'The Hospital Comedy of Errors', a true story of a Crohon's patient who found humor in her ordeal

A true story
By Ellen Jackson

Writer/Poet

It wasn't as though I hadn't been to the hospital before. In my 8th battle with Crohn's disease, an incurable inflammation of my small intestine, nothing in my life had been routine on my last trip to the hospital for surgery to close a tear in my colon. Three weeks turned into three-and-a- half months. The first patchwork didn't hold, and I subsequently developed appendicitis. So, when I had another flare-up of my old problem, I didn't expect routine tests, but neither was I prepared for the comedy of errors that ensued.

Starting with the first day they give me a background of what's to come. Joan, my sister-in-law, took me to Rubin Hospital at 8 A.M., on a Friday morning. To say we got off on the wrong foot would be an understatement! And the direction signs at the hospital weren't much help. The corridor we took led to the security guards. With them were the local police, and  handcuffed prisoners who were being admitted to, or released from the hospital. Because we were in such a hurry we only gave them a quick glance. 

The next arrow led to X-ray. Now that was a wrong turn if there ever was one! So we turned around and went back to where the prisoners were, and started our search again. This time we ended up past the reception room for indigents and emergency patients. And then, behold! The information desk--you know the little ladies dressed in pink strips. We asked for directions to admissions. She smiled and said, "Just around the corner, dear."

Once in admission we had another problem. No help was available. Since I was the only patient waiting to be admitted, I wondered what the problem was. God help us if it had been an emergency. And then, in strolled a dude, calling  "Jackson."

"Yes, that's me," I replied.

"Come this way, please."

We turned and went through a door to his office. He sat, steadily trying to talk to Joan while completing the paperwork. I thought we would never finish.

"That's all the information we need. Will you wait in admissions until someone comes for you?" he asked, flashing a I'm-just-the-man-for-you smile. So once again we were waiting. And then along came the orderly. Youngster would be a better word. He set forth through another maze of corridors I don't have the strength to describe. At least we rode the elevator. Getting off on the sixth floor I was immediately shown my room. Once established, I waited another hour before a nurse came by.

Meanwhile, the TV lady, Mrs. Stewart, installed a set for me.  I was able to pass the time until the nurse came. Mrs. Stewart remembered me from my last visit. During that visit I paid enough to buy a television set! A color one at that!

Dr. Cain and the nurse breezed in about 10:30 A.M., This being a Friday morning; they decided the tests wouldn't take place until Monday. I was to have a diet of clear liquids to give my colon a rest, but by Saturday morning I developed diarrhea. So regular food was the order of the day. With the help of "sneaky relatives" I feasted on tacos, an Arby burger and a drink. What would one do without relatives!

During my previous marathon stay I made many friends among the nurses, aides, and housekeepers who popped in, often to help lift me from fits of depression. So now I enjoyed catching up with all the hospital gossip--who had gotten married, which nurses had had babies, and where everyone had been shifted around to. By Monday of all my old nurses knew I was back. My old nurses requested that I be moved back to the fourth floor in the old wing. Dr. Cain agreed.

But before I could get moved disaster struck in the name of Dr. Luke. In an attempt to put an I.V. into my left shoulder, somehow he punctured my lung. This information wasn't relayed to me until Dr. Benton, my physician of six years, showed up to relieve my pain. Needless to say, I never saw Dr. Luke again, not even down the hospital corridors.

Tuesday morning, Dr. Wood (Dr. Benton's associate) came in to put the I.V. into my neck. Having a collapsed lung it seemed the best place put it. I was given a shot to put me out, and one to awaken me. But they didn't reckon with my queasy stomach. Revenge was mine! I vomited on the doctor, nurses and myself. Housekeeping had one hell of a time cleaning up the mess.

That night I was moved to the fourth floor, and once again I was with my old nurses. Unfortunately, I had a student nurse, who, with her supervisor and my permission, changed the tubing on my I.V. now hooked up to my neck. It seemed she had done a good job until I reached up for the mirror. Out popped the I.V. and did I ever have a time getting a nurse! It seemed everyone was on a coffee break.

The first reaction when the nurse arrived was, "What have you done?"

"Me? Nothing. I can't help it if it fell out."

Then came my favorite nurse, Belle, to put the I.V. in my hand until they could get a doctor. Once again, I got a different doctor.  A cutie for a change. His name was Dr. Fork, another associate of Dr. Benton. Dr. Fork either knows his business, or was having a very lucky day. He put the I.V. in my shoulder as it should have in the first place.

The silence of these walls are stiffling me

The silence of these wall are stifling me

A  true story 

by Ellen Jackson

Write/Poet

"The silence of these walls are stifling me." That's a line from a poem I wrote. I, like millions of Americans, never gave much thought to my five senses, even though I wear glasses, which really is a common everyday thing.

The question is, what is deafness? Deafness is usually defined as the inability to hear. There is no legal definition of deafness, and experts do not completely agree on when to use the term. In most cases, however, it refers to the inability to hear and understand speech. Hearing specialists makes the distinguish between deafness and hearing impairments. People with impaired hearing can hear and understand at least some speech.

I fall in the impaired hearing category. After losing 50 percent of my hearing at age 30, I was in an isolation that only another deaf or impaired person could understand.

Let me try to get you to imagine what it would be like not to hear the familiar sounds of water running, music, television, the telephone, the doorbell ringing, cooking (boiling water, frying meats, etc.) I never imagined what looking at television without hearing was like until I lost my hearing. I've been a soap opera fan since childhood, so it was a chilling experience when I couldn't understand my favorite shows. These are the things we take for granted.

My loss of hearing was caused by medications known as "Genamycum" and "Neomycin". I was very sick, and it was the choice of my husband and mother to decide whether I lived or not.

To imagine what a deaf or impaired person goes through is to stay in a room in absolute silence. Try to stay for an hour, or at least half an hour. Then you will know how more than a million hearing impaired people go through life each day. There is absolutely no sound. You have to rely on your other senses: smell, touch, feel (vibrations), taste. 

There are adjustments to make, and they are great. I, for one, am lucky to have a loving husband who answers the phone, the door and makes calls to friends, even though I write to a lot of them. Also I have an understanding boss and co-workers who make my job a lot easier for me.

There are a thousand little things the hearing impaired have to cope with; even with a hearing aid. They are helpful in some cases, so is speech reading, also referred to as lip reading and sign language. Speech reading is very difficult to learn even for the impaired. It has its advantages, like in my case of developed speech. But certain words can throw me off, especially distinguishing sounding words.

Short of wearing a sign that says I'm deaf or am impaired hearing, one of the problems I have  is that individuals don't speak facing me. That is a definite drawback. But I now have new interests like writing poetry, a revived interest in reading and sewing. However, I still miss a lot of the old things.

The old saying that "silence is golden" is a myth if I ever heard one! Try telling that to a deaf person and see what reaction you get.