Austin Hospital Notebook

You're in it together ... until you're not

When you’re in the hospital, it’s a bit like being on a (much more serious of course) long haul flight. You’re thrown into a mix of unknown random people that you’re essentially stuck with for the length of the journey and odds are you won’t see them again after it finishes.

Many of you know I spent three nights in the hospital with a Pulmonary Embolism - actually two of them - which in layman’s terms is a blood clot in the lungs. The care I received was exceptional and with treatment I should be fine.

My first night in the ICU was interesting, as the ward was full of people in far worse shape than I was. This included a drug addict named ‘Larry’ (not his real name) who continually harassed the nurses and tried to leave, despite being hooked up to numerous machines.

I woke up to “Larry, get back in bed” and “Larry, I’m calling security” two or three times that night. The nurses did an incredible job of balancing the need for safety with the need for caregiving and when I saw the gaunt, pale-faced ‘Larry’ the next day, I could only feel sadness and pity.

The following morning, I was moved from the ICU to a ward with an older gentleman who’d passed out and had a terrible fall. He had broken ribs and a shattered orbital bone, as well as heart condition that led to his passing out. He and his wife were wonderful people and despite his aches and pains, the man was more worried about the mobile phone he’d lost during the ambulance trip. It contained a number of photographs of his dog that had just passed away, which troubled him greatly.

We got on well - his hearing was damaged during the fall - so when his phone rang, I had to yell at him to answer it. Before he left, I heard him talk about a horse he liked in the 10th at Caulfield, so I handed him my form guide. The horse ended up finishing 8th.

I was moved again to another ward, this time with a guy in his late 30s or early 40s who looked like a character out of the Underbelly crime series. His family came in to visit, speaking a language I couldn’t quite put my finger on. After only exchanging half smiles for much of the day, we finally spoke and ended up having a great conversation.

He was Macedonian and had played at local soccer club Preston Lions, a club where a good friend of my son Sam plays. We had plenty to discuss and he was highly complementary of my knowledge of Australian soccer. Somewhere up there, I hope my old boss Les Murray is smiling. The man, who was probably in his 40’s, was in for a triple bypass and his surgery had been delayed so he was somewhat anxious.

As I departed the next day, I shook his hand firmly and told him I’d be thinking of him. And I am.