A Tale of Tonsillitis Gone Rogue!

 

Friday morning, woke up. Sore throat, oh, it’s tonsillitis! But nothing unknown, this type of throat disease would descend upon me once a year, or every two; and somehow the nostalgia of drinking Lucozade and lying on the sofa as a child in recovery would come back…

I booked a doctor’s appointment, but honestly exhaustion came over me and my new place is now 40 mins away from my GP with 3 changes on public transport. I hoped that it was viral, decided I didn’t have it in me to go the doctor’s and instead tried to sleep it off. Oh and in the afternoon, sent Philipp off to the pharmacy across the road to try and manage the situation, 40 euros (eek) on throat spray, kind to the stomach throat lozenges, ibuprofen etc.

Friday night, immense pain. I consulted an NHS website to figure out how many paracetamol and ibuprofen I could take in combination to cover the pain. Six AM was the relief time, as I could finally take an anti-inflammatory again alongside eating. I looked at my tonsils… I see a white spot- bacterial. We rang the out of hours doctor, a funny German name called ‘Funkartzt’, and they came round. Describing the feeling like the pain had moved into my jaw and in my teeth, under examination he explained that these were the lymph nodes having swelled up.

“Please can you give me something stronger for the pain, it’s 9/10?”

“Somewhat, yes, but we need to deal with curing the problem- the bacteria.” He also hinted if it’s not that, then it could be pfeiffersches Drüsenfieber “but she’s probably a bit old for that…” I assured him, I’ve already had glandular fever, it’s not that. And the follow-on chronic fatigue impacting my life for at least 6 years after those awful A-Level years…

So here we are, another ton of medicine and I witness my tonsils somehow continuing to swell. Especially that left one. “You need to give the antibiotics a chance to work” so I continue to try to give it time. Yet, my tongue was now swollen too, and as time went on my speech started to be impacted- and swallowing- meine Gute! Ouch was an understatement.

“It’s getting worse…”

I know it’s not always wise to play Dr Google, but trying to understand the level of pain you’re in, when this is not the type of tonsillitis you’ve come to know… trying to solve the puzzle and figure out the right course of action. “Maybe we need to go to the hospital…” but you try to not make yourself join with fear and attempt to let the antibiotics do their job. My husband is built robustly, not often sick and when is, recovers quickly. Conversely, somehow in life, things seem to find me (!), and my story of health-related sagas and experience is very different. But trying to advocate for yourself, when you yourself are confused, my skills of patience and optimism were not their usual help here. Plus sleep. I just wanted to sleep and recover. (Even if it meant drooling rather than swallowing. I guess that was a relief for my body…). 

Sunday morning… 3am, I cannot continue sleeping lying down as I didn’t feel safe. I wrote to my university advisor that I was very sick, I would most likely need extensions, and I will probably visit the hospital later today. I know my husband is getting tired from this situation too, so I waited until 6am, determined and resolute, no more optimistic sided arguments, before waking him up: “We need to go to the hospital.” Punkt. I didn’t know what it was exactly, but the level of pain I was in was not normal and having being offered to stay overnight for high levels of pain last time I visited, this situation however having gone beyond that scale, I filled my rucksack with my overnight things, we collected up all the medicines from the last 2 days in a tote bag and headed to the hospital in the car.

Oh, A&E my old friend. This hospital I jokingly call my 4^th home. But somehow the comfort of knowing they were able to help me out that time, and that time, and that time… “I’m in the right place.”

A familiar face, the guy at triage also saw me a few months back (!). He’s an empathetic guy though, bearded with a few piercings and doesn’t make you feel guilty for being there. “Mandelentzündung: yeah that can be really painful” sympathy in his eyes. Thankful for people like him being appointed in such places.

The ENT doc, or rather HNO doctor as known in German (Hals, Nase Ohren: same thing), was currently in surgery. We were encouraged to go through the massive maze to Erste Versorgung instead, where they could also correctly diagnose such matters. Once there, upon inspection, the lady doc declares, “Yes unfortunately there’s some abscesses there. We will refer you back to the HNO department and they will make a decision where to go from there”. Where to go from there… sounds like there’s a few considerations… so! We head back to our old friends in A&E and wait outside that department door. One of the interesting things about being in hospital is, you’ve normally come because it’s the last resort and things are that bad… but then once you’re there and you survey the room and observe other human beings whose situations look actually a lot worse than yours, you almost start to feel better (!). An older man, on his own, not far away from us was really suffering, I won’t go into details, but I just prayed he would make it through this door before we did. His need seemed currently greater than ours!

