From Jet Lag to Joy to Almost Landing in Jail

It has now been three weeks since I left the USA to live in Italy. Wow, what a wonderful and yet, challenging, rollercoaster ride.

Arpino is at the top of a small mountain. Everywhere you go, you are going UP and DOWN. The town with its tiny streets, lovely piazzas and stunning views is very pleasant. Every morning as I pull open my shutters, I watch the light begin to color the landscape. Usually, there is a fog below us in the valley.

Since Arpino is a small town, we often venture down to the two closest neighbors, Isola Del Liri, and Sora.  I particularly like Isola Del Liri.

And the waterfall in the center of town.

It was wonderful to be able to function in this time zone and to spend the days outside. However, after two days of fun, I began to feel I had the stomach flu. After three days and nights of feeling awful, I had moments where I thought I might die. On the fourth morning I awakened Sonseere and said I was totally dehydrated and needed to go to the hospital. And off racing up and down the hills we went.

To protect the wonderful and helpful people I met, I will not name this hospital. As an Italian national, I have free health care. I did not expect it to be the same as in the states. My expectations were quite low I thought. For this particular hospital, they were not low enough!

We drove up to the Ospedale on a dreary day and, from the outside, it looked a bit like a jail.

After about 20 minutes, number 25 was called. Sonseere helped me walk to the door where I was to enter. By this time my mouth was so dry my tongue was nearly stuck to the top of my mouth. As she tried to walk me through the doorway, she was verbally assaulted by Nurse Ratched (my name for this person) and pushed back.  Then Nurse Ratched slammed the door in Sonseere’s face and walked rapidly away. She turned around when I was about 100 feet back and waved me toward her. Her dialect was so deep that I could not understand a word she said.

I told her, non parlo bene in Italiano, mi dispiace. (I don’t speak Italian well, I’m sorry.). She shook her head, pointed at a gurney in the room and shoved me down on it.  Next, she drained me of blood. I swear it was a gallon. Of course, I was feverish and nervous and had no idea what was happening. After she got the blood she needed she gestured for me to leave this room.

Finally, a man dressed in green down to his shoes called “Ricci”. I said Ecco mi qua, Here I am. He said something but all I understood was caminare, to walk. I said, Si, yes, and off we went out of this room. Again, I had not talked to a doctor and had no idea where we were going. But it was a long walk and I could not keep up with him. When we arrived half way across the hospital, he gestured for me to sit.

About 5 minutes later, a very nice woman called my name and gestured for me to follow her. I walked around the corner and entered an X-ray room. I was there for a chest X-ray.

Before my IV drip was done, another aide came out of that little room carrying a smaller IV bag. She asked if I was allergic. I told her yes and she rolled her eyes. She told me I had pulme and tapped her chest. I needed an antibiotic. Luckily, I could take what she carried. And she said I could have a bed now. I actually teared up.

It took the IV drip at least an hour or so to drip out completely. Or, as I was counting time, at least 5 more catheter tortures. About that time, they brought Mrs. B to the Torture Chamber, as I called it. She never made a sound.

I said I still wanted to leave. What was the alternative? While she went back to speak with someone I had visions of nightmares all night as beds came and left the Torture Chamber, dripping, screaming, crying for their mothers.

I should have read the 2 pages she gave me. There was no prescription! After talking with the staff at the pharmacy and convincing them that we knew it was not their fault, we asked if they would please call the hospital and they did. They said she would write a prescription. It was now close to 7pm and the pharmacy closed at 815pm.

I waited another 5 to 10 minutes and then she invited me in, asked why I did not have my own doctor. I told her I had only arrived in Italy 2 weeks past. She told me I should have stayed in hospital. Then she wrote the prescription and tossed it at me. Then said Goodbye.

As we exited in shock at her behavior, I noticed about 15 men in one room in beds, all talking to one another, and, perhaps 5 women in another room. It was like a social gathering. The women’s beds were so close two women were holding hands. I am so glad I was able to leave.

I have since been told that we chose the worst hospital around. They are not all like this one. I feel confident that my experience could have been better in another hospital with better staff and less crowding. I am sure they are all overworked too.

Right now, I am still on the road to recovery. And I have paid nothing for all the time in the hospital or for the purchase of the shots of antibiotics. I did hire a local nurse to come in and poke my back side. It was worth it.

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