SAMANTHA'S CHRONICLES

When your mum sends you to jail

Samantha choose the wrong time to be asleep

In Summary

• Family history comes under scrutiny in discerning medical condition

Jail
Jail
Image: COURTESY

I honestly can’t see any scenario in which Chris keeps our magazine as his primary advertising driver. We will be a constant reminder of what must be the most traumatic experience he has ever had.

And my boss actually thinks this is the best time to go talk to him? While all this is still fresh in his mind? While going into surgery, if he hasn’t already? I’m trying to remember if the doctor mentioned that. Everything is blurry. I need to sleep. Is my boss going to leave already or what?

A nurse returns with painkillers. She takes charge and tells my boss I need to rest. Finally. Peace and quiet. The painkillers begin to kick in; I’m asleep within a few minutes.

Some 30 minutes later, a nurse is nudging me awake. She checks my pupil size and reactivity, limb movements, respiratory rate heart rate, blood pressure and temperature. When she is finally done, I go back to sleep, only to be woken up half an hour later for the same thing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I say groggily.

“I’m sorry, but we have to ensure you’re ok. The risk of an intracranial complication is highest in the first six hours of a head injury.”

They keep waking me up through the night, twice more after that on a half hourly basis and then once every four hours. I don’t develop any agitation or abnormal behavior. My headache is being managed well with painkillers and there is no retching.

“This is good,” my nurse says at dawn as she checks my pupils. “There are no signs of inequality.”

“So I’ll live?” I ask with a slight smile.

“If you die today it won’t be because of a concussion,” she replies.

“Did my boss come to see me last night?” I ask, changing the subject as I wonder how it went with Chris.

“Yes, he came by but you were asleep,” she says. “He said he would be back this morning.”

“Did Chris go into surgery?” I ask.

“We are not really allowed to divulge patient information,” she says.

“Are you kidding me? You guys told my boss what happened to me … And now is the time your doctors have decided to remember they have a Hippocratic oath?” I ask incredulously.

“I’m not aware anyone told him anything regarding your medical condition or the circumstances of your admission. That’s quite serious,” she says. “You should file a complaint.”

Perhaps I will. Bloody bastards. Thankfully, after the over-night observation, they let me sleep uninterrupted till the afternoon. When I wake up, my mom is there. Oh, crap! Who told her I was here? Does she know why? Where is Miss “We are not allowed to divulge patient information” nurse, or has she been replaced by the parrot that spilled the beans to my boss?

“Hi mom…” I greet her.

“Samantha… You’re awake!” she says.

“Yes…”

Well, obviously.

“They said you were up all night because of the observations for a possible concussion,” she says.

Damn these people!

“What else did they say?” I ask.

“Well… They asked me about a medical condition that’s supposed to run in the family that no one has,” she continues. “They seem to think my mother has it too but I set them straight!”

Oh. My. God. What has she done?

“Mom… Whom exactly did you speak to?” I ask her.

“Your doctor… I can’t remember his name,” she says. “He had some glasses on.”

Oh, shoot. Mr Oromandibular Dystonia himself. I’m screwed. So, so, so screwed. I feel like throwing up. I’m dizzy. My head has started to throb. I’m going to jail. And my own freaking mother is the one who has sent me there.