Grey’s Anatomy

I wasn’t a fan of Grey’s Anatomy until more recently, growing up I much preferred the the presence of House, Brennan, and Booth. But now, I couldn’t be more up to date with the happenings of Grey Sloan Memorial. I’ve mourned the deaths of McDreamy and McSteamy, I’ve seen Meredith through trauma after trauma, and I’ve watched as countless medical students transition to residency and eventually become fellows and attendings. Sometimes I wonder if my sudden fascination with the show has anything to do with my stint in a teaching hospital.

Years ago I travelled to the Manchester airport with some friends. We had been staying a little farther North, in the Lake District, we were visiting the school we used to attend there. I decided to take the train into the city with my friends so that we didn’t have to part ways so soon, even though my flight wasn’t for hours. Once I dropped them off at their gate I found myself a little spot to sit down and read in a Blenz coffee shop. Eventually it was close enough to the flight time that I could check-in, I did so, and wandered through the airport until I found my gate. “Hannover” the screen read. I decided to move on from my book and watch a downloaded movie on my laptop instead. I don’t even remember what I was watching, I just remember sitting in a chair in the airport, back against a wall, facing the terminal. About half way through the movie I felt a sharp and sudden pain on the right side of my lower back. It was such a startling pain that I jumped out of my seat without hesitation, my laptop almost falling to the floor. I stood there putting pressure on my back for a moment before I decided to try to sit down and let the pain pass. Well, the pain did not pass. It only got worse.

I convinced myself that this was just pain from the back injury I suffered in a car accident the year prior, even though the pain was nowhere near my existing injury, and it was like no pain I had ever experienced before. I decided I would try to treat my pain as best I could, hoping I could get it to subside before my flight. I made my way through the almost empty terminal to the bar, I got the bartenders attention and asked him for a bag of ice. He seemed a little taken a back, and concerned too, but he obliged. I found myself a large window sill to lay down on and I proped myself atop my newly found ice. By the time I had made it to the bar initially, things were already getting a little fuzzy, and my hearing was greatly diminished and replaced with a loud ringing in my ears. And as I lay there on ice, my head begins to spin and the nausea sets in.

I couldn’t bear to lay there any longer. A couple people had stopped while I was laying on what was basically the floor of a small hallway, and asked if I was okay. I assured them that I was. However, the number of people coming up to me asking me if I needed help vastly increased when I started slowly wandering the airport again. At first I was confused, how did they know something was wrong? And then I saw my reflection in a store window. I was as white as a ghost and yet somehow still green in complexion. I was sweating perfusely, and shaking uncontrollably. I watched my movements as I passed. I couldn’t even walk straight, and I was essentially just propping myself up by my suitcase. I would have dizzy spells and nausea that would cause me to have to continuously take breaks from walking back towards my gate.

I stood at the gate, my suitcase handle holding me up. It was almost time to board, and everyone was watching me closely. The flight attendant behind the desk asked if I was okay, I could barely hear her over the ringing in my ears, but I did say some variation of “yes”. The plane began boarding. We were all herded through a hall and down a couple flights of stairs. Me a little slower than the rest. I walked across the tarmac towards the small Ryanair plane that was supposed to take me to Germany. I stopped at the base of the plane’s stairs and turned towards the flight attendant to my right, “I don’t think I should get on this plane”. By this point the pain in my lower back had wrapped around my waist and now resided in my abdomen. As I looked at the plane, I thought to myself, “what if it gets worse in the air?”.

The flight attendant helped me back across the tarmac, everyone watching me go from the plane windows. I had been the last passenger after all. Much of what happened next is a blur, the memories a little fuzzy, just like my eyes and ears at this point. The woman assisting me said something to her colleague as she helped me sit down on the stairs I had just descended only moments earlier. As soon as I sat, the tears started rolling down my face. I could no longer deny the immense pain I was feeling. A paramedic arrived on a bicycle and immediatly hooked me up to a tank of morphine gas. Now this was something else. Now I was high and in pain.

