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  At the hospital, I had done more investigations, in a civilized way .... probable! I was doped with Morphine so I did not realize it. Anyway, Calin told me that for the blood tests, I was repeatedly pricked by a girl on whose badge was written: Practicant, and I did not react in any way. I was taken blood pressure and then collected blood, in one of the rooms of a large hall, separated from each other by some blue plastic curtains and equipped with white hospital beds, on the wheels.

  Then I was led, in a wheelchair, by a smiling orderly, on a corridor, that seemed to me it will never be over, because of the windy blow, at the radiology room where my chest was scanned. There were some young women there... maybe kind! Back in the booth, where I was given a rather large container, similar of eggs boxes material, for the urine test.

  I, happily, did well, without the help of the staff, because the bathrooms are spacious, equipped with cleaning materials, wc, sink and reaching supports. Back in the booth, I sat on an armchair next to the bed, and Calin, who accompanied me all the time (except, into the toilet room), on a chair. 

  At one point, another sick person arrived, who, possibly had the same problem as me, because he was wailing horrific. He was accompanied by two women, and he was placed in a booth opposite to mine. I was given another two Paracetamol tablets to relieve pain and I was taken to a salon, to general surgery. Later I realized that everyone was placed, in a first phase there, probably, until a final diagnosis was made.

  A young Asian woman (maybe Philippines) was the only doctor who made us, me and Calin, a good impression, because she talked and encouraged us. I asked for some digestive biscuits, because the dinner time had passed, which she brought, along with partial news, about the results of the tests. Calin left, more tranquil, taking with him a list of things I needed, because I did not know how long I would be in hospital!

  Overnight, I was disturbed by all sorts of unsolicited actions of hospital staff. However, if I pressed the panic button for some good reason, no medical staff came to bed, in time, or useful!

  I was just asleep, or rather get numb, after the stress and fatigue caused by pain, when a black nurse, suddenly woke me up, to force me to dress a pair of ¾ synthetic socks, extremely tight, for the compression against thrombosis, because their stupid protocol said so. Nobody asked me how I had the blood circulation, so in a relatively short time, my legs numbed and frozen. Nervous, as hell, I went to the "reception" (every service, salon and clinic, in the hospital, have separate reception, as useless as the main one), where several orderlies, carers, nurses and receptionists "were shaming as they are working, as it is done, usually, at work" and I told them I do not wear anything that makes me sick! I removed the socks, with or without their permission, and almost I threw them toward the receptionist.

  Again I asleep, when an older doctor of Indian or Pakistani origin, who seemed to me, or was giving himself of importance, and was accompanied by several people (about 4), possibly students (though, I was not asked if I accept their presence), woke me up, through one of his attendants, for a brief control (i.e., jab the finger in my ass). Then he talked with his assistance, probably, about the symptoms and the diagnosis, and ignored me (the right person who really knew what I feel), maybe, because he assumed that I do not speak or understand English, as many other officials from different institutions do, before they know me. On each curtain, which held a door role of the booths, it was written that someone's coming must be announced, perhaps with the exception of the urgency (which could not be the case in that salon, where all the patients were moving on their own legs) - with a "knocking" in the curtain.

  During my short sleeping episodes, caused by pain or the intrusive occurrence of hospital staff, I think I frozen, so I asked for a second blanket. I was already covered with a synthetic mesh, probably with the role as a blanket. After a long wait I got the 2nd, which did not make any difference in my thermal comfort.

  Early in the morning, a young women, possibly doctor, came. I realized she was English, because of her arrogant attitude. I told her that I wanted to go home, that I wanted all the registrations on my medical records and that I felt better, even if I was still constipated. I also told her that I suppose, from what I read online, that I have kidney problems. She responded, aggressively, that the information on the internet would be exaggerated or so, and I should not read them anymore.

  By the way, I remember that a female neurologist, named Albu, at her private surgery, in Hunedoara, Romania, told me not to read so much on the internet, that I was talking only poppycock.

  Back. To my question about how to get information from my medical records, she replied that I would receive a letter with everything I should know. It appeared to me that she was trying to block my access to personal records, which bothered me. I insisted, so she became rather aggressive and despising. To my question about tests results and the condition of the internal organs, she told me that everything was ok and she left.

