Tola Dehinde
Some months ago, I was unwell, I was having pains in my back and chest, as such, I had to go to the pain clinic. The way it works is, I have to call the clinic before I make my way there and go through some checks with the nurse over the phone.
When I got there, they had already prepared the intravenous morphine injection that they were going to give me. Usually, I try as much as possible not to go to the pain clinic unless absolutely necessary because sometimes things go wrong and this was one of those times. Typically, when I present myself at the pain clinic, I would have been at home, in pain, for about 48 hours.
Prior to this particular admission, I had seen my consultant during my outpatients’ appointment a month earlier. I mentioned to him that by the time I make my way to the clinic, I would have been in pain, at home for a few days. I then asked if he could increase the amount of morphine that I am given, when I come to the pain clinic. I usually use 10mgs at home and when I came to the hospital, I told him I wanted a higher dose and he agreed and wrote in my hospital file that I could be given up to 20mgs. Up to being the operative word in this situation.
Back to my story, bearing in mind that I had been self-medicating at home to no avail, I arrived at the pain clinic in agony and close to tears because of the pain. I am once again impressed by their ability to inject the first dose of morphine within 15 minutes of my getting there. The nurse decided to give me 20mgs.
After an hour had passed by, she proceeded to give me the second morphine injection, again 20mgs. I am still in pain and I am quietly praying that this next injection will turn things around for the better for me. Each time after I am given the injections, I am checked to make sure my blood pressure, heartbeat are all working and in order.
Now, after about two and a half hours, this same nurse comes to administer the third and last injection and once again, she gives me 20mgs. This meant that in such a short period of time, less than five hours, my body had been pumped with 60mgs of morphine. I am quite petite and that dose was too much for me and as a nurse she should have known better.
By this point, I was in an out of slumber, drugged up and not really paying attention to anything or asking questions as I normally would have done. Shortly after this third and last injection for the day, something happened and I was unaware of it.
What I became aware of was opening my eyes to see doctors and nurses surrounding the bed I was on. I looked at them, puzzled, wondering what was going on. Then one of the doctors told me that I had reacted to the morphine given to me and had been declared clinically dead. What! This was because they had been calling my name for a few minutes apparently, this doctor said and I had not responded. Well, I did not hear anyone calling my name or putting their hands on me. Too much morphine had been given to me too quickly and hence the overdose. But they were mindful not to put the blame on themselves but to tell me that I have reacted to morphine. I of course understand that this had not been intentional but accidental.
After they all left my bedside, having ‘fought’ with them verbally that I was not going to spend the night in hospital to be monitored, the realisation of what had happened hit me. My goodness! I could have died just like that and that would have been it.
I wondered if that particular nurse could not think for herself. Why did she not go and consult with a Haemotology doctor before she gave me the second and third morphine injection, as she would have noticed that my frame is rather small.
My doctor had put in my notes and folder, up to 20mg, meaning anything from 10 – 20mgs. Do I have to become a nurse now in order to make sure Sickle cell patients get good care?
Though she started with 20mgs, she could have reduced it to 10mgs for the remaining two injections, could she not? I had lots of questions on my mind but there was no one to answer them because I was still unwell and did not have the strength to demand answers on what happened.
I am writing about this particular experience because I want to implore you reading, if you know someone with Sickle cell, who has a hospital appointment. If you are close enough to that person and can volunteer the time, then try and go to hospital with the patient as Sickle cell can be debilitating. And if you are a Sickle cell patient (old enough to go to hospital on your own), try and see if you have someone who can accompany you to the hospital so that you are not on your own making serious decisions when you are most vulnerable. Sickle cell is so life-disrupting, it is not funny.
The fact that I am sick and go to hospital does not mean that everyone around me have to stop living their lives and pander to my needs. I understand that it not possible. Besides, if you have Sickle cell, hospital is not a strange place. So, after a while, you would think that it is safe to go on your own, right, but not so. The purpose of this write-up is to speak my truth and as usual, I am still in the land of the living and fighting on.
Do you drink hibiscus tea? It is that red drink sold in town with a ruby red colour. I would suggest that you prepare your own at home. You can have it either hot or cold and can add moringa, cinnamon, ginger, or lemon to it.
Hibiscus tea has a sour taste and a lot of benefits: rich in vitamin C, which will help boost your immune system, which is good for people with anemia; high in iron, keeps your liver healthy because of its antioxidant properties; helps calm anxiety or depression (living with pain, constantly, can make one depressed); improves digestion; helps with sleep; helps in the prevention of kidney stones. Include drinking a glass or mug of this drink daily and this will help you stay hydrated and increase the amount of oxidants that you consume.
If you would like to get in touch with me, please do so via: t.dehinde@yahoo.com and do click onto my blog: www.howtolivewithsicklecell.co.uk
