The Art of Pain (True Story)

7. A Long Recovery

[Tianjin First Central Hospital - Level Seven, March 2015]

Just as the nurses were about to wheel my bed into a two-bed recovery ward, I heard a familiar voice. 

"Hey, yo!" My brother Darroch stood at the door, grinning. I couldn't help but smile, elated to see my family again.

Since was no advanced patslide equipment like in Singapore to move patients from bed to bed effortlessly, I had to slowly wriggle my body slowly to push myself from my trolley bed to the ward bed. 

Darroch helped to snapped some photos of me in bed to update my family on my progress. Zixia also came by to visit me, making sure I was comfortable because I could not move, and there was a temporary catheter stuck into my neck as a precaution.

The rules in China's hospitals were super relaxed. There were no fixed visiting hours - anyone could enter the ward at any time and do anything they wanted.

My neighbour was a local elderly patient. Her animated helper brought a wok to cook in the room, not caring how the noise or smoke affected others. She cut her ingredients on the window ledge, ignoring any hygiene standards. What perplexed me was the excessive amount of salt she poured into the patient's dishes, which was too unhealthy. 

After three days of fasting, I was finally allowed to eat. I was curious to taste the hospital's food, but none of the nurses served food during lunch time. 

"This hospital doesn't serve food!" Our neighbour's helper told us in a strong northern Chinese accent. "Go to the pharmacy and buy soft porridge!" She showed us a sample packet that she bought. It had a similar texture to baby food for easy digestion. 

We were shocked at the lack of meal service. Since the pharmacy had closed for the day, my brother could only buy the ingredients the next morning, leaving me without food for another day. I wriggled in bed for hours from gastric pain, unable to sleep. 

The next morning, Darroch arrived with the porridge he cooked in our hotel. I could only swallow a few mouthfuls. Having not eaten for four days straight, I suffered from an overactive gastrocolic reflux. The food went straight through my body, resulting in an urge to poop immediately. 

In the end, Darroch decided that it was better to hire a local female caregiver to take care of me. We welcomed two retired nurses - one for daytime, one for nighttime. They helped me put on adult diapers for the next two days since I could not walk to the washroom. 

Every morning, my ward doctor checked my heartbeat and lungs. He also monitored my daily records of urine output and blood pressure. Our consultations usually lasted less than two minutes. 

The nurses barely came into my ward. They merely drew the curtains, dispensed medications, and drew blood when necessary. I was given twenty-one medicine pills in total, with no understanding of what each one was for because the descriptions were in Mandarin. 

By the fourth day, my back ached badly because I hadn't been moving in bed. 

"It's time to get moving!" My caregiver encouraged me to move around to improve my blood circulation and speed up my recovery. I thought she meant stretching in bed, but she told me to get off the bed. 

Despite my fear, I slowly sat up at the edge of the bed. With Darroch supporting one arm and my caregiver holding the other, I managed to stand up, my legs feeling wobbly at first. I walked very slowly - one step, two steps, three steps - and reached the door. It was a milestone, considering how I hadn't walked for four days! 

"Take a few more steps out of the room," my caregiver encouraged me further. 

My brother released his grip on me at the door, leaving my caregiver to hold me. I moved at a snail's pace, but managed to take twenty more steps into the corridor before my legs began to feel tired. It was a milestone nonetheless!