THE NEGLECTED PATIENT

By Francine

My experience with hospitals and clinics has been limited, because I have generally been in good health.  My last hospital visit was for a maternity event, some twenty years ago. The product of that experience has now grown up and found her way to college, so you can guess I can no longer claim to be in the fresh bloom of youth.  Nonetheless, with my fifty years, I certainly do not consider myself old, or, I hope, completely unattractive. 

My experience with the clinic really began with an auto accident.  I was in a collision, in which no one was injured seriously (except the car), but I did suffer from some minor damage.  My right ankle and foot were cut rather badly, and obviously bruised.  I had an assortment of other minor cuts and bruises, with some soreness of unknown origin.  My own tendency was to get these treated superficially and trust they would heal quickly; but the insurance company thought otherwise.  To cover their possible liability, they advised me to get a thorough medical check-up to establish whether I might have any other (perhaps not obvious) injuries.  As they were paying for it, I agreed to comply.

The physician I had selected practiced in a clinic used by a number of doctors. It also had quite a bit of diagnostic equipment and a small lab. It was not, however a hospital, and did not care for overnight patients.

I arrived in the early morning and checked in for a nine o’clock appointment.

“Mrs. Karen Whitestone?” the receptionist inquired.

“Yes, that’s me”, I answered, standing at her counter on one leg.  I was using, I hoped temporarily, a borrowed crutch because I couldn’t put any weight on my injured foot. 

She inquired for the usual insurance authorizations and had me fill out a fairly lengthy paper.  Shortly afterward, I was told to proceed to an examination room.  A nurse escorted me, and gave me my instructions.

“The doctor will be with you shortly.  I need to do some preliminaries, if you will just sit on the table there”, she said, indicating the examination table.  She asked  a number of questions, checked my  blood pressure and  temperature, drew a blood sample, and a few other items.  Then she told me, “For the examination, you will need to remove your clothes and lie on the table.  I am sorry, we have run out of the usual gowns, but I will give you a plastic sheet with which you can cover yourself.  Now, if you will just get ready, it will be only a few minutes before the doctor comes in.”

I did as instructed, though it was rather difficult with one leg out of service. I laid on the table and arranged the sheet over my now naked body. It wasn’t as long enough to cover me from neck to toe, but I arranged it so it covered most of me, leaving my feet hanging out at the bottom and just my shoulders at the top.  I waited.

Shortly, a nice looking man, probably forty something, came in.  “Good morning, Mrs. Whitestone,” he introduced himself.   “I am Doctor Murray. Now, first, let me look at that foot you have all wrapped up there”.  He was looking at my right foot, sticking out from under the sheet but wrapped heavily in a homemade bandage.

He spent quite a bit of time on my foot and ankle. He concluded that I probably had a bad sprain and an assortment of cuts and bruises.  With his nurse, he cleaned and treated the foot and ankle, then wrapped it tightly in what seemed to me to be an enormous bandage.

“Mrs. Whitestone”, he instructed me, “I am going to have you keep off that foot for a while.  Don’t try to walk on it.  Don’t put any weight on it at all, for a few days.  Now, I need to look over the rest of you and see what other damage you might have.”

He lifted the sheet a section at a time, at times having me sit up and then turn over.  He seemed to be quite thorough. He did quite a bit of writing and communicating with his nurse, not all understood by me.

Finally, after an hour or so, he seemed to have evaluated most of my sore spots, and at least looked at the assorted scratches, cuts, and black and blue spots I had developed. After some consultation, he turned back to me.

“I am going to have some x-rays made, and a few tests run.  They will be done here, and will take a little time, but they are important.  You are not to walk, so I will have you taken there on a gurney.   Oh, yes, after the x-rays and some other items, I want you to have a pelvic ultrasound, because you have indications of possible problems in that area, and I want to be sure.”

The rooms where the x-rays and several other tests were done was down the hall from the examination room.  A man came in with a gurney, then left the room as the nurse helped me to transfer myself to it from the table.

During the next two hours I spent a lot of my time trying to preserve my modesty by constantly adjusting the plastic sheet as I was positioned for various tests and pictures.
Finally, it seemed, most of it was done.

A male staff worker took me on the gurney down to where I was to have the ultrasound exam.  “It’s down the hall a bit farther, and I will just leave you there because they have a line of patients and you will need to wait until they get to you”, he casually informed me. He parked me at the side of the hall outside the room that evidently had the equipment. I waited.  I could see other patients coming and going, mostly young women.  Ultrasounds, in my limited knowledge, were used mostly for pregnant women, and several of the patients I saw seemed to be in that state.

