16th of May

I am exhausted. I’ve visited three hospitals in the last 24 hours, struggling to have a surgery done.

I was alarmed because after almost one week taking antibiotics, the pus had merely moved from my cheek and neck to a small area inside my ear, causing a painful abscess. I was worried to see it burst or that my ear canal happened to be blocked.

Since we had spent the day in Kent and were still there, Anderson suggested me to go to Canterbury’s hospital when I started worrying about my ear. We waited to see the doctor and then be told that the ENR surgeon could not operate before the morrow.

The train to London stopped in London Bridge Station, hence we went directly to Guy’s and St-Thomas Hospital, which is next to the station. There was no Emergency and Accident Department over there. We rather go to the other part of the hospital located on the South Bank at the entrance of Westminster’s Bridge.

Though, if you cross Westminster’s Bridge in mid-day, you may see tourists picturing the floor of the bridge: they are starring at the hundred penises drawn through the shade of the structure.

Anderson waited with me at the hospital.

I had a blood test. I first didn’t want to watch. Then I glanced at the blood being extracted from my arm, so unnatural, so horrible. The nurse commanded me to return to my chair to wait, but when I stood up, I felt so weak; I had to wait till I found my balance.

The doctor seemed sensitive to my tears and explained that what happened to my ear now was a normal process caused by my antibiotics – which sounded positive to me, since it meant I had not too much neglected my medication. He commanded me not to eat after 3AM and not even to have water after 7AM in case I would need anaesthesia for the surgery tomorrow. A tiny surgery: a quick drainage of the pus and a cleaning.  He sent me back home to wait for their call.

Left the hospital at 1 AM. Came back at 11 AM. No call.

The receptionist sincerely apologized: “. The ERN surgery department is not in this hospital anymore.”

I had to register again, wait again, see the doctor again. I was still in tears, fed up... bloody fed up.

When I met the doctor, I was determined to have the surgery done today and to fight for it.

“- It seems like a communication problem happened.

-          It seem like this is going to burst and I need this surgery today.” I answered

“- In fact the specialists think you may have to take another type of antibiotics in order to avoid the operation.

-          I have already seen two doctors and they both said I’d need the surgery the earliest.

-          Mh... But this surgery will not be done to day. You will have to meet the specialist first and they will give you an appointment in the next few days.

-          I am not coming back tomorrow. I am going to take a nipple and do it myself.”

I was upset, crying, but quite convincing.

He gave me a letter, sent me to the ERN Department in London Bridge. When the doctor came to meet me in the waiting room, had a look at my ear and claimed: “Ah, yes, I think we could do a quick drainage, then you will feel much better...” tears of relief flew from my swollen eyes.

The surgery was painful, moreover the injections of anaesthesia through my cheek, all around my ear: so painful. I was weak and exhausted but it was bearable, I survived.

Three hospitals. 14 hours without food. 8 hours without water. So much tears. So much time wasted.