I personally find the medical field so interesting! In another life, I sometimes think I’d have enjoyed being a doctor: the combination of science, particularly Biology, combined with detective skills and patient care and interaction, and the sense of satisfaction knowing you’re helping many people suffering back into good health… but as I looked around the waiting room: there is so much suffering… it felt kinda heavy on me. Plus anything to do with piecing the skin for some reason (just that specific part!), I’m not here for it, and thus, maybe the medical profession isn’t for me.

Eventually we’re called in and enter the small room for further inspection. “Now what I’m going to do won’t be very comfortable and may be painful, though I will be using numbing gel” (by the way most of these utterances were said understandably in German, I’m just translating for my English audience and my own English brain).

“Okay” I brace myself, but my legs have already begun to shake. “Philipp!” I grab his hand and during the procedure, do my normal coping mechanism of looking at a spot on the ceiling and either calling out to Jesus in my head, or singing a worship song through, concentrating on each word in the line, determining to sing my way through. This time it was ‘Shout to the Lord’ a childhood hymn, a comfort, written in 1993. I have to laugh as there was also, who I assume, was a student doctor in the room. She was initially excited to take a look using the special headgear with lights down into my throat. But during the following nose tube inspection, my clear anxiety with shaking legs and the following messy procedure which didn’t produce the hoped-for results, that smile never did return and I saw her looking more and more uncomfortable. Ah dear! Mr Siddall-Dangl on the other hand, God love him, suddenly he had turned into a heroic nurse, perhaps due to proximity but his natural initiative to respond practically to his wife’s needs, had him grabbing all kinds of medical supplies, as needed. And the doctor I think was actually thankful for his assistance. So after two tries… nope… then a couple of internal phone calls later, “Okay it’s confirmed, you will go into surgery this afternoon, in just a couple of hours”. Oof. Er okay…

One of the funny things I quickly learnt here in Austria, is that if you require pain med in the hospital, then they hook you up to a drip. I remember my first hospital visit as a mere 24-year-old, with limited British hospital experience responding, “What? No, no, just a tablet is fine!” Not how it works here… haha! And actually, better so, I’ve come to learn.

Next stop: CT scan. “Do you think you can walk or do you need a “Träger” (Porter)?” My head was a blur after that first unsuccessful and slightly traumatic procedure, and my legs still a’shaking… I’m not sure who confirmed in the end that a Träger is maybe better. I was wheeled off to my next stop.

“Is there a chance you could be pregnant?” as a woman, that important question asked before entering any kind of radioactive machine. Even though you say the correct answer “no” why is it that there’s always a slight worry that, “you never know!” and a pang of guilt crosses you “what if I’m wrong?” even though, you know. “What if…” -just me?! Continuing with the science, the CT scan with the “Kontrastmittel” was pushed through during the 2^nd whizz round: “it may feel warm”. A laugh with a family member on text: “don’t you feel like you’ve wet yourself?!” Haha, for me actually, no, but it was a strange sensation feeling this warm liquid quickly whizzing round your body. They even set the machine language to English there for me which was nice of them.

              That job finished, Philipp volunteered to take me himself “weiter” in the wheelchair up to the in-patient HNO ward to check-in. Did we get a bit lost? Yes, we did. Did we take a selfie to remember this lustiger Moment, yes we did. Did Philipp attempt to take a selfie in the lift, and the doors open too quickly to two incoming nurses? Yes, yes embarrassingly it did, and we bashfully apologised, but they weren’t offended in the slightest. Probably nice to witness these random moments of silliness amongst the doom and gloom. 

              Upon being checked-in and shown to my bed, Dr “G” from downstairs appeared. “So the plan is to take just the left tonsil out. The CT results showed the abscesses were hiding behind there”. We had a discussion about why only the one tonsil, but when I heard that the recovery is usually better with just one, I decided that yes, that would be the better option.