After a while, a technician came to check on me.  “Your name?”  he asked, then, not trusting me, looked at the tag on my gurney.  “Oh, yes, you’re Mrs. Whitestone.  And you want an ultrasound?”

“The doctor ordered it”, I replied.

He shrugged.  “We’re pretty busy.  You been checked?”

“Yes, the doctor just examined me. I’ve had a lot of tests!”

“Not what I mean.  Are you prepped for the ultrasound?”

I wasn’t sure what he meant.  “Why, I think so.  What do I need?”

“Mostly, you need a full bladder.  Has yours been checked?”

I was a bit surprised. I didn’t realize this was needed.  “No,  I haven’t had that check - but I haven’t gone in about three hours.  Maybe it’s full enough.”

I was embarrassed at discussing this, but he wasn’t interested anyway. He just said, “I’ll get Mike, over there, to check you, when he’s through with that patient.”  With that he rushed off.  Mike, I could see, was talking to a young woman patient whom I could see through an open door.

I waited for a while, then recognized the one he had indicated as Mike walking out, clipboard in hand, and picking up a new patient from the waiting room.  This one, I noticed again, was another rather nice looking  young woman.  Probably pregnant, I guessed.

After he passed me several times, I tried calling him.  “Are you Mike?” I asked.  He turned and looked at me.  “Yes, that’s me?  What do you need?”

“I was told I needed to be checked whether I’m ready for an ultrasound. Do you do it?”

“I’m pretty busy right now.  Did you prepare yourself?”

This seemed to be getting nowhere.  “I didn’t know I needed anything, but--”

He cut me off.  “OK, lady, I guess you need a bladder check.  Right?”

“Apparently.”  I answered.  “OK, it just takes a minute, but I’ll have to do it here, or you’ll have to wait until we can take you inside.”

“I suppose you can do it now,” was all I could think to say.  Something had to get moving.

He lifted the bottom portion of my sheet, and placed his hand on my lower belly. He pushed on it slightly, hesitated, then pushed harder.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so!” I answered with a smile.

“Well, you need a very full bladder. Your bladder’s hardly got anything in it. You’ve got to get filled up before we can do you!”

“What do I do?  I was brought here, and I can’t move myself.”

Mike shook his head in frustration.  He walked away, then conferred with another male employee.  Mike then called back to me, gesturing to the other man.  “He’s going to take care of you!”  The next time I saw Mike he had another patient in tow. 

Eventually a female nurse came to me.  She was carrying a pitcher of water and a straw. “Can you sit up at all?” she asked me. I told her I could raise up a bit, but the way my leg was fixed I couldn’t really get into a sitting position.  “OK”, she said, “That will have to do. It’s hard to drink a lot of water when you’re lying down.”

I looked at the size of the pitcher.  It was a big one, and from the gradations on it it appeared to hold two liters.  She told me to drink it, using the straw.

“All of it?”  I asked.     “All of it”, she answered. “If you had come prepared, it might not take as much, but we don’t know how fast your kidneys work, and we need to get your bladder as full we can, as fast as we can.”

She left me with the pitcher. I went to work on it.  It took me half an hour to get it all down.  After another half hour I knew the water was doing its work, because my bladder was sending signals to me calling for relief.

No one had checked on me in some time, and I was getting concerned as to whether I had been forgotten.  Then I saw Mike. I called to him.  He hesitated, then came to me.

“What do you need? I think you’re in preparation, aren’t you?” he asked, with a somewhat irritated tone.

“I think I’m ready - I feel quite full, now.  Can I get checked?”

“You’re probably not ready yet.  I’ll have someone check you later”.

I almost pleaded with him to be checked.  Reluctantly he raised the sheet over me and put his hand again on my belly. He pressed. I knew my bladder was full, but when he repeatedly pressed on it, it hurt, and I winced a bit.

He withdrew his hand, replaced the sheet, and shook his head.

“You’re not ready yet. Maybe in another half hour or so, if you had enough water. How much did they give you?”

“Two liters. I really do feel full, and when you pressed- “

He didn’t let me finish.   “You’re not full enough. You’re not pregnant, so you shouldn’t be complaining. Those ladies have a hard time holding it - you’ll have to take your turn. Anyway, yes, you have a full bladder; but for this check it needs to be very, very full. Just hold it for a while, and we’ll get to you later.”

He rushed off. From what I could see, there were about three technicians doing the ultrasound; one female and two men.  I didn’t see much of the female, because she seemed to stay in the room with the equipment.  The men seemed to be the ones taking patients in and out.  I got the impression that they rather enjoyed working on the young women, but they didn’t seem to have much interest in me.