  I wanted to have an enema done, because it was already 4 days, since I was not exit out, but except the young Asian woman, who told me that I would be done one the following morning, if the laxatives that were given to me, at few hours interval, did not work, nobody took account of me. I decided that the only one to find the solution is me, so, at the three meals I asked: only 2 slices of toast with a little butter, then some boiled vegetables, and in the evening a cup of hot milk. I realized I was wrong with the milk and the second day, in the morning I started to ask for hot water.

  I had no way of analyzing, in detail, all staff actions, because of the pain I felt, of fatigue, because I was not sleeping for at least 2 nights, the effects of morphine, and the fact that they got me awake, from my numbness, causing me even more confusion.

  The food seemed rather healthy, if it was not accompanied by "gravy" (a sauce made from debris of meat preparation, in particular). In addition to cooked meals, there where, the usual, stupid sandwich triangles (twin in a plastic casserole, made out from, I do not know even now, what the hell is these "fluff" called bread, that sticks to your mouth as a wet cloth, with cheese that I think is actually soap, ham, a kind of pink rag and a lettuce sheet that seems a green plastic, totally wet and sticky, without taste, smell, color) . From the same warm window on wheels, were served both patients and hospital staff.

  The 2nd day was Sunday, and when Calin came, he told me, he could not sleep because of the stress caused by a situation that had not happened during my 7 years of residence in the UK. Of course, he brought me the whole wardrobe, a lot of unnecessary things I did not ask, but considering that he does not know what is useful to him, I passed over, easily! His concern for the situation I was in, gave me a state of quiet and I could think what I had to do, not to be "aggresed" by a medical system, merely commercial!

  I was transferred to a salon, without door, as they are all, on wheelchair, through windy blow; I was lucky I was wearing a hooded jacket. All the time, I was wearing the clothes from home. I did not get anything from the hospital. In the salon there were: a young patient girl who ate only chips, drank carbonated juices, and walked out to the lobby for a cigarette, an older woman than me, who seemed to ignore me and another, younger one, who was different, both by behaviour and in clothing (she had a laced, short dress).

  For dinner, I received 2 strange dishes from cans, probably because I was not planned in the hospital schedule. In a cup it was a dark, gray, ropy liquid (mushroom soup cream) and some kind of vegetable mix with chicken. The soup was somewhat edible, but the mix I could not eat it!

  At all time I was accompanied by Calin. It was on Monday, so he had to go to work. I had given him instructions regarding both Sunday's dinner and morning preparation for work. I do not know how he did, but he seems to have arrived to work, where he made "madhouse" because of the situation in which I and he were!

  The next morning a black nurse came. She had the medication for patients and did minor chores, such as taking blood pressure. I talked to her and said, among other things, I want to go home because I do not like the atmosphere and the doctors in the hospital. She told me that nobody likes doctors, so does the adjacent staff. She asked me where I was from and I told her, I was from Romania, but I have been living for many years in the UK.

  The different patient listened to the conversation, and after I retired to my bed, she addressed to me. She told me that she is artist and that she worked on a project in the sculpture camp at Magura, Buzau, Romania ((BUZAU TABARA DE SCULPTURA FILMARE AERIANA - . She said she liked both working with children, learning them to craft small objects, but especially the beauty of the places and the taste of the Romanian wine. Here I have to say that the British's favorite drink is wine, but in English shops there is no Romanian wine at all. I told her, she could find it, at the East European food stores.

  It seems, however, that the very little Brits, who accept to know the Romanians and see Romania, are not only surprised by the old age, the vastness and uniqueness of the Romanian culture and civilization (being convinced that there are no people in the world with a superior civilization, than theirs), but they become addicted on the natural beauty of the places and food taste.

  But let me come back. At my aggressive insistence, I was discharged in 20/11, after a female doctor saw me and asked how I felt. I told her I was ok, because I had receive so many painkillers that I could not feel the pain any longer. I took my luggage and I was taken to a wheelchair at the discharge salon, which had a separate space for incurable patients.

