Patientzilla

It''s day three and Friday and I haven't had a meltdown as yet. Looks like there's one due.

I began to get stroppy with the constant stream of interruptions for tests which are essential and it's the medical staff's job but found it intrusive. After eating, I wanted to piss around on facebook but couldn't move the tray. More stress. Yes, it was about time I left the hospital.

Oh yes, the nurses removed all the tubes and the catheter by Friday morning. Thank god. I tried to get out of bed and faced a huge head rush so it looked my plan to sneak out for a fag was probably not the best. Still, I showered by myself and wore my specially purchased post hysterectomy pyjamas emblazoned with 'Moody Cow'. God bless Primark.

Meltdown number one was over that I really needed to dump. Yes, I know that's not pretty but hysterectomies cause the most terrible constipation and for one who is usually quite regular, this was driving me a bit mad. As I was in the process of meltdown behaviour, two nurses came to check my blood pressure. They wondered why I was crying, then began to speak (quite quickly) in Spanish. If it's simple, I'm able to keep up. At full speed, I get frustrated at the best of times. In pain and panicking why I couldn't shit, I was getting more and more blocked (literally). To make it worse, they summoned two more nurses and all I wanted to do was to tell someone, 'I want a poo and please give me some surgical strength laxatives'. Really, their presence was superfluous and I was getting claustrophobic. Eventually, they found someone who could speak English and then I explain my needs in a calm manner. Simply, I'd forgotten how to say 'poo' in Spanish.

Meltdown number two had a more eclectic cause. It all began when I realised that I was on my own here. Of course, I've got a lot of friends and very good friends at that, but I have a huge hang up about being needy and asking for help. I hate it. I facebooked a few friends and couldn't stop crying about it. Then after sleeping, reread the email and cried more and more. Denise phoned over something about blood and bloodbanks and really I was confused. The meltdown intensified to scale number 8. I kept on sobbing, 'I'm in imposition!'. To make it worse, the threeway conversation brought up something about payment and medical bills. More tears and also the last thing I wanted was to drag my boss down here, see her disapproving looks and create more of a meltdown. Doctor Quiroz y Ferrari put it down to lack of Spanish and was reluctant to discharge me in such an emotional statement. I just wanted to leave.

In both cases, they asked 'Donde es su amigo?' Roberto had shown a lot of kindness, patience (x 10,000) and was there to calm me down. I couldn't ask any more of him. Besides he had his own plans this weekend and the poor guy was getting a bit of an identity crisis in the hospital - translator? husband? relative?. Simply, he was just a friend who wanted to help.

Thai friend turned up to collect me and we muddled on in our A1 Spanish. She got me a wheelchair, somehow the payment thing would be solved later and then it was off to rest in her lovely flat in Condessa for a few hours.

I left the hospital in a wheelchair wearing sunglasses. A true Amy Winehouse touch