This blog post is part 2 of my recovery series, detailing my experience healing from a pelvic fracture, ankle fracture and concussion that I got from a tractor accident. You can read all about the accident itself in part 1.
Prior to the accident, the longest I had stayed in the hospital was for two days when I had a bad case of food poisoning in Mexico.
I had been to the ER plenty of times in medical school with all my panic attacks. I would start feeling short of breath and convince myself that I had a pulmonary embolism and was imminently dying. (The symptom “fear of impending doom” is SO REAL). I talk all about my journey with panic attacks in this podcast episode.
Although I spent years of my life working in the hospital, I had never properly stayed as an inpatient in the hospital, until the accident.
After my ankle surgery, I was brought back to the wards and remained there as an inpatient for eight additional nights. During my week long stay, I gained so much perspective on what it’s like to be a patient. I also realized something I had always know on some level: hospitals are NOT great places for healing.
The hospital wasn’t ALL bad
Now, let me start off by saying, the hospital wasn’t all bad. There’s a certain rhythm and a cadence that happens on the wards.
Med rounds and breakfast at eight. Shortly followed by bath time (yupp, I’m talking sponge baths).
Doctors and their minions filtering through for rounds until lunch time.
Another med rounds and lunch at 12.
Visiting hours from 2-6.
Handover to the night team at 8.
There was a predictability and a flow to my days in the hospital. For the first few days, I didn’t mind this rhythm. It gave me something to get used to. It was grounding.
I was also fortunate enough to snag a bed right next to a giant window with fantastic views of a lush green field. I’m one of those people who needs endless amounts of natural light to fuel my mood, and was grateful to be bathing in sunlight
The hospital felt peaceful enough during the day. Even when it was busy, there was a calm, ordered busy-ness to it. Everyone had a job to do and was working together to make the system function.
But at night…. everything was different.
Chaos descended at night
At night, the hospital descended into chaos. This was partly due to the staffing shortage, and partly because of my delirious roommates.
When the day team went home, the NHS staffing shortage was glaringly obvious. I was on a unit full of highly dependent patients. Most of us needed assistance for even the most basic of functions (i.e. going to the bathroom). But some nights there would be one nurse available for 12 patients.
If I needed something, I would press my call bell and wait about 30 minutes for someone to respond. But I wasn’t the only one feeling the staffing shortage. patients all over the hospital were being under cared for. Loud cries of “help me” could be heard floating down the hallway.
One of the women in my room had a painful UTI and would wince in anguish every time she had to urinate. Because of her UTI she was experiencing some incontinence and couldn’t always make it to the bedpan. One night she was left sitting in her own urine for hours. Occasionally she would cry out for help, but eventually she just gave up all together.
Two other women in my room were struggling with “sun downing”, something that happens to elderly patients in the hospital. Essentially they would fall into a delirium at night and scream nonsensically in their disorientation.
The whole scene was spooky and disturbing. It felt like I was in a nightmare. A battleground. Surely this couldn’t be a hospital in the 21st century UK. It felt more like a field hospital in a warzone in the Middle East.
Hospitals are NOT nervous system friendly
After several nights of this chaos, I started to unravel. The residual trauma from the accident plus the unsettling environment of the hospital were keeping my nervous system on high alert. I didn’t ever feel quite safe enough to just relax and settle in. Even when I slept, I was on edge and jolted awake in panic.
This whole experience showed me: hospitals are NOT nervous system friendly. Meaning that, hospitals are not environments that allow your nervous system to easily shift from sympathetic to parasympathetic.
The constant influx of loud noises is jarring. Between all the beeps and boops of the machines, the screams from other patients, and the hushed frantic voices of the medical staff, there is always a lingering tension in the air. There’s an underlying sense of “something’s wrong” or “something’s about to go wrong”.
Hospitals are cold, sterile places. There’s not enough warmth. There are no fuzzy pillows, cozy blankets or plush carpets. It’s all tile floor, white sheets, plastic bedding, and latex gloves. While this absolutely makes sense from an infection control point of view, it creates a certain industrial atmosphere. You feel like just a cog in the wheel. A part of a machine. I felt a similar sensation when I worked in the hospital.
Hospitals are not great for your nervous system, which makes me think that hospitals are also not great for healing in general. I sensed that my nervous system needed to be calm for my healing to begin. I needed fresh air, sunshine, and peace and quiet so I could truly relax; so I could settle into safety. I needed to feel calm so I could process all of the trauma from the accident.
I know I’m not unique in this. I’m sure this is something that every patient struggles with: the need to feel calm and safe so they can heal.
I was constantly waiting
While being in the hospital it felt like my life was on hold. I had no control over my own schedule. I couldn’t make any plans. I was constantly waiting.
Waiting for the doctors to come by and tell me the plan. Waiting to hear back from the specialist hospital. Waiting to see if I needed another surgery or if I would be transferred. Waiting for PT to come work with me.
Everything was an endless waiting game. I was in a limbo. It felt really disempowering; like I couldn’t call the shots or make my own decisions. In many ways, I felt helpless.
I longed to be home where I had more control over my own environment especially the sounds around me. I wanted to close my door and be in the safety of having four walls surround me.
Taking my power back and breaking free
On my 7th night in the hospital, I hit a breaking point. I dreaded the chaotic and lonely nights on the wards, and begged the doctor on call to let me go home. I cried inconsolably when my friend had to leave at visiting hours. I was desperate to escape, but helplessly trapped at the same time. I was at the end of myself and could no longer rely on my own strength.
I surrendered, asked for help, and was overwhelmed by the love and support that I received. One of my friends arranged a zoom party. She sent a link out to all my friends. People were hopping on and off for hours, keeping me company until I fell asleep.
The next day, after receiving all this beautiful support, I felt stronger. I was able to release some of the disempowering stories and start to advocate for myself. I decided that I needed to be discharged, and put a plan in motion to make it happen. (You can listen to the whole story of my discharge drama on this podcast episode).
The following day, I was discharged from the hospital and felt so much relief. It was Friday, June 10th, nine days since the accident. I still had a long way to go until things were “normal” again. I couldn’t even start to put weight on my right foot for another 5 weeks. I still might need surgery on my pelvis. But driving away from the hospital and towards the farm, I felt lighter.
The air smelled so fresh. The sun felt so bright and warm. I was hopeful, that I could make it through my recovery after all.
I’d love to hear your thoughts. Have you ever been a patient in a hospital before? How did you nervous system handle it? Did you think it was an environment conducive to healing?
