Dear readers,
I was just a few months into my first year of medical school when I got sick–feeling crummy, drinking glass after glass of water or orange juice, and peeing a lot. I ignored these symptoms for as long as I could, but finally had to admit that something was wrong and made my way to our student health service, where, on a Friday afternoon, I was given the diagnosis of diabetes and sent home, unmedicated.
The following Monday I was seen by an internist who quickly realized that, despite my age–thirty–I had juvenile-onset (type 1) diabetes. My pancreas was no longer producing the insulin my body needed. That meant that I would need to inject insulin. Forever.
It also meant that I was at immediate risk of developing DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis), a potentially fatal condition, so he ordered me into the hospital. Now.
I tried to bargain. “How about I go home, pick up a few things and go in tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Now.”
Here’s what I remember about my hospital stay:
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- I remember an intern briskly putting an IV into my forearm. It hurt a lot, and the IV bothered me my entire stay.
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- I remember the nurses. While I was grateful to my doctor for supervising my care, he was like ground control directing a moon shot, briefly coming by once a day at most. The nurses were the ones in the rocket with me. They were friendly, caring and attentive. They were the ones who watched me practice injecting myself with insulin.
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- I remember my classmates, who I barely knew at that point, stopping by to wish me well. It was often awkward, but I deeply appreciated their concern, except for the one who said, “Well, it’s not the end of the world.” I secretly graded him an F for empathy.
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- When my discharge day arrived–five days after my arrival–I remember how desperate I felt to leave. My parents were late in picking me up, and I paced my room like a caged animal, counting the seconds until they arrived.
Later on, as a medical student, intern, resident and attending, I would spend a lot of time in hospitals. A confession: I never liked being there. I came to think that if someone wanted to design a facility that would make sick people feel worse, a modern hospital would fit the bill: bright lights, painful blood draws and injections, sleep interrupted by beeping machines and middle-of-the-night temperature and blood-pressure checks, and the possibility of psychotic or medically unstable roommates.
Other attractive features included unpleasant smells and unhealthy food that patients often rightly complained about.
Each morning, as I walked into the hospital, I imagined the hospital of my dreams–an interior of soft contours, dim lights and soothing music. A place where the staff padded around in slippers and spoke in whispers. Where machines didn’t beep, but murmured, and where the food tasted fresh and nourishing.
Then I’d pass through the revolving doors and enter a harsher and brighter reality.
This month’s More Voices theme is Hospitalized. What’s your experience of being in the hospital–as a patient, a member of the hospital staff, a family member or a clinician?
Share your story using the More Voices Submission Form. For more details, visit More Voices FAQs. And have a look at last month’s theme: Immigrants.
Remember, your story should be 40-400 words. And no poetry, please.
We look forward to hearing from you. And thanks for being a part of the Pulse community.
Sincerely,
Paul Gross
Editor