Forum: Author Hangout

Can anyone top this tale of woe?

My front door was stuck when I tried to leave home this morning. It has been difficult for a while. I thought it was just wood expanding because of a particularly heavy rainy season. Why would the builder of the house have bothered shaving the door in anticipation of that? They'll be long gone before that causes any noticeable problems.

I pulled the handle with both hands. The - metal - handle broke off in the hands of this 130-pound weakling.

I went upstairs, intending to go out on the balcony I never use and jump down. The door is locked. There is no key ... there are no keys in any internal locks in the house. I don't know if I was ever given any. None of the keys I can find now even fit in that lock.

I go to the other end upstairs. There is a skylight there, and a ladder. I hope I can get back up the same way get down to ground level across my neighbours' roofs - otherwise I might need a sledgehammer to get back in!

Half-way up the ladder it spontaneously changes shape from a straight line to two halves set at a right-angle. The injury to the ankle which bore my full weight while landing on an irregularly shaped metal object (a ladder rung) at the end of my free-fall of about 1.5 metres was not severe.

I go back to the front door. It has a narrow glass panel set in it. I smash it. I pull at the door with a solid two-handed grip. It does not budge.

I peer into the mechanism of the lock. This lock does not have a bolt for locking and a latch that can be opened by turning a handle. To prevent it blowing open when unlocked, it has a rolling-barrel mounted on some spring-loaded mechanism. Why would the builder bother spending a few extra rupiah on a lock with stainless-steel internal parts? They'll be long gone ...

Finally, I open the door by pulling while prising* the rolling barrel open with a knife My long-term solution for the rolling barrel is to duct tape it open. I expect a difficult moment when I eventually move out of this leased house. The owner is sure to think I should pay for repairing a door handle I broke.

* AmE apparently uses to pry when BrE uses to prise.

Can anyone top this tale of woe?

Nope, you win. :)

I pulled the handle with both hands. The - metal - handle broke off in the hands of this 130-pound weakling.

Why didn't you call your landlord at this point?

I wouldn't mind if I thought things like this only happened to me once in a blue moon.

FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLED

I knew I was in for a bad day ... but not this bad.

I'm typing this at 9 minutes to midnight. I returned from the Emergency Department of the local hospital not long ago. [I've had diarrhoea for too long to not indicate something is amiss. Otherwise, no symptoms except extreme demotivation, which is often normal for me.]

My Leukocytes were 25% above the maximum of the normal range. That is good news. There is an explanation that should be curable. Still, the chances seem high I'll need to spend at least five days in a hospital, on a drip, because drug-resistant bacteria locally are so prevalent. Not REALLY a biggie.

My diastolic blood pressure was through the roof. I've had several readings like that lately. The systolic is still normal. This is totally effing terrifying. :(

Thus endeth this day.

I was in Aussieland and had a Ross type experience. We had a bit of a shower and the water was coming under the door of our ground floor room whilst I had to go somewhere outside. Door has swollen so the handle just pulled off in my hand. Try the window which opens so I was jumping out when along comes the warden! Interesting conversation as to my real intentions!

Same Cairns hostel and there is this young bit of fluff with a foreign accent - turned out she was a nurse in the same hospital department I routinely attended in France!

Another time way out in the boondocks in France. I was there alone working on a scaffold perhaps 10 feet up when a section "broke". I woke up on the floor!

I did a Number 7 exam (even before he wrote Second Chance) as taught at school; legs 2 OK, toes - work OK, arms 2 OK, fingers seem to work OK, spinal cord? ouch but lower limbs work. Eyes? Hell! I can't even see my eyes but they are a bit funny, ergo probably have concussion. Rang a friend to collect me so I could stay under observation for 24 hours.

Then hell broke loose - they rang my wife in England who does not approve of my being injured! Hell! - I was trained how to deal with any possible injury back in 1950's - I didn't have radiation poisoning so a Lee Enfield was not required - everything else is straight forward.

There are a few others, one including multiple deaths, for another time

StarFleet Carl wrote:

So ... shit happens. Did it kill you? No? Then laugh it off and learn from it

Absolutely right

This post is not just another gripe about my circumstances. The OP was. With that I was trying to find as much humour in the situation as possible as my way of coping with it.

This post is intended to save your life should you ever find yourself in a third-world country and in dire need of treatment at a hospital.

While they'd never be state-of-the-art, the training of doctors, facilities, and medical supplies are generally adequate to treat most problems. The thing you really need to watch out for is local customs short-circuiting the delivery of care in the way Westerners are accustomed to.

One problem I constantly encounter in Indonesia is it does not even occur to locally trained doctors that there is any reason to tell me what their findings are, the significance of test results, their conclusions about my condition, or their decisions on my treatment.

Seriously, they think "proper medical treatment" is they examine you and ask questions, order tests, make the decision, then tell you, "Take this ... times per day for ... days." Sometimes they pronounce, "You need this surgery," and trust me, they will feel somewhat affronted if you ask them to justify that conclusion.

These are some anecdotes ...