Due to the morphine gas, I was completely incapacitated. Awake, but unable to function. If the airline staff had not kept all my belongings together, I surely would have lost everything, passport and phone included. While we were waiting for the ambulance a women asked for my phone, I remember handing it to her, but nothing after that. Somehow she found my aunt’s number on my WhatsApp, and she gave her a call and told her that I did not get on my flight and that I was on my way to the hospital. I only found this out later that night. In my dazed state I heard the woman tell me that she spoke with the airline and that they would put me on a flight to Germany, for no additional charge, as soon as I was released from the hospital.

I was in the back of an amublance for what seemed like forever. We were moving so fast, sirens blarring, and the roads were oh so curvy. I couldn’t identify if my persistent vomiting was from the pain or from the driving. Probably both. Finally, I was assisted into the emergency room of a hospital. One of the paramedics pushed me around in a wheelchair and kept me company as his partner checked me in. The high from the morphine began to fade, and I noticed that my paramedic seemed to have something going on with one of the emergency room nurses. Worked for me because that just meant I had a very attentive nurse.

The paramedic made sure I was all set up in the emergency room waiting area. The nurse gave me a bedpan in case the vomiting continued. I sat in the chair for a while. The pain was still present but had subsided some, maybe because of the morphine. As I sat there in my chair a teenage boy made puking sounds and motions at me from across the row. Little fucker. Pretty soon the attentive nurse retrieved me, and took me to a bed surrounded by pale yellow curtains. A doctor with an unidentifiable accent came in and immediatly began to prod my abdomen. “You may have to have surgery if it’s your kidney or appendix,” he said, and then he was gone almost as quickly as he had arrived. Well there goes my new found calmness. Now I was in a foreign country, alone, and I’m going to have to go under the knife.

I sat across from the annoying little bugger again in the emergency room, until they were able to find a bed for me upstairs. I was informed that I may be here a while. I was taken upstairs in a wheelchair, and I soon found out that I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without a wheelchair. I was led through the dark ward and shown to my bed. From what I could tell in the dark, I was in a room with four beds, all quartered off with the same curtains from the ER, only this time they were pale blue. By the time I was given a bed in the intensive care unit, it was 1:30am. My flight to Hannover had been at 6pm.

The charge nurse in the intensive care unit was very accomodating. She spoke softly to me, and with compassion. She asked me what kind of phone I had and went off to find me a charger. When she returned, I was sitting on the bed in the exact location she had left me. She gave me a phone charger and two small white pills, “codine” she said. And that’s when the tears started again. I’m not much of a crier, but I suppose this was a good time as any to let it out. The nurse comforted me and said, “Don’t worry, it’ll all be okay”. She helped me to her nursing station and tried to help me call home, at this point I had not been able to reach anyone to tell them where I was. Unfortunately the nurses efforts were unfounded, as she couldn’t get the hospital switchboard to call out of country. So I went to sleep. Or tried to at least, an hour later I woke up overwhelmingly itchy. I was given some allergy medication, which helped to ease the itch, and an allergy to codine was noted in my chart. This is the one and only night that I have ever had a reaction to Codine.

At 4:30am I was shaken awake by the same nurse who put me to bed twice already, “Your mum is on the phone”. At first I was confused as to what she said, and then a wave of relief washed over me. I cannot even express to you how happy I was in that moment, I have never felt such relief and comfort, and the tears started once again. Someone had found me. Someone knew where I was. My mum had basically called every hospital in England to find me. This is love. This is also when I found out that that women from the airline had gotten ahold of my aunt and told her I was headed to the hospital, and when my mum got the call from my aunt she hadn’t put the phone down. After a tearful chat with my mum, I could fall asleep more easily.

My eyes still closed, but I heard at least three different voices. It couldn’t be later than 7am. I open my eyes to see seven men standing around my bed starring at me, the curtain around my bed opened fully. This is when I found out that I was at the Manchester University Hospital, a teaching hospital. There was one older gentleman, and six younger looking guys. Their bedside manner was not like on TV. They did not introduce themselves to me, or really talk to me at all, “19 year old female from Canada, presents with right side abdomen pain”. The older doctor asked the students questions about my case and spoke on it briefly before they started prodding my abdomen for pain. After calling out and ordering various tests, they bustled out, closing the curtains as they went.