              Long story short (well let’s not kid, just shorter), I’ve kitted myself into the surgical robe and I’m lay on the bed, whizzing down the floors to surgery. It seems to be a fun job, or at least this guy had a big, friendly smile that exuberated warmth and helped keep things light. Now in the surgical ward, I’m transferred over to staff in green robes. I look at their faces, not “typically Austrian” and honestly having been so sick of the discussions on race in recent years, I thank God that these men are here, in these jobs and doing a great job. My favourite race is human kind. <3

              Here I’m asked a million questions by different people. Some repetition- maybe those ones are really important? I’m definitely Elaine Siddall-Dangl, and yes that is still my birth date. This is my first major operation, to remove an organ no less! And so it was gonna be full narcotic immersion. Three types of breathing tube options… If the first doesn’t work, then this one will be used, if that can’t be done, then they will do this… my eyes widened at the last, he assured me, “That’s a last resort, that’s not what we plan to do, but just so you are aware, if it’s not possible…” Understood. “Oh Jesus” I send up another silent prayer, though loud in my head. Bless him, the anaesthesiologist must have checked with his phone camera about 4 times to check the remaining space down my throat. I think it was the 4mm tube I heard him note down to select, convinced it would work. Oh yes and another of the repeated questions: “Mrs Siddall, are you able to bend your head right back, fully extended, normally?” Yes, I confirmed. Not until afterwards did I consider what it must have been like to be a fly on the wall during the operation and to see what kind of asleep gymnastics I was performing in there!

              Now, I know a common response for me (as most likely for many of us worriers/overthinkers) is for my blood pressure to go high before a procedure. I warn the guy managing the blood pressure machine, who had a humorous almost pirate demeanour about him. He’d already popped by during part of the anaesthesiologist’s questionnaire and pulled a giggle-inducing face at me, and so I was already a fan! I forget now what he said, he made many jokes, often in dialect and I laughed along, even though my brain had partly tuned out already.

All these faces looked down upon me… one, very randomly, actually looked very similar to a colleague’s son (although not him), his kind eyes brought me comfort in that room. One surgeon upon seeing my legs had begun to shake again, during the final questioning encouraged us to allow me to breathe in some of the sleeping gas already, so as to calm me down. No idea what the last question was, as I was already asleep.

              Now I’d been told that I would be returning to a previously entered room after the op where I would sleep for a few hours as I slowly came round. Surgery was around 2:30pm and I was told the surgery would probably take just around 45mins. As my eyes opened and I emerged out of my narcotic state, the first thought that carried me into the land of the living was “Ooo, I’ll add that to my reading list!” -Lol. I really am enjoying my newly started Masters course, clearly!

As I opened my eyes, I felt like a rabbit caught in headlights! I was energised and ready to go! Haha. Unlike the person next to me, whom I could hear snoring deeply across the other side of the curtain! Well, he/she is enjoying their sleep like we’re supposed to! But I was alert and looking around the room. I found the clock, it was 4pm. I listened to the nurses have their conversations and lay there obediently attempting to close my eyes from time to time. Every 30mins or so the blood pressure band would tighten at my arm, real tight, so even in my dazed state, there was no way deep sleep was on the menu.

I was kind of surprised the nurses didn’t see me quite awake and alert, but perhaps it’s protocol that everyone sleeps/stays for their allotted time. That said, when I saw my funny, blood pressure man from surgery glide past, I waved merrily! I think he was surprised to see me awake too. Anyway, I think they did exit me somewhat earlier, I questioned whether I had a temperature, but the nurse upon measuring confirmed I was fine, and I lifted some of those heavy sheets off me for more air.

              Transported back to the HNO ward and my 3-bed room, my fellow patients seemed happy to see me. Over the next few days I would become fab mates with my right-hand neighbour and we’d have the best chats. She was around 70 and a mum and grandma- and you could tell! She helped me with my light, explained how some things work and even fetched me some yogurt the next morning when I was presented with bread! God bless her. Had to laugh, as she’d had a hearing implant and I had a speaking problem, but we couldn’t stop talking. I think I did have to bow out with my earphones in at one point though just to rest my voice and have some downtime.

              It was an interesting cycle in a 3-person room. A rotation of pre-op, post-op and recovery patients coming and going. When my new pre-op neighbour decided to listen to the TV all day and late into the night during my very tired recovery day, that was rather too much... When she went through to surgery early the next morning, it was such a special moment to have the room to myself. Peace at last. I looked out of the window over the skyline of Vienna, painted with a beautiful sunrise. It brought calmness and beauty to my soul and I thanked God for today’s artwork. And the treasured silence.   

