My Time in the Ward

By Loretta

 

Our visit to Langkawi Hospital went very well. When we arrived at the Royal Langkawi Yacht Club on May 21, we immediately rented a car and went to the Emergency Ward. It was there that I learned that I had broken both my leg bones at the ankle, and would require surgery.

 

After going to and fro with the decision making, and after discovering that the orthopaedic surgeon had a very busy schedule, and after closely studying the x-rays and CT scan, we all finally agreed on an action plan. Then things moved quickly.

 

By 5:00 p.m. I was admitted to the hospital and fasting, in the hope that the busy surgeon would be able to fit me into his schedule. Darrel was kept busy gathering items for me, coordinating with the hospital staff, and doing all the other things required when first landing in a country.

 

By 3:00 p.m. the next day, May 22 (two weeks after the break), I was getting a spinal block and enjoying the company of nine professionals as they got down to the business of resetting my bones and installing a steel plate and two screws.

The incision on the other side had 13 stitches.

 

In the meantime, Darrel was scrambling, trying to deal with uncooperative banks both in Canada and Malaysia to secure enough cash to pay for the medical bills. It turns out we over-estimated the amount we would need, but we didn’t want to be caught short.

 

May 23:

Darrel got all the money we needed.

I was trained on my new crutches.

Darrel renewed his Malaysia driving license.

 

May 24:

I slipped and fell on the clean but wet hospital floor. I remembered my karate training and fell in a safe manner, but was shook up. Darrel slipped and fell (safely) trying to rescue me.

 

May 25:

Darrel talked with Expedia and managed to get a nearly-full refund for our air tickets out of Mauritius.

Darrel bought another phone so I could call him from the hospital bed if I needed anything. He actually called me, wondering where the microwave popcorn was.

 

 

Comfy and safe in a wheelchair, cleaning my teeth.

 

Three doctors and a nurse telling me I can go home.

May 27:

I got my plastic splint (softened, then moulded to my shape).

We paid the hospital bill – way more affordable than we thought.

By 2:00 – we’re back on CanKata. Good to be home, even in a marina.

 

May 28:

We bought a wheelchair, after I discovered that the long wobbly docks in the marina are just too much for me on crutches.

 

May 29:

Darrel turned 60. No cake, sigh. But we had a delicious meal at the marina restaurant – rack of lamb, apple pie with ice cream for dessert.

 

May 30:

Follow up visit to three doctors on the ward. They said all looked well.

 

June 5:

They took my stitches out. No infection – hurray.

 

 

 

Something I posted on FaceBook:

 

Cost to fix a broken leg in Langkawi, Malaysia (with top notch care):

(Canadian dollars)

Admittance to hospital - $17.

Six days hospital stay, with meals and meds - $142.

Lab work - $27.

Radiology and CT scan - $30.

Cardiology - $10.

Ortho implant - $100.

Two hours surgery - $135.

Crutches brand new - $27.

Wheelchair brand new - $95.00.

Dressings (of course brand new) - $88.

Personal care 24/7 by Darrel: PRICELESS.

 

The Women of the Ward

I had asked for a private room at the hospital, but there were none available. So I was put in a four-bed room, B9-12, although there was never a time when all four beds were filled. I was in B-11.

 

This sharing of a room turned out to be a very good thing in terms of teamwork and sisterly love. And it was an incredibly rich cultural experience.

 

My first “roomy” – B9 - was a 62-year-old Chinese-Malay woman who could speak no English, but her son and daughter could speak it very well. While Darrel was out-and-about taking care of business for us, the three of them would hover and ensure I was doing okay. My roomy had fallen and broken her wrist, and had her surgery just before me. They had put her under, and when she came back to our room she was pretty sick. I did my bit by pushing the call button.  We got pretty good at sign language for things like, “Look at that rain”, “What a beautiful morning”, “What a crappy meal”, “Boy is she a grouchy nurse”, “Crap – they’re waking us up at 4 a.m. again”, and so on. She left after a couple of days.

 

My second roomy – B12 - was only in for a short stay. She had just had her second miscarriage and was in for a CT scan. She is Muslim, with two daughters, and very badly wants a son. She will try again. She was pretty quiet but laughed at the antics of her old-lady roommates.

 

The third roommate was a very sad case.  The evening of my surgery, there was much hustle and bustle and then a stretcher came in with an adult patient for B-10. Special equipment was set up for the patient. I had just asked for a strong painkiller so dozed through much of her admittance process. I awoke at about midnight to see that B-10 was tossing and turning and groaning. Her mother was with her, rubbing her arms and head and trying to keep her from banging against the side of the bed. I could see that the patient was swollen all over, head to toe, and obviously in much pain. I still regret not pushing the call button. A nurse should have been there to help the mother calm her daughter. The two of them were up all night, one tossing and groaning through her pain, the other trying to settle her without any success.

 

In the morning, nothing much had changed except that the poor mother was now reduced to tears, hopelessly whispering calming words to her pain-riddled daughter. I went to the bathroom to get ready for the day, and after a few minutes returned to find that a full team had come to help the mother. The curtains were closed, but my roomy in B-9 could see what was happening. She started crying, pantomimed a swollen head, shook her head, and cried some more. Doctors ran in and out. One came in with a user manual! A few minutes later, they took the patient away, followed by her sobbing mother and a few other relatives who had shown up. We were never told what happened to our roommate.

 

B-10 was filled by a lovely Muslim lady named Saidah who prayed a lot. She would dress in a lovely white robe and head-dress, kneel towards Mecca, and say her prayers. Every time she ate, she offered up a toast in the direction of Mecca. Her husband would visit often, but usually read the paper or had a nap. Her sons came from time to time, and they were wonderful, doting sons. They brought her gifts, a cake, a gold ring, and they threw her a big party the day before her surgery. She was having a breast removed. The party was festive but there were many tears. Her sons could speak English and they asked me a lot of questions about my circumstances. One had a sweet 2-year-old daughter that kept us on our toes. They gave me a piece of cake.

 

B-12 was filled by Chinese-Malay teenager named Jasmine who had mangled her knee in a car accident. Her mother, who broke her shoulder in the same accident, stayed with her nearly round-the-clock. She became a care-giver to me too.

 

B-10 had a habit of leaving the bathroom sopping wet. B-12’s mom would wipe it up so I wouldn’t slip on my crutches. She bought me apples. She showed me photos of her family. She introduced me to her family when they came to visit her daughter. She gave me regular updates on her daughter’s progress (all this via older daughter #2 who could speak very good English). With daughter #2’s help, we had long discussions about traffic safety, Malaysian culture, and the role of Chinese in Malaysia. As I said earlier – it was a rich cultural experience being in Ward B9-B12.

 

Like me, Jasmine hated the catheters that they put in our arms to facilitate intravenous injection of antibiotics. Together, we would tease the nurses, suggesting that they were enjoying the pain they inflicted upon us when either injecting us or putting in a new catheter (I needed the original and two replacements). Both Jasmine and I were using crutches, and I think the stress on our arms caused the catheters to displace. Then our injections would miss our veins and cause our arms to painfully swell. More teasing of nurses required.

 

I left the hospital before Jasmine. The doctor wanted her to be able to bend her knee to a certain angle before he would let her go. She was gone by the time I went back for my follow-up visit on May 30. So was Saidah. Jasmine and I are now friends on FaceBook.

 

So with the aid of rich memories, an incredible husband, a splint, crutches, a wheelchair and the odd painkiller, I am healing well. Thank you all for your concern and good wishes. Loretta xx