The Best-Laid Plans

Funny how things never quite go according to plan and how often what we try so hard to avoid can turn out, in the end, to be for the best. This happened to me recently. I left home just over three months ago to travel to the US to spend much-needed time with my children and grandchild. The pandemic and resulting isolation on the farm had wreaked havoc on my psyche and I desperately needed to feel the reassuring love of my family in person. I also wanted to provide support to my daughter after James and her had spent a year and a half in lockdown with a toddler and both of them had started new jobs. As it turned out, my physical well-being unexpectedly took a turn for the worse and instead of me providing support to others, I landed up being the one cared for.

About a month after arriving here, I woke up in the middle of the night with a sore tummy and back ache. It lasted a couple of hours; I took some Gaviscon and went back to sleep. The second time it happened, I did what a lot of us do, I consulted Google. Since I’ve suffered from reflux for years, the diagnosis I came up with was gastritis. I cut back on spicy food, took antacids and carried on. The third attack, which now included nausea and diarrhoea, took me 4 days to recover from. After much badgering from Alex (who was visiting from Miami) and Kiera, I agreed rather reluctantly to see a doctor. The doctor recommended an ultrasound scan of my gallbladder. If it wasn’t gallbladder, she said, it would be stomach related. Well, there is nothing quite as arrogant as stupidity! I ignored the doctor’s recommendation and went back to Google, and this time I decided on a peptic ulcer diagnosis. I started taking Omeprazole, an over-the-counter proton-pump inhibitor, and continued with the antacids.

The fourth and final attack happened two weeks later, on Thanksgiving morning. I couldn’t get out of bed; I was in pain and feeling extremely nauseous. By now, I had lost quite a bit of weight and was starting to feel a tad worried, not only about my health, but also about the cost of any medical treatment I might need. On the Sunday after Thanksgiving, when my pee turned ominously orange and my skin and eyes a sickly shade of yellow, the kids decided enough was enough and took me to the nearest emergency room at the Shady Grove Medical Centre.

I was kept in the emergency ward from about 1:00pm to midnight while scans and tests were done and doctors consulted. Kiera was allowed to wait with me and that was a blessing because it was a very stressful time. Eventually a bed became available in the hospital and I was admitted. All this time Kiera was working on getting authorisation for tests and treatment from my travel insurance, which was proving to be very difficult. Made more so by it being a Sunday and the 7-hour time difference. Eventually Peter got hold of someone in SA and, after throwing all his toys out of the cot, got the necessary authorisation.

The long and the short of it is I had an inflamed gallbladder (cholecystitis) and elevated liver enzymes. The solution was to remove the gallbladder laparoscopically and monitor the liver for possible damage. Fortunately, with the gallbladder gone, my liver function returned to normal and I was discharged a couple of days later feeling like a new person and a bit bewildered that I no longer had one of my organs!

My experience at the Shady Grove Hospital in Rockville was completely different to what I imagined it would be. I had preconceived ideas about American health care based on a lifetime of watching TV hospital dramas. Yes, the emergency room experience was not so great (10 hours of waiting on a gurney in a cubicle) but once I was admitted, I was well looked after and treated by everyone with such kindness and consideration. The nursing care during my stay was fantastic – all the nurses were friendly, gentle and attentive. They loved my accent and I felt I was being treated a bit like royalty. The hospitalist, whose face was obscured by a mask but who had the most compassionate eyes, came to see me at midnight and mentioned that I might need an MRI (I had already had an ultrasound and a CT scan). At that point I had no insurance authorisation and was quite clearly distressed about the expense. He was so sympathetic and assured me that no-one was denied medical treatment if they couldn’t afford it. He said he would arrange for one of the hospital’s case workers to help us with the insurance. I was also told by a nurse that they treat a lot of patients who don’t ever settle their bills and that I shouldn’t worry about the cost! I can’t imagine a private hospital in SA providing that sort of care.

On the day of my op, the case worker came by to help Kiera with the travel insurance after telling us that South Africans are just the nicest people! I was so grateful that both Kiera and Alex were allowed to visit me in hospital during this time and that they were included in the consultations with the surgeon. The surgeon, Dr Brodsky, deserves a special mention. He reassuringly explained the procedure to us, even drawing pictures so that we knew what to expect. He made me feel very safe in his hands, no mean feat since my two previous experiences of surgeons and surgery were not exactly positive ones. Which is probably the reason why I was so loath to seek medical help in the first place.

I have definitely been humbled by this experience and my trust in the practice of medicine restored. I have promised the kids that my days of Googling medical issues and self-diagnosis are over and whatever ailments I am afflicted with going forward, I shall first consult a doctor and not assume that Google and I know better.

It’s been just over three weeks since the op; I am pretty much fully recovered and feeling better than I have in a long time. As advised, Kiera kept me on a strict no-fat diet for the first two weeks which required a lot of planning on her part. However, I’ve since resumed my normal diet and all seems well.

At the end of the day, the thing that terrified me the most (being ill in America) turned out to be not so bad after all. I got the best medical care and to top it all I had both Kiera and Alex here to look after and support me, as well as Isla, whose hugs and snuggles were just what the doctor ordered.

lights in the park

Uncle Alex and Isla at the park

our American family