other goes. In different veins. All to no avail. He gave up in the end which are the sweetest words you can hear when there's a man with a needle in the vicinity.
Eventually at about 1pm I got wheeled to radiography, was given more beta blockers and asked to wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And wait.
Ok, now I'm getting bit cross. When they come to wheel me in my heart rate is so high that I'm warned they may not be able to do it. So now I'm really cross, and really pumping up the heart rate. This is my only complaint with public health, the waiting your turn. Bloody road accidents getting all the preferential treatment. Luckily when it was my turn the radiologist decided that some IV beta blockers were the go ("watch out, he's a fainter") and they worked. Having a 25 BPM heart rate is a very odd sensation. Like zen must feel if you can get there. I'm trundled into the CT scanner (who knew they made so much noise?) and prepared to be filled with iodine contrast. After a final call of "watch out, he's a fainter" it's pumped in.
What a totally odd sensation. Like a travelling hot flush from head to toe. Not unpleasant exactly just very weird, and a bit like your wet your pants. I was warned but it was still strange. Apparently lots of people vomit after but I thought it was quite fun. Listen, I'd been in for a long time and was glad for any excitement. The radiologist came back in and announced I had "pristine coronary arteries", I could go back to the ward and would be home that evening. Never have I been so grateful. I even apologised for getting cross.
So back on the ward I get back into my jeans and t-shirt, put on the boots and waited for discharge. Oh and I get this:
Cupcakes; another health food.
About 5:30 a sweet little junior Doc turns up to tell me there appears to be a blockage in one artery and I'll have to be seen by cardiology. And as it's after five it won't be until tomorrow. Which means another night inside.
I have never been more depressed and surprised at the same time. I told her I couldn't stay any longer. I asked if it could be done as a outpatient. I pleaded. I got annoyed. And she said exactly what she should have "well it's up to you but...*shrug*".
What to do? Do I self discharge myself against medical advice? Should I stay and ask my friends to run around for me again? What. To. Do?
I thought for a while, got some sage advice from AU and asked to speak to the Doc again. The Registrar arrived this time. The conversation was as follows:
Doc "So good news, it's all clear and you're off home"
Me "What?!"
"All clear, nothing wrong"
"But the other Doc..."
"What? Oh, yeah, another consultant had a look and decided it was ok. But just, you know, check with your GP in a week or so to make sure they got it right and wrote the right thing down"
"So I can go home?"
"Yep, how many days do you want on your sick certificate?"
And I said just the two I've been in here thanks. 'Cos I'm an idiot.
So that was it, I packed up and headed to the car with trepidation. Two days in a Wilson car park. If I didn't have chest pains before I may after plugging my ticket in. Amazingly it was $38. Which was even better news than the cardiologist report.
Anyway I'm home, I still don't know what caused the pain, I'm bruised, I'm tired and I just need to follow up with the GP. But I'm ok. I can't stress that enough to all the people who tweeted, texted and called when I was in the joint. It's good to know the urban family (and digital relations) are all there for you.
Finally I just want to say again how great the staff at Royal Perth Hospital were. They get a bad press do public health workers in Western Australia but everyone treated me with respect and kindness. The only real issue is the lack of money spent on the places they work in. The hospital is a dump and the tendered out services (food and cleaning) leave a lot to be desired. Which doesn't bode well for the new Liberal governments plans for private companies running public hospitals.
One thought. I think large hospitals must be a bit like working on a battleship: most of the time people are just milling around, trying to find things to do, getting on each others nerves. But as soon as something needs to be done they all smoothly slip into action, no fuss, no shouting, perfect team work. It's amazing.
I've just realised I may have made that connection as I read A LOT of 'Hunt For Red October' while lying on various beds and trollies and there's only so much boat and submarine action you can take before your brain turns to mush.
