Last Monday got off to a bad start. I woke up and swung my legs to the floor. A burning pain enveloped them on the first step. I leaned into the wall with my hands and stumbled into the shower. My legs were like rubber. I was afraid of falling through the shower door. I willed my legs to fold so they would cushion the inevitable collapse. I sort of slithered out of the shower onto floor and tried to stretch my legs. Nothing helped. When Cheri walked in, I was squirming and writhing like a night crawler being lanced by a fish hook. My determination to revive the legs waned and fear set in.
Cheri, a nurse by profession, was in action though I didn't know it because. I had passed out and stopped breathing for about 60 seconds, teeth clenched, arms stretched down my side and hands fisted. For all of that time she was shouting at me, slapping me around, not to correct my misdeeds, but to wake me up. I still have facial bruises. When I woke, I she helped me into the bathtub. The pain subsided and I was able to stand while Cheri dressed me. (Clean underwear is essential if you think you're going to a hospital.) Cheri called for an ambulance.
In South Africa getting an ambulance is a hit or miss proposition. She called the number in the phone book, was given another number to call. No one answered We decided to drive to a hospital. I had the presence of mind to grab the brain MRI I had from several months ago. (It came in handy later.) We took off down our street. Can you say, Formula One? In route, we made a decision on hospitals - the closest one - 3.9 kilometers, 8 minutes to Medi-Clinic. She wheeled our little Toyota into the casualty (ER) entrance, jumped out, stuck her head in the door and called for a wheelchair. I opened my door, took one step, bumped into a gurney and didn't touch the ground for hours. Of course, she was telling the ER staff what to do and how fast to do it. They were indeed quick, amazingly so. I don't know if it was because of the curly-haired, bossy American or thought she was a new EMT. The truth is they were excellent The team was well-oiled, calm, focused, and caring.
Within about 45 seconds, I lost count of the number of times I was poked. There must have been 4-5 people clinging to some body part. Cheri had left. I learned later that she was in a semi-meltdown, being comforted by the hospital team.
An hour later, she stuck her head through my curtain and asked if I wanted any visitors. As a red-blooded, self-sufficient, American boy, I thought it wasn't necessary, but this was not the time for pride. The curtains parted, and in walked four members of the seminary staff. I should not have been surprised. We work in a seminary that we call the Wonderful Village of SMMS. These are people of faith whose mission is the care of others. That said, the chaplain cracked that I didn't have to go through all that to get a day off. There were other greetings, a short prayer, then they left. I insisted that Cheri also leave because of her problems with latex. She went to the seminary and cried on a lot of shoulders. I was stable and she needed to let down. Could not have gone to a better place.
For awhile things were quiet as the team tended to others. Once in awhile someone would check on me, listen, count - all those things they do. One lady came in with 5-6 pieces of paper and laid them on my toes. They were the results all those pokes. She then left without comment. Another uniform appeared to wheel me to X-Ray. She was interested in the six pieces of titanium in my lower back. No sooner had I returned from that x-ray than another gurney driver took me to the MRI room, a place I had visited before. Not long after the Dr. in charge, Dr. Sewgoolam, told me that things were so far looking good. They still weren't finished.
I was moved to "Hi-Care, that's South African for ICU. I it wouldn't be so bad to spend the night, in a calm and quiet place. Silly me.
This new team started by putting me in the oh so elegant standard issue obligatory "gown". Mine was an off-the-shoulder number, accessorized gadgets, tubes, and multicolored wires. Have you ever wondered what health care aficionado came up that name?
The neurologist , Dr. Yacoob, stopped by to clobber me with his little hammer. I tried to get the TV to work without success. I had "dinner". I'll spare you the description. Besides, I had other issues.
By now, I had been receiving a saline drip for about 10 hours. I wasn't permitted to leave my bed. But my bladder had other ideas. One the second request the Nurse brought me the jug and let me stand up. My back was turned toward the door to the room. Regardless of the audience, I was going to stand there until I was done. Feeling much lighter, I was ready to go to sleep. Unfortunately, one of my "roommates" was suffering from dementia. She said no to everything, tried to pull out her lines and get out of bed, and swore at the nurses. The neurologist came back with his diagnosis and the good news that the MRI showed no additional damage. Better yet, having witnessed the poor woman across the room, he ordered an industrial strength sleeping pill. . . . . for me. It was effective. Monday was over, or I thought so until the cardiologist, Dr. Chen, came in to ultrasound my heart and arteries. He is Chinese with very limited vocabulary. Not much was said. It was 10pm.
Tuesday morning, Cheri put on her power clothes and came to my room. Once I finished breakfast, she bullied the staff into arranging all the things that would have to be done to have me released. The new team of nurses had probably never seen anyone quite like her. She made phone calls, to doctors, staff, organized the head nurse in ICU on what to do to "spring" me. 90 minutes later, she ordered a wheelchair and took me to the exit. She signed me out ,and 8 minutes later, I was home where I slept the rest of the day.
Thursday morning, I went back to work. Morning chapel was under way. As we walked in, some spontaneous applause broke out from the back of the chapel. Everyone I passed welcomed be back. Eyes turned our way. Some waved.
It was unexpected and made me recall where we had been in our work here. For almost two and 1/2 years, we corrected, pushed, challenged, and seminarians who usually fought back. There was a tension between us and most of them. But Thursday morning was different. Something other than a short hospital stay was in play. It will take some time to put it together, but it seemed like a major moment in our journey. The curtain of suspicion and distrust had been lifted. We we would be forever a part of the fabric of SMMS.
Note: I want to pay tribute to the ER staff . They are people from far different cultures. Most of the medical staff at Medi-Clinic is Indian. The rest are black Africans. I think all of the doctors are Muslim except probably the Chinese cardiologist. In other words, it was an international group dedicated to the same thing as others around the world. We are all people and we all need to be cared for. This raises a whole other subject. I won't go into it here, but it's explained well in the story of the good Samaritan.