At the Emergency Department at my local hospital a few days ago ... When the doctor checked my vitals. I said, "I'm not like an Indonesian. I want to know my blood pressure reading and temperature." I still had to ask before being shown my BP was 174/84. I never learned my temperature. The doctor (correctly) concluded I must begin taking medications for high blood pressure. When writing prescriptions at the end of the consultation he said, "You need to take this medicine for the rest of your life." I don't even know if it's a beta-blocker, calcium inhibitor, or some other class of BP medication. There is NO WAY he could know which class(es) of those medications are best suited to my condition.

At one of the "better" private hospitals in my city. A doctor doing triage duties looked at an ultrasound showing an enlarged prostate. I'd already said my first noticeable symptoms were during the last week. She declared, "You need surgery to drill a hole through to prostate to provide a new pathway for the urethra." I need no second opinion to determine your competence.

As an inpatient at the most expensive hospital in city, in the most expensive wards, I asked for a message to be sent to one of the specialists treating me asking him to prescribe a particular medication. A pharmacist turned up later with a different class of medicine -- one I'd explicitly explained why to the specialist I would not consider taking. That specialist did not even know the limits of his speciality! He probably was an expert on the damage smoking causes to lungs. His knowledge about how to assist smokers wanting to stop was worse than zero. I had explained to him that medication only worked for some because of the placebo affect. It's impossible it could help someone who understands that!

All the specialists treating me during that hospital stay saw me recording in a notebook every treatment we discussed. There were still times I called for a pharmacist to come when I was given a medication I'd never heard of, or a medicine I was told to expect did not arrive.

The specialists think once they make their decision their job is done. What about the other staff? No matter how much try --- mistakes will happen. The only person in that hospital who really cared if I lived or died was me. I wanted to make the final check that every treatment I received was the correct one. It had apparently never dawned on anyone there they'd kill less patients with their mistakes if they at least allowed patients to ask for enough information to make such checks.

What the real problem is ...

The real problem is culture. Indonesia may be among the worst in Asia, but I expect this is pretty similar throughout poorer areas across Asia and Africa.

Where I live, it is considered very impolite to question pronouncements by those with a higher status. Naturally, doctors always have the higher status during medical consultations. Doctors who have not been trained in Western hospitals become so accustomed to not being questioned it does not occur to them there is any reason to offer information to patients – not to mention the fact that Asians who achieve high status almost invariably become insufferable, arrogant shits.

I know this but it is still a struggle to extract any information from just about every doctor I see. I invariably think afterwards of the questions I should have asked -- for the type of information Western doctors take pains to explain to patients (within whatever time constraints the bean-counters controlling them allow).

My recommendations ... should you ever need hospital treatment in a third-world country:

Try to have another Westerner with you during discussions with doctors. Give then a notebook and pen. Stress they should try to forget their concern for you -- instead focus carefully on recording all relevant details, thinking of what information you may need, and butting in however often they deem necessary until they are satisfied you've been given all information you may need to know.

Also, presume every bacterial infection will be multi-drug resistant. You will almost certainly need to insist on cultures being made and resistance tested for – it would not occur to the doctors to suggest it exists as an option you might want.

I have nine cats and a lot have been treated with antibiotics over the years. I insist lab tests for resistance before they begin any treatment with antibiotics. If I think that should be absolutely routine for a moggie, guess what I think about that for humans?

An update of my latest medical dramas …

1. Whatever my current infection is it should be relatively easy to cure. I've been given recently-released antibiotic and there's a good chance the particular bug I have has not developed resistance to that -- yet -- sigh!
2. I visit Malaysia quite often. It's easy there to walk in and see a coronary specialist who has been trained in Britain or America.

There is one very good thing about medicine in third-world countries. Pathology testing is ridiculously cheap. The equipment may be old but adequate. I expect I'll feel better after the current treatment with antibiotics is complete -- but I will not know if the bug is still lurking. I'll wait about a week and then go in for full screening tests -- meaning cultures of blood, urine, faeces, and sputum; and testing for drug resistance of whatever they may find. You'd likely need a new mortgage to pay for that out of your own pocket in the West. I'll be very surprised if it comes to USD$100 here.

Here's a good one, a bit old but. . .
After Kennedy was elected President, I was old enough for the draft! So . being a smartass I was going to beat the odds and "NOT" go to VietNam! So I volunteered for the Navy!

Bam, Cuban Missile Crisis! Not so bad, OK couple of cruises to the Med. no sweat, Oh Boy, a "Round the World Cruise" just before I will be discharged! Been there, done it, got the Tee shirt! I am now a "Shellback"!

Great . . we will be "allowed" to spend some time just off the coast of Nam (3 months)! One month later, my EOS is here (End of Service)! I am flown to DaNang AFB for a flight to the States for Discharge. At DaNang AFB I am placed in "Holding Company" awaiting a flight! Holding Company is also known as "Cheap Labor"!!

Week later the Master at Arms comes to me with "NEW" Orders to Tuy Hoa AFB! Seems I am "NOW" in a "Critical Rating" and am being "EXTENDED" for the "Good of the Service"!

Whereupon, I spend an additional 24 months, in the ONE place, I was trying NOT to go, in the first place!