Thread by @IndigoDaya

A long thread:

Reflecting on my hospital day procedure, through a #traumainformed lens.

Yesterday I had a #gastroscopy with full sedation.

I’m also a survivor of child abuse & years of coercive psychiatric treatment, so it was a scary prospect.

Here’s my experience.

1/22

Leading up to the procedure, I was scared that somehow I’d end up with an unwanted psych consult. What if I cry too much or they just make assumptions based on my history?

This was a big fear. I almost cancelled. Thankfully, it didn’t happen.
2/

One thing I forgot to consider was that the last time I’d been in hospital was when my Dad died, about 8w ago in January.

The second I walked into the hospital I realised, and the tears started flooding.

I didn’t plan for grief or thinking about death, but I should have.

3/

At the admissions desk, I wanted to ask if I was getting sedation. Given my trauma history I was worried that I might have to be awake for the procedure.

But I didn’t feel OK to ask because there was no privacy.
4/

The admissions desk was in an open area full of people. We were all masked & talking through screens, so everyone talked loudly.

It felt exposing enough to have my name, address & procedure loudly announced while strangers listened.

Is privacy considered in these areas?

5/

I was taken to the ward.

Being day surgery, we had recliner chairs rather than beds and we were about 3m apart.

I had a man next to me, & two men opposite me. As I sat down I realised one guy opposite had his genitalia on full display. He was in a gown, but still. WTAF.

/6

I moved my tray table and propped up my bag to block the ‘view’. Eventually I pulled the curtains.

I wish I’d said something, but I was busy being tearful and grieving and worried.

/7

A nurse asked screening questions. Again I wanted to raise my trauma history & ask about sedation, but there was still no privacy. I especially didn’t want ‘dick guy’ to hear. And the nurse was rushed. I was tearful but she didn’t enquire about it. This was a production line.
/8

Then they brought the dreaded gown. I said I was worried about it fitting, given my weight.

She brought me a different one and said ‘it will fit or it won’t.’

What did she mean by that?

I pulled the curtains closer and tried to put it on...
/9

Of course, it didn’t fit. It was on, but tight, cutting into my chubby arms. I cried again. A stream of hateful self-talk. I felt ashamed, disgusting & unsafe. With just a thin papery curtain for privacy. I asked for a blanket to cover myself better.

Why is this good enough?
/10

I waited. And waited. I was the second last person to go off to surgery. I tried to do a crossword but mostly I cried quietly. There were no tissues in my cubicle so the few from my bag were in a pretty tragic, threadbare, soggy state.

I wish I’d been more grown-up & stuff.
/11

It was a relief when they took ‘dick guy’. I opened my curtain a crack. I could see another woman all the way on the other side of the ward.

We caught each other’s eye. I think it was a moment of solidarity. We shared something special in a brief, wordless connection.

/12

Finally, off to surgery. I met the anaesthetist. Finally I asked about sedation. Yes, of course, she said.

I wanted to say again that I have a trauma history, but then more people arrived. Another doctor, a specialist, a crowd & urgency to get going.

I’m scared, I said.
/13

I’m on the table, in the cold room with bright lights. There are about 7 people.

I say I have bad veins. Oh we’re good at this, they say.

Suddenly I have an anaesthetist on each side, poking in needles over and over. Oh, that one burst. Oh, your veins are small.

/14

I’m wiggling my toes. Trying to leave my body.
Trying not to freak that I’m mostly naked in a room of strangers sticking painful things into my body.
This is a survivor’s nightmare.
I’m shaking with tears but they need me to be still.

There must be a better way than this.
/15

One nurse is so kind. She tells me to follow her voice. She holds my hand and tells me to squeeze. To breathe out.

I’m sorry, I say to her.
No darling, she says. No need. You swear out loud if you want to. She tries to soothe me. I’m so grateful to her. She saw me.
/16

I’m so desperate to be unconscious.

I ask them to hit me over the head. One anaesthetist stops & smiles. And how would you like us to do that, she laughs.

Just drop a piano on my head please.

Everyone laughs, even me. Humour in dark moments.
Thank goodness for that.
/17

They get an ultrasound machine. 2 more tries and they finally get a deep vein. I can feel blood run down my arm, but I don’t care.

They put something in my mouth to bite on. Oh this is not good....

is my last thought...

/18

Morrison is a PRICK!
Porter is a PRICK!
Laming is a PRICK!

I am yelling, and I open my eyes and I’m in recovery.

Wha... disoriented. A nurse is grinning at me.

Oh, did I just yell that...
It’s all fine, she says. I take a moment to be impressed by my subconscious mind.

/19

From here, it’s pretty dull. My arms hurt. There was no jelly. Exhausted, but I was clothed & out within 2 hours.

They found some issues. I don’t think they’re major but I may need surgery. Back in 2 weeks.

I think there’s some opportunities for day surgery to improve.

/20

Trauma-informed practice is an obvious gap.

Gender sensitivity, privacy, responding to distress, asking about trauma history or things we want them to know. Robes that fit regardless of size.

Men with their dicks out, also a thing that shouldn’t be going on.

/21

I don’t know if there’s a better approach for folks like me with bad veins. Is there? I want to know. Even if I need surgery, I’m not sure I’m willing to put myself through that again.

But thank goodness it’s over.

And that angel nurse, whoever you are, THANK YOU.

/22