Warning! This post includes some detail about illness which may be a bit graphic for some. To see a shorter less detailed version of this post – please click here.
The lead in ...
I guess my luck had to run out at some time.
I have been travelling full-time with diverticular disease for over six years now … in fact I first wrote about it near the beginning of my journey in Ireland – see post here.
Since then with the help of slippery elm bark (the powdered form – which I swear by) I have been virtually symptom-free. But with feeling well comes complacency and I began to eat ‘normally’ including some of the things I should have been avoiding.
Another mistake was, when I realised I was running low on the powder, settling for tablets which I could buy in health food shops in Spain and which I now realise were probably less affective. Whilst there may not be a correlation between that and what happened next, I do feel it contributed to the problem.
Before I go into what happened to land me in hospital, let me take you back a few days prior when I was out eating ‘normally’ at a café in Tbilisi with one of my subscribers to the blog. Pushkar contacted me when he heard I was going to be in the city at the same time as he was and suggested a meet-up. I was only too happy to meet a fellow traveller and we chatted about our travels and our ‘previous’ lives. Pushkar told me that he had been a hospital consultant and I think we talked a little about my issues with diverticular disease and IBS although he made it clear that it was not his specialism. We had exchanged phone numbers and said that we might meet up again before I left for Yerevan the following week.
Little did I know that I would be messaging him for a very different reason some 5 days later.
Belatedly, I worked out that the problem was diverticulitis, the inflammation of diverticular disease, on Monday. That was when I was in pain after eating, (in hindsight) a far too heavy meal. I stopped eating altogether immediately and during Tuesday I just had water and painkillers (paracetamol, as Ibuprofen is a no-no for diverticulitis). At this point I was still hoping to travel on Thursday but as the night went on and into the early hours it soon became clear that this would be impossible.
I don’t want to go into too much detail here but if you were to Google diverticular bleed you will get some idea of what was happening. The thing that was really worrying was that it was occurring more and more often. I knew I had to go to a hospital so quickly did a search on an ex-pats in Tbilisi Facebook group and picked the first hospital with an Emergency department. Then at 6 am I contacted Pushkar. I was concerned about messaging him so early in the morning, but he got back to me in a few minutes and agreed I needed to go and that he would meet me there. I phoned a taxi to take me because I couldn’t face having to explain my symptoms to the person on the 112 call and hoped that I wouldn’t bleed on the way (I didn’t). The driver dropped me off at an eerily quiet entrance and I made my way in.
Admittance into hospital.
At the hospital, all the signs were in Georgian so I just made my way to what looked like the entrance. There was a desk with nobody there and in a nearby room was a man in uniform fast asleep. By now I really needed a toilet so I snuck past him and pushed into what I now know was the admissions area. I only spoke to someone to say ‘toilet, toilet’ and was shown where it was. (I am lucky that the word for toilet in Georgian is very similar – t’ualet’i.)
Once out, it was time to try and explain myself. The person in charge soon worked out that I didn’t understand a word of Georgian and went off to get someone. Quite quickly someone who seemed to be a senior medical doctor arrived and I explained my situation to him. He seemed aghast that I had come by taxi – why not 112? But I was more concerned about getting sorted before another bleed. He showed me where the finance person was to check my insurance details and when it was confirmed that there was no formal contract with them, that I would have to pay out of pocket. It came to around 400 Georgian Lari (about £110 / $150 US) which I paid gratefully by card and in no time I was in. By this time Pushkar had arrived and it was just so comforting to have someone I knew and who spoke good English, if not Georgian, by my side.
He also went out and got water for me as I was unbelievably thirsty and I could not get water in the hospital. That water bottle stayed with me throughout my time in hospital.
An examination was done and I was strapped up to various machines before being taken for a CT Scan.
From there I was taken up to the surgical ward, by one of the few English speakers I met in the hospital, a young porter. Fais was Egyptian and only spoke Arabic and English, ‘Georgian is so difficult’ he told me. I did wonder how he managed working there without speaking the language but we only had a few minutes together and I never saw him again.
On the ward ...
I arrived in a ward with just three beds, none occupied and I was left to sort myself out. I was still needing the toilet every 30 minutes or so and the ward had one, but there was no toilet paper or paper towels. I asked anyone who came into the room if I could have some, but nothing happened. Eventually I was running low on my own supplies (I always carry tissues in case of emergency) and went to the ward desk and made it very clear that I was not going to move until I got some paper. Some minutes later a wad of paper towels were thrust into my hands without a word.
And so began a difficult three night stay on that ward, which I had mostly to myself. Granted sharing with someone who was getting up to go to the loo so often would be difficult, but I was grateful to have a room to myself. It did mean that I got forgotten sometimes. There was no way of alerting the staff except by shouting or going out to the ward desk and often there was just no-one about. I also didn’t really have an understanding of who was who as not all staff wore uniforms. Towards the end of the first night I must have dropped off to sleep and my rush to go to the loo was too late. I was mortified at the sight of blood all over the floor, but the reaction of the staff when they saw it was more of horror. I think for the first time they realised the extent of the problem. Two things then happened. First I was made to wear an adult nappy – a first for me and a bit of a relief to be honest, although it wasn’t something I would wish for. Second, I was strapped up to all sorts of machines and given various injections and (I found out later) 2 bags of plasma.
It was several hours later and a change of nursing staff before that nappy was changed. Not great. The new nurse on duty, Nino, did speak English though – so that made life easier as she was able to tell me how things were progressing and the good news that (as far as she could tell) the bleed had stopped. Also on that day, Pushkar came to visit and helped me charge my phone (as I forgot to bring my adapter) so that I could keep in touch with my insurance company and sort out my accommodation for my discharge as it was only booked until Thursday, I managed to extend to Monday.
I stayed in hospital for a further two days whilst they monitored my progress – they wanted another day to make sure, but I was concerned that I might not have enough time to pack and be out on the Monday. In the end I booked another accommodation nearby before travelling onto Yerevan Armenia on the Wednesday.
Discharge and beyond ...
Pushkar was also there on my release and helped me get to the pharmacy to buy the antibiotics and other medications that the hospital prescribed, and also renew my SIM card which had run out whilst I was in the hospital. He saw me back to my digs and a couple of days later we had a farewell meal together before my trip to Yerevan and the next day he took in the gift of chocolates I had bought for the staff there.
Just to say, I was not charged anything more at the time of my release and I assume things are in the hands of the insurance company. I will update when I know anything further.
Things I learnt about the experience:
Act sooner rather than later – even if things are happening in the early hours.
Try and have an action plan if it should happen. Taking my phone charger and my SIM pass code (I could have renewed online with that) would have been so less stressful. Also taking a change of clothes!
Ensure that your insurance company knows what is happening as soon as possible.
Perhaps look for a hospital which is more used to dealing with ex-pats and travellers, especially in non English speaking countries.
This was a difficult time, but I got through it and am now recuperating in Yerevan, Armenia where I am part way through a one month stay. I am taking things very slowly and spending a lot of time in my ex-soviet apartment which is lovely and quiet and just what I need right now. Although I am suffering from FOMO I am hoping to see more of the city as I get better.
A BIG thanks to Pushkar for being there for me and to my Airbnb host also Nino for extending my stay and keeping in touch with me daily. Also to all the staff at the hospital for looking after me, a stranger in town without the language and probably some odd (to them) behaviours … you coped really well and I shall be forever grateful.
