A Trip to the Hospital, Polish Style

I wish I could say my trip to a Polish hospital was for curiosity's sake, or for an educational field trip with the medical school, but it wasn't. As I mentioned in a previous post, I had a miscarriage in January and after four months of my body not returning to the normal, I finally visited a gynecologist here in Lublin. She recommended I go to the hospital asap. 

You'd think that would be some pretty straightforward advice, but it's surprising how such things can be so complicated in a different language. Let's just say that my tears of frustration were completely justified after searching for the szpital for over an hour and then having the non-English speaking receptionists dismiss my inquiry about the hospital even when I desperately pointed to the sign for szpital that was just down the hall. That's when I decided to just go home and let my husband help me with this one. (Since he knows about 20 words of Polish in comparison to my 5 :)

Two hospitals, four days, and six needle sticks later... 

I found myself in the gynecological and obstetrics ward, twiddling my thumbs until the next morning when I would go to the surgery room. I was hoping they'd let me go home and just come back the next morning since I didn't even have a book to keep me occupied, but they suggested I stay so I could reserve my spot. 

And where was my spot? In a room with three pregnant women. There's nothing like having your lack of motherhood magnified than by spending three days surrounded by newborn babies and pregnant women who are having their babies' heartbeats amplified by a Doppler monitor every few hours. It was so sadly pathetic that I couldn't help but be amused by the whole situation.

With my dad being a doctor, I've never had cause to be admitted to the hospital. EVER. So I don't really know how the hospital thing works. But even I could tell this was no American hospital when a robed Catholic priest came into our room that first evening. You should have seen the respect those 9 month fat pregnant women showed, huffing and puffing as they hoisted themselves up in bed to join in prayer and sacrament before dinner.

Dinner… The doctors asked me to fast the next morning before the surgery, but I think they wanted to guarantee I did so based on that dinner. The plate consisted of two slices of bread, a chunk of butter, and a cold can of something very smelly. One of the women who spoke English saw me peering into my can and explained, “it's fish.” 

Oh! How....exotic!?...

I sifted around the red sauce a little and then saw them. Three or four whole silvery fish about two inches long buried in the sauce. I managed to eat almost half the can by poking and shredding so it looked more like tuna fish (with silvery flecks of skin) spread on my bread. Not bad, I guess.

After surgery the next day, my lunch included liver, mashed potatoes and beets. I have no opinion on the taste this time because I lost it all after only one bite of mashed potatoes. Apparently the anesthesia was very upsetting to my stomach. I lived off of my glucose IV for two full days. Honestly, I don't know how there was anything left in my stomach, but that first day I threw up three times. My poor roommates... 

But really, my blessed roommate! I've heard some Americans complain that the Polish people are not super friendly. And I can agree that upon first encounter many of them are quite reserved (I fit into this culture great.) But when you ask a question or when they can see you need help, I am continually amazed by their kindness and generosity. My roommate, Evonna, was the most angelic woman I have ever met. She spoke a decent amount of English and even the nurses relied on her to translate everything they said to me. She got my food when I couldn't get out of bed and washed my dishes after meals. She gave me her blanket to throw up in before anyone told me about the red button to call the nurse. (Oops.) 

And then there was the bed pan...

After my first surgery, the radiologist told me I needed to stay in bed and not bend my right leg. The one exception was if I needed to use the bathroom I could call a nurse. (Honestly I needed to use the bathroom all day, at least that was the feeling the surgery gave to my bladder. Worst form of torture!) But by evening I really did need to empty my bladder. It seems that communication between doctors and nurses wasn't the best, because the nurse refused to let me stand and instead brought me a bed pan. I was getting desperate at this point, so Alex left to hunt down the doctor on call for the night. His response? "No, no. It's because of the medicine. Your wife needs to sleep. She can get up in the morning." Wow, really? Just sleep through it? I'm glad he wasn't my doctor! 

Anyway, Evonna reassured me that it was fine; totally not a big deal to use the bed pan. Turns out she had never used a bed pan before either. hahaha! But she shuffled over to my bed and helped me keep  my leg straight while pulling down my pants. 

Clearly, one of the major differences between Polish and American medicine is the lack of privacy as a priority here. It wasn't just in my hospital room with the other women. Even when I was sitting at a desk filling out paperwork that first day, the door just feet away from me was open on a woman moaning during labor. And for ultrasounds, the doctors just sat right next to me while I bent to pull on and off my pants, with a clear view to the hallway anytime another doctor popped in. 

As crazy as the whole experience was, I don't want to sound ungrateful. We were actually very fortunate to get to one of the best hospitals in Poland. While the nurses and receptionists even at this hospital spoke very limited English, the doctors spoke fluently, with most of them having lived in the United States for a time. And most importantly, the first surgery I underwent, a type of uterine artery embolization, is performed only at this one hospital in Poland and only at a handful of other hospitals throughout Europe. The doctor told us that before the surgery, the ultrasound looked like "Las Vegas at night," meaning the vascularization was way too colorful and I could basically bleed to death if they didn't stop the blood flow with this surgery. So grateful for modern medicine in Poland!

Other than my giant green and blue bruise on the inside of my hip I'm recovering nicely. :)

Best way to spend your first day home from the hospital? Attempting a quick sketch of the flowers you received at the hospital of course!!!

(Blame any and all problems on the anesthesia :)