I lay there for a while longer, trying to keep the sheet arranged to preserve my modesty, but growing increasingly uncomfortable with my expanding bladder.

But, true to his word, Mike did come back in a half hour or so.  “Think you’re ready now?” he asked.  “Absolutely”, I answered, “and I’m anxious to get this over!”

“Everyone is.  Because you don’t get to relieve yourself until its finished.  Now, let’s see how full you are.”  He slipped his hand under the sheet, and again ran his hand over my abdomen, pushing hard in several places.  At the first push I jumped a bit at the sudden pain. He appeared to pay no attention.  “I guess you’re probably full enough, now.  But you’ll have to wait a bit.  We have two patients ahead of you. Just stay calm.”

I gritted my teeth and waited. It wasn’t easy to stay calm when your bladder is already way beyond its usual capacity.  It was hurting me, now, and I wasn’t sure how long I could wait.

In about fifteen minutes they finally took me.  The procedure didn’t really take long. The woman technician ran the sensor over my abdomen, with one of the men standing by. The sheet had been pulled up to my navel, so my entire pubic region was exposed. No one seemed to care.  When the task was finished, the sheet was dropped back over me, and I was pushed into a small antechamber next to the examining room.

“Someone from Dr. Murray’s office will come and get you when they’re ready to finish your work.  But it might be a while, because I hear they had an emergency of some kind down there and the doctor’s tied up.  Just wait”

“Can I go to the bathroom, please? I mean- “

He knew what I meant, all right.  But he walked away, obviously not wanting to get involved in my personal problem.  I couldn’t get up, and even if I wanted to defy the doctor’s orders I doubted I get  over the railings on each side of me. My belly was hurting something awful, and I had no idea how I was going to get relief.

The room I had been placed in didn’t get much traffic, and no one was paying much attention to me. I was hurting worse with every passing minute.  Several times I tried to call one of the staff, but no one seemed interested in me.  I hoped Dr. Murray’s man, or technician, or nurse, or whatever would come and get me quickly.

There seemed to be some supplies stored in a cabinet in the room I was in, and then I saw a man I had not before noticed talking to someone outside my door.  Then, to my surprise he came into the room where I was to get something from the cabinet.  He was dressed in the blue suits the staff members seemed to wear, and he was about the same age as Dr. Murray, probably forty plus.  As he rummaged in the cabinet, he glanced at me, offering a cheery “Hello, there!”

I was squirming, moaning a bit, virtually in agony, and in no mood for cheery conversation.

Suddenly he turned and looked at me.

“You look like you have a problem. Is someone helping you?”  he asked.

“No”, I managed to answer, “but I sure need it.  Everyone ignores me.  I’m waiting for someone to take me back to Dr. Murray, when he’s ready for me, but -oh oh”  I started to moan involuntarily. “It hurts so bad!”

“What did you get?”  he asked.  “Did they prescribe a painkiller for you?”

“I don’t need a painkiller - I just need to use a bathroom!  But I can’t walk, and I can’t get out of this-  I just had an ultrasound, and no one gave me any way to relieve myself!”

“Well, lady, I don’t work in this department, and I’m not sure how to help you.  But I understand your problem.”

He looked me over a bit. I was still squirming, and moaning in my agony.  “You sure it’s OK for you to relieve yourself. now?  I mean, they didn’t tell you that you weren’t supposed to?”

I shook my head.  “There’s just no way.  I felt like I was going to burst a long time ago. I didn’t think it could feel any worse, but - oh, it hurts so bad!”

He looked around, but saw no one who might attend to me.  “All right”, he began, “you say you can’t walk, so you have to stay lying there.  I don’t know how to relieve you, but let me see what we can do. Let me see how you’re set up!”

I thought he was going to check something on the gurney, but instead he picked up the right side of my sheet and folded it back over the left railing of the gurney.  That kept anyone in the other room from seeing me, but my entire naked body was lying in front of him.  He looked me over thoroughly.  “My apologies -  if you were a man, I’d know how to handle it, but for a woman--”  he pondered the situation, carefully studying my anatomy.  After a minute or so, he said, “Just wait a moment; I’ll be back”. Then he left, leaving the sheet hanging over the railing, and me completely exposed.

In about three minutes, though it seemed like hours to me, he was back. He was carrying a device that looked like a small bottle with a kind of spout. I recognized it as a urinal, the kind used for male patients.

He studied me and looked at the device.  “You got to excuse me; I’m a lab technician, not a nurse. I don’t know much about these things; but it doesn’t look like you’ve got the right equipment to use this gadget.”  He studied my lower anatomy with care, then added, “There was another kind I think maybe would fit!  Let me get it!”