              That day, day 3 perhaps? I was restless. I’d managed to gain enough strength to leave my room and attempt to sit somewhere for a change of scenery. Plus I’d decided I needed space from my noisy neighbour, as that had been too much. “Maybe she’s more subdued after surgery!” my family encouraged. That was the hope. Yet I made the most of the space while I could. The nurses actually came looking for me as I wasn’t in my room when they came for the new top-up of my infusion. I explained my Lagerkoller (cabin fever) feelings to the young nurse guy, and he sympathised. “It’s okay, we’ll do it here.” I complimented him on his elephant tattoo.

That night I’d also been given a strong dose of pain medication as my interval between the last one was too short. In my sleepless and pained state I didn’t ask what it was. I was just confused that I was taking a tablet first, and then a liquid. Turns out this was an opioid that had me in a cloud most of the following day and which I still felt affected by 2 days later. When I told that nurse, “I only needed 250mg more of ibuprofen as a top up, I’m sensitive, that was too strong” but anyhow, how was he to know that, he followed the situation that seemed to present itself, maybe protocol too and he joked in response that “some people like that!”. I did not. Well, the fumes working their way into my sores and soothing, yes that was relieving… the “trip” meeting random 2D characters, a new one each time I blinked. Not amused. Having never taken drugs in my life, I was annoyed as I slept while simultaneously tripping, and gave my frustrations to God as I protested “You better go and deal with this Jesus, I am not about this.” And thankfully my stubborn prayer was graciously heard. Thank you, Jesus. As a side note, I couldn’t be mad at this nurse as he was the only one who could find my deeply hidden veins the day before when needed, and understood my trauma. He also helped me get onto the oral pain relief tablets, encouraging me not to skip any as that had been “a strong attack”. Something my ENT doctor would also confirm at the check-up of the wounds a week later, when he told me he was grateful I’d avoided the life threatening risk of this going onto my lung.

              I had a few funny experiences with the Grey’s Anatomy style visitations in the mornings at the hospital (I found this so funny, and I had to do my best to hide my smile), particularly on the second rounds when “the king”, Mr Consultant would come and visit with them, standing tall in the middle, in his white coat. “How are you doing Mrs Siddall?” he asked on the first day after surgery. “I’m fine, but is there any chance you’d be able to get me some yogurt, as I can’t really eat this bread…?” upon realising what I’d said being “way above his pay check” authority, I quickly corrected myself “maybe not you…but...” as he chorused “maybe not me…!” Oh for the lols. Well, leaders should know how to serve too! But honestly, without my little fellow patient buddy, that yogurt probably never would have come! Over my 3 or 4 days in the hospital, I thought about what I would do if I was a billionaire. Inspired, “if I was a billionaire, I would donate a huge amount to the hospitals and require that they spend it only on (more) staff.” I encountered so many wonderful staff members there, in all different roles, and literal miracle workers but most of whom I felt where under the stress of their workload and were limited in their capacity to offer full patient care.   

              I hop back into my cabin-fever moments to tell you that when I saw “loud lady” coming down the corridor from surgery, she sweetly waved at me. Something melted inside of me, as she seemed genuinely happy to see me and eventually I returned to our room. She had had her thyroid removed and not all of the tubes and things I was seeing were pleasant. But she was happy to chat, and I decided that I would overcome the unpleasantness of what I could see, in order to make connection and build community. Honestly that was such a blessing for me in the hospital- the unique community that can end up being built up between patients, interspersed with the humour and help of the staff as they aid you too. But as patients, being there for one another in your suffering and providing entertainment in the form of the art of conversation, over several hours of being stuck in a bed- that’s wholesome. And that’s life giving. And although I never would have chosen to be there under those circumstances, the real life (no screen) face-to-face interactions did my soul good.

              On my last morning there, “loud lady” who I now called my friend, was struggling with her phone alarm! “This thing keeps going off! And I don’t know how to get it off the screen!” I sought to assist her… it was a calendar alarm, informing her that it was her birthday! 65 today. God love her, in hospital on her birthday. As I packed up my things, thinking of something nice I could do rather than just utter the simple words “Alles Gute”, I figured I’d rearrange 3 or 4 carefully chosen flowers from my bouquet from Philipp and made them look pretty in the vase I’d had. I presented her with them, wanting to bless her somehow, and she was so happy. “It’s nice to have a bit of nature to look at” I said, and she sweetly agreed.