  I stayed there for several hours because I waited for Calin to come from work and collect me. On the 2nd day of hospitalization and discharge, I applied the hot water treatment, I mentioned earlier and which I accidentally remembered, so I saw the result "before" of leaving the hospital. One of the nurse, told me he did not know about this method (drinking a lot of hot water when you're constipated) and that he will remember it. 

  I wanted information from the nurse at the discharge on how to get copies after all the records bont to my contact with the hospital and because he did not know the procedure, I asked his young girl colleague to go to the main reception to ask. She returned with the information that I could personally get the copies from the reception office from Monday to Saturday until 17:00. I was surprised, so I asked again if the program is on Saturday and Sunday too and she told me that it was, but only Saturday. If I would not trust that I would find the office opened on Saturdays, I would went when I was still at hospital, to ask for the records, because I had plenty of time.

  I received the medical letter and the medication for home. The letter contains a stupid diagnosis (because it was obvious that I was constipated) and an assumption of hiatal hernia, based only on guess (assumption, because it had the question sign, as most official letters from any institution).

  Among other patients, whether in a good condition or not, was an over 70-year-old woman who was insisting to pull up the synthetic "circulation" socks. Her left leg was in a better condition, but the right, was swollen and almost livid. I was meddling like "the fly into milk", thinking I was doing well, and I told her, she should get those socks off. Very offended, she answered me that the doctor said she has to wear those damn stockings.

  At one point the dinner came: a tray, full of stupid sandwiches, biscuits with ginger, juices in cans, coffee and tea, and the usual snacks in plastic bags. Because there is no "specialist" (nutritionist, or case doctor) that guides the patients about a personalised diet, they all are eating as their own mind says. I asked for digestive biscuits because there was nothing else on the trays, which I could eat and hot water. My request amused some patients, even those with the same problem as me.

  I remembered that you should not even suggest to a British, a better thing for him, because he is dedicated, body and soul, to the belief that only the professional or the television can know what is right for him and that he only needs to execute, without judging. And then, "who am I" to be above the, so called Christian, phrase: "believe and do not search" and consequently knowing more than the specialist!? I DO NOT HAVE A BADGE WITH DOCTOR WORD ON IT, NEITHER A PAPER NOTIFYING THAT I GRADUATED A "DOCTOR SCHOOL"!

  Before or after the older woman, a man with a rare disease, called progressive supranuclear palsy, was brought into a disabled wheelchair. About him and Judy from the 1st Part (The Ambulance), I will write in a separate article, which will also include an episode about a Romanian experience of mine with ambulance.

  Ok, Calin and I left, determined to change my lifestyle, so that I will never have to deal with the ambulance and the hospital. However, my assumption that I have a kidney’s problem, was correct, because about two days after hospitalization, following a similar crisis, I removed a stone (and more, then) relatively large (about 5-6 mm).

  On Saturday 25/11, Calin drove me to the hospital. I was pleased to have been told that Saturday is a working day, because Calin is free from work only in w.e. and so I could bring my British passport, since I did not want any letter to mention my Romanian origin, as, in my opinion, this gives the opportunity to discrimination.

  At the reception I was told that the program is until 17 o'clock, but only from Monday to Friday. I felt that something bad happened in my head and I raised the tone, maybe too much. I said some things I only think, but I do not want to say with loud voice, in public. The receptionist insisted that she wanted to help me, but I did not understand how, by telling me the office open hours, it was a help. I said that giving me an inexpensive solution for transport or receiving then copies of personal records would have been what I wanted. At one point I saw her picking up the phone and I panicked, because it occurred through my head that she was calling someone, possibly from security, to appease me, so I suddenly lowered the tone. Apparently it was an external call.

  I left suddenly, very nervous and decided to complain, aught I did.

  UPSHOT: All the actions of the medical and paramedical staff were, or at least seem to me, directed, premeditated or enforced, for the same purpose: to make me addicted to the medical act (in straight meaning) and synthetic medication. I consider both of them, not only harmful for my health and finance, but even life-threatening, because they would make me a permanent client of surgeries, hospitals, pharmacies and even a possible organ donor.


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