Into the Bowells of the NHS... Part 2

Before reading the second instalment of my near death experience, I suggest you read part 1.

So there I was, stuck in a hospital bed against my will with nothing to keep me company expect the throbbing pain in my chest and the disease-ridden patients that surrounded me. I slept fitfully that night, plagued by bad dreams and the persistent coughing of the critically ill.

In the morning I was filled with a renewed vigour. The chest pain had subsided and if I were to be discharged early I might just make it for the Citizenship test (I later discovered the test to be incredibly easy. Even if I wrote with my eyes closed and took a nap midway I would still have aced it). This feeling of hope carried me through the morning, at least until around 9 am when I realised no doctor was coming anytime soon.

When a doctor did come, he explained to me I had suffered from a "spontaneous neumothorax".

"What that means is," the doctor explained helpfully, "air has gotten between your rib cage and your lungs. So this air pushed against your lungs which is why it hurt. Do you understand or should I repeat to you again?"

The doctor maintained his patronising tone for the duration of my stay.

"We call it spontaneous because it just happened. We don't know the cause."

Oh thanks Doc. Tell me something I don't know.

He then checked my breathing and started muttering "that's odd...". It must have slipped his mind to explain to me because he quickly hastened out the door, leaving me thoroughly bewildered and worried. He came back with a troupe of doctors to examine me.

"Listen to what's odd with his chest," the main doctor proclaimed. It was at that point I realised that my doctor was a consultant (a post I aspire to obtain one day) and the other doctors were his registrars (the trainee consultants). So basically the case was so fascinating/disturbing that the consultant dragged three other doctors from their precious life-saving work just to take a look at me. This did not bode well for my health and I was beginning to feel like a circus freak.

After much frantic discussion and standing around in my hospital nightgown, feeling like a fool, they decided it was best I stay for a CT scan.

The news was a real sucker punch and I was becoming frantic. What if I were to stay another day? Then another? Who knew how long I would need to wait for this CT scan. And what about my missed exams? Would I need to frantically revise to fit them into the remaining days of my exam timetable or not do them at all and not get the confidence boost I badly needed?

The place was resembling a prison more and more everyday; The food was barely edible, the people were miserable, there was no freedom or entertainment... In fact, it was worse then prison. At least there you'd be able to exercise and have a shower every now and then. I was confined to my bed and hadn't washed in days. Of my stay in hospital not one person brushed their teeth or washed in any way whatsoever.

As I waited for my CT scan that day, the long hours of boredom were really getting to me. If it weren't for The Religion (the book not the belief), a copy of The Times and the senile fellow who kept engaging me in incoherent conversation I would have gone insane. I spent many hours playing Snake II on my mobile, trying to beat the high score my friend set five years ago (that's what boredom reduced me to).

When the doctors finally came back to check up on me, after an eight hour wait, it was decided that I wasn't to have the CT scan. Instead I was to be "under surveillance" for another night.

When I heard the news I almost burst into tears.