Not too long later, a nurse opened my curtains again, and informed me that they would be administering a large IV needle into my arm with multiple facets. One for the IV drip and one for the morphine drip. It would not be removed until I was released from the hospital, whether a fluid bag was hung or not. From this moment on, not only did I travel everywhere with a wheelchair, but I also had to drag along the IV pole. Even into the bathroom. I did not eat the entire time I was in the hospital due to the possibility of various tests, and even surgery. Hence the IV. I began to feel a bit like a zoo animal, the vast amount of people coming in and out of my room to ask me questions or to run tests was crazy, but I felt like maybe they were also curious about me. Or maybe I just preferred thinking that they cared more than they may have, it was somehow comforting. I did have a foreign accent afterall, and I was brought in from the airport.

I discovered that I had a private phone in my curtained room, but it only called local numbers. Thankfully I was able to call the school where my friend Dan worked, even though it was a couple hours North. I waited on hold as the receptionist located Dan, my emotions were getting the best of me again by the time I heard his familiar voice, “Hey, this is Dan”. He could tell by my voice that something was wrong, and I immediately went into explaining how I came to be in this hospital. He told me he would call every couple hours for updates, and that he did. Every two hours on the dot. He did his best to keep me company on the phone, and offered to come down to Manchester to be with me, but I knew he wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the ICU after visiting hours were done anyway, so I declined his very generous offer.

I can say with confidence that I definitely stuck out like a sore thumb in the hospital. You see, when I was initially admitted it was so late that I went to sleep in my clothes, and by the time morning came around and I was offered a hospital gown, my clothes had already been slept in and I was commited to them in some unexplainable way. Looking back, my logic for remaining in my jeans does not make a lot of sense, but at the time, morphine included, it seemed like a reasonable decision. Maybe I hoped I could get out of the hospital sooner rather than later or something. And I do generally find jeans comfortable, it’s weird, I know. Nevertheless, this fully clothed look did bode well for me in some ways. I was wearing black skinny jeans with black heeled boots, and my grey v-neck tee hung off one of my shoulders. Because of the huge IV needles I always had to sleep with my left arm away from my body, this also allowed for me not too move around much while I was sleeping. My makeup remained immaculate, and not one hair on my head moved in the slightest. However that was also due to an outrageous amount of bobby pins, and I did eventually get the opporunity to wash my face. My poor pores.

As you can imagine, I was quite the sight, especially as I was taken to test after test in a wheelchair. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the IV pole rolling beside me, no one would assume I was sick. To sum it up, I looked hot. I started to feel a little less like a trapped zoo animal and a little more like someone deserving of the male gaze. However, the MRI tech’s gaze was short lived. “Do you have any metal on you?” I took out all my piercings, and moved onto the bobby pins, he held out his hands like a bowl in anticipation. You should have seen his face as I proceeded to remove at least 100 bobby pins from my head. I wish I could have captured the look of horror on his face with a camera. I was unsuccesfull in my hunt for bobby pins as it turns out, I felt them slowly move bit by bit towards the magnetic walls as I lay feet first in the MRI machine. “Bam Bam Bam”. The MRI machine stole my focus from the slipping bobby pins.

I mostly slept during my stint in the hospital. Apart from the travelling to and from tests, and being woken up every few hours to make sure I was still alive and where my pain level was at. Sometimes, when the curtains were open, I could see the other patients in my room. I saw as people, family and friends, came and went from their bedside. I overheard the occasional conversation about so and so’s granddaughter, or the cat that needed to be fed at home. I was the youngest person residing in this quartered room, but I also remained in the room longer than anyone else I was with. All my roomies were discharged into the care of friends or family. But I was just laying in my bed, alone. I lived for Dan’s phone calls.

My second night was better. I slept better, and I was comforted knowing that someone knew where I was, and that they cared. The following day I received some good news after all this waiting. I was told that it was very likely that I could be released soon. After another ultrasound, which meant no food again today, I was finally told what was wrong with me. The older doctor and his followers filed in through the curtains, they explained to me that I had a large ovarian cyst that had ruptured, likely while I was still at the airport. And the lasting pain was from the reminents of the cyst floating around in my abdomen. They wanted to monitor me for a few more hours, and do a final round of blood tests before they sent me on my way, but told me that I could start making plans to leave. As if on cue, my hospital phone rang as the doctors were filing back out. I told Dan that they were planning to release me that day, and in return he told me not to worry, that he has figured everything out and that he would call back in an hour with more information.

