My Experiences With Socialized Medicine - Part II

I never did see the doctor that day. I was weak, it was difficult enough to even eat, let alone ask questions. I finally slept.
One thing I can tell you about living on a ward at a Hospital is that you get to know your 'roommates' quite intimately, very early on. As you can imagine, the Cancer Ward in particular can be quite a wake up call as to how violently our own bodies can betray us. My experience was the stuff of nightmares. Screaming in the night, terrible odors, as you may well imagine, one woman actually passed away while I was there. I can't tell you what that feels like. I never really slept while I was in that Ward. I was terrified of not waking up!

I was on my third day in this place, with no more information, no more awareness than I had come in with. I felt trapped in a kind of Kafka novel. It was like a bad dream. I was stuck here, unable to move, unable to tell my loved ones where I was and what was happening. I had no control over my own treatment. Hell, I didn't even know what the treatment was! I asked questions, of every Sister I saw. I raised hell...
I was getting desperate.
First and foremost, why was I on the Cancer Ward? I vaguely recalled having my shirt taken off and a chest X-Ray (or two) being performed. (Where was my shirt, come to think of it?) Did they find something in that X-Ray that could possibly land me here?

I think it was the 3rd or 4th day that I got to have a bath. It was the only bathtub on the ward, but boy, it was a good one! It even had a jacuzzi feature, which was useless to me, as I could hardly breathe enough to get in the damn thing. I was left alone to fend for myself with an IV in my hand, attached to a pole with wheels. I had never felt so exhausted as I did after that bath. Literally gasping for breath, I managed to bathe and dry myself and then stagger back to my bed. Phew!
It was either that day or the next that I got to finally see the Doctor.
Well, actually, not the 'Doctor' but the Assistant to the Doctor.
But, OK.
I know that I'm a citizen here, but...I'm REALLY an American, ya know? I have an American accent. And so, I demand better treatment! I have questions! What is happening? Why am I on the Cancer Ward? What am I being treated for, specifically? What medications am I being given?
The women in the ward with me seemed shocked at the questions I asked of the Assistant to the Doctor. As did the Assistant, himself. But why? I had a right to know what my treatment entailed. I was mystified...
The Doctor did come see me not long after that.
When he walked into the room, I knew exactly who he was. He went from bed to bed, reading each ladies' charts, telling the two Assistants by his side what he thought of each case, until he came to me.
He actually paused when he read my chart. "What are you doing here?", he asked.
"I don't know", I replied, "care to tell me"?
He performed a few tests on me, instructed his assistants to perform Spirometry tests on me at midnight, 4am, 6am and then throughout the day. I was also moved to a different ward. It turned out that my bed was needed for someone actually undergoing the battle of cancer.
I left, with relief.
Turns out, I was headed for the 'Heart Trauma Ward' Oh, goodie!