Again he left me, naked and exposed, groaning with the agony I was in.  Shortly he was back, this time carrying a female urinal.

“From that bulge I see on your bottom, you’ve got a lot in you.  I hope this holds enough. Now, let’s see--”    He tried to get the urinal in proper position. I spread my legs a bit and tried to help him.  Finally we seemed to have the mechanics right.  I thought he might leave me, but he didn’t; in fact, he held the urinal against my body with his hand.  My modesty and privacy was hopelessly lost, but all I cared about was getting relief.

“Can you let go, now?”  he asked.

I tried to.  It wasn’t easy.  My muscles were so tensed from holding that relaxation didn’t come quickly. I kept trying.  I shook my head, as I told him, “I’ve got to go so bad, and now it just won’t release!”

“Patience”, he answered, “I can wait.  He spent the waiting moments focusing his eyes on my naked body, spread before him.  He seemed to be studying my breasts.

Finally the patience paid off.  I was able to produce a stream that poured into the urinal. He nodded his head as he watched.  “Now it’s coming. We’ll have you relieved right soon, now!”

“Thank you”, I replied.  

He continued.  “Name’s Al - I work in the lab down the hall. You say you’re a patient of Dr. Murray?  I do a lot of work for him.  Good thing I happened by here - you must have been in bad shape.  Did you say it hurt a lot? Say, you’re filling that thing up pretty fast!”

I told him I had been in an auto accident and was being checked for possible further injuries.  I wanted to be friendly, because I certainly appreciated his help.

Inwardly, I was mortified.  I realized I was lying on my back, naked, uncovered, and calmly talking to a strange man while I was urinating.  Indeed, I was urinating profusely; and he reminded me of this when he abruptly told me, “You better shut off your water - this thing’s almost full.  I’ll have to empty it and come back.  You feel like you have much more?”

With some effort, I was able to stop my stream.  My bladder still was calling for relief, but most of the pain was gone.  To Al, I replied, “I think I have it stopped - but, yes, I have more in me! Please do come back!”  

He removed the urinal, and looked at the gradations. “Gee! You let out almost a quart! And you still got more?  No wonder you were moaning and squirming!  OK, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.  Just wait, and we’ll get you emptied yet!”

He took the urinal away to empty it, but, as before he left the sheet hung over the railing. He made no effort to cover me.  I thought of trying to pull it down over my body, but decided to leave it until he returned.  

He was back in a few minutes.  “Hope you don’t mind your pee going into the mens’ room! I can’t very well go into the ladies!” he began with a smile.  “Now, let’s get this thing back in place and let you finish emptying yourself!”   He placed the urinal again in position, holding it against my body with the pressure of his hand.  “Now”, he told me, “You can open the valves again.” 

I did.  My stream started immediately and forcefully. While holding the urinal, he again started surveying my body, his eyes falling quickly on my breasts.  Somehow, I wanted to tell him, “Please don’t look!”, but that didn’t seem appropriate under the circumstances. 

Finally, my bladder felt empty and my stream abated.  I indicated I was finished, and he withdrew the urinal.  “You know”, he said, studying the container, “you had almost a quart and a half in you.  I wouldn’t have thought a lady your size could hold so much. I see why it hurt you so badly.  Well, I need to go take care of this!”   Again, he left with the container but failed to cover me.

This time I did pull the sheet over me.  It didn’t stay long.  When he returned he had a paper towel in hand.  He again raised the sheet, hanging it on the railing.  Then he began to dry my private parts with the towel.  “Couldn’t leave without doing the clean-up job, could I?”  he asked, as he finished.   He discarded the towel in trash receptacle, but stood beside me without making any effort to cover me up.  I could have done it, but I was really feeling a little satisfaction that he was looking at me - no one else had seemed interested.  They were, I thought, too fascinated with the younger women.

After a few minutes of conversation, he seemed ready to leave. “Guess it’s time for me to get back to business.  I’ll check Dr. Murray’s nurse and see if they can get you soon.  Want me to cover you up?”

“I suppose you should. I shouldn’t be lying here with nothing over me”, I answered.

He placed the sheet over me, and started to leave.  Then he came back, raised the sheet and looked at my body again, replaced the sheet, and moved away. As he left, he added, “That’s so I’ll remember you for the next time. Incidentally, I don’t do this kind of thing as a rule, but I think you have nice looking peeing equipment.  Your topside’s not bad, either. Well - bye, now!”  

Now I was really in no hurry to leave.  My sore foot was still there, but I had received all the treatment I needed for my aches and pains - and for my self-esteem!

 END