One Hour Later. I just wanted to say that, picture Spongebob. Anyway, Dan called back and said he was on his way to pick me up. He had borrowed a friend’s car and had organised for me to stay in an empty dorm room for as long as I needed. That sense of ultimate relief and comfort from the previous night had returned, and continued to raise my emotions until I watched Dan walk into my room. The pain was almost forgotten as I jumped up and ran towards him. I say “ran” in the loosest of terms. However, at least my IV had already been removed and I didn’t have to worry about that needle ripping out. He held me against his chest, as I cried, again. Sheesh, for someone who doesn’t show a lot of emotion, I just couldn’t stop myself. Dan’s hugs have always been my favourite, and as I stand there in his arms I realise just how much he cares for me. I could feel the emotion moving between our bodies as they were pressed up against each other. We stood in that embrace for what seemed like a lifetime. I knew, in that moment, that I could always count on Dan, and that wherever I was in the world, if I needed him, he would be there.

The hours passed by quickly as I watched the city skyline turn into the rolling green fields of the countryside from the passenger seat of the car. I finally felt completely safe as we drove through the large gates of the campus grounds and continued to drive towards the tall towers of the school’s castle-like buildings. Dan took me to a room on the first floor with two empty single beds, and a small bathroom. The large windows looked out at the croquet lawn, just in front of the dining hall. There were towels stacked on one of the beds, along with a phone charger, a hot water bottle and an extra blanket. Dan placed my bags on the bed on the opposite side of the room and left to find me something to eat. By the time he returned I was showered and changed, and ready for bed. He left me to sleep but told me he would be back to check on me.

I ended up sleeping for over 12 hours. It felt so good to sleep without being woken up every few hours. I awoke to find a breakfast tray at my door with a note that read, “Come find me when you’re ready, Dan”. It wasn’t just Dan who was so thoughtfull and caring as I stayed on campus. His students took turns spending time with me, making sure I was alright and had company while Dan worked. “I’m just going to quickly finish this assignment and submit it so that I can be with you, I’ll be back very soon, don’t worry” they would say. It was actually a little funny because Dan seemed somewhat peeved that the students so keen on caring for me were in fact male in nature. I didn’t even have 100 bobby pins to thank for the attention this time!

When I found myself alone, which was not often, I tried to figure out what to do next. I recalled the woman at the airport telling me that the airline would put me on another flight, but I was unable to get a hold of anyone who knew anything about the incident. For all I knew I made it up in my morphine ridden head. Alas, on my third day on campus, I decided to just head back to the airport and to try to get on the next flight to Germany. Dan, and to his chagrin, six of my new male friends, drove me to the train station. I left with more hugs than I have ever recieved at one time in my life. I’m not a crier and I’m definitely not a hugger, but this trip was the exception to my otherwise very consistent rules. Here I go. Back to the place it all started.

When I arrived at the airport, I went straight towards the Ryanair booth, and at the end of the weaving stantions a woman was helping send people to the correct lines. I began to tell her my story, but I didn’t get far because she interupted me, “of course we know what happened! It’s not everyday the ambulance has to drive on the tarmac!”. Honestly that was a little embarrassing. She took me straight to the desk, jumping the line, and proceeded to tell her colleague that I was the girl who was rushed to the hospital earlier that week. And of course, she knew the story as well. All things considered I was so appreciative of everyone at the airport and this airline in particular. It was so fast and easy. They put me on the next plane to Hannover without any issue, and for no additional charge. The way things turned out this trip you’d think someone was watching out for me. Even though it was rough at the beginning.

I did eventually make it home, after a weekend in Germany. I hugged my mum a little tighter after this trip for sure. It’s funny though, as soon as people find out about certain things that have happened to you, all of a sudden all these people come out of the woodwork with similar stories. I didn’t really know anything about ovarian cysts until I had one, and then everyone and their dog came forward to tell me about their experience. I really think this is something we should talk about a little more, especially if it’s so common, maybe in school even…what a revelation that would be. One woman, who has also had a cyst rupture, twice in fact, told me that apparently it’s a worse pain than childbirth, and she has also had two children. So I guess things are looking up for me. All in all, it was quite the adventure. And my heart grew a few sizes that trip. In more ways than one. But that’s for another time!