Written By: Amy
I woke up Friday in good spirits and feeling very well. We were headed up to hunt down Purdy's in Northern Ireland. We've not had any luck finding them online and decided to just head on up to some cemeteries in the general area the Purdy's were rumored to live--Tandragee and Portadown. Also, I wanted to hit the town of Ballyshiel and Corlust as these cities were listed as their residence in the 1901 census.
But, first, we needed to pick up the rental car at the airport because we sold Watson (our beloved car) the night before to Ralph (the amazing manager of Esquires). So, off to the airport we went to hit up Enterprise for a car. As we are standing at the counter at Enterprise that I notice my lower back is slightly achy. Thinking nothing of it, I hop into Watson and follow Ker back to Bettystown to pick up the girls so we can all go on this last search together. By the time we get to the house to pick up the girls, my back went from achy to uncomfortable. But, since this was the only day we could go and do this, I figured it would go away with some light stretching and some cemetery walking.
How wrong I was! By the time we get to the first cemetery and I get out of the car, my back is in agony. I'm staying positive though because any bad vibes will send Abby into full revolt. You see, she didn't want to go to begin with. She wanted to stay home and do school work. So, I know that I can't show just how uncomfortable I actually am quite yet.
The second cemetery was their first inkling that all was not right with the Momma. I could barely get out of the car. The minute my feet hit the ground, I thought my back had just given up the goat. I could barely walk and could no longer mask the pain or be the cheerleader they needed. There was a suggestion of eating lunch to see how things fared after a bite to eat and a couple (by that I could mean any amount, right?) Advil.
Unfortunately, after lunch, I was no better. As we headed off on our wild goose chase through Tandragee and then Portadown, I just couldn't take it anymore and asked Ker to take us home. Once there, I realized that this pain might be a kidney infection which I have been known to develop suddenly and violently. After signing papers with Ralph I decide to seek medical help to rule out infection. I asked the advice of my expat group on how to navigate through the medical system here. On their advice, I went to an after hours Doctor On Call. Drogheda is known for its terrible hospitals--it's in the papers daily--so you have to be very careful.
To see a doctor after hours, all you have to do is call a number and make an appointment to be seen that evening. My appointment was for 7:45 pm. Which was great because by then the Advil had completely worn off and I was ready for some answers. I drove myself to the tiny little run down hospital that housed the clinic. I was only in the waiting area for just enough time to painfully lower myself into a chair when the nurse called me back. After taking my vitals and testing a sample, she ushered me into another room where I see a tiny doctor of Indian descent. He asks me the same questions the nurse did and I give the same answers. Then he decides he needs see exactly what movements cause the pain which was SUPER fun, let me tell ya. Ultimately, he decides that he can't tell if this is just back spasms or a kidney infection and proceeds to tell me that his clinic does not have the ability to run any blood test. Then he says the dreaded words....that I'll have to go to the countries most notoriously bad hospital to be tested. My stomach sinks.
No, really, my stomach actually sinks. I hadn't had any food since our before noon lunch and I rushed out the house to make the (DOC) Doctor On Call appointment. So, I was hungry. But, figuring I would just get it all over with, I head to the hospital that the national newspapers label the worst hospital in the country for caring for sick people. We had been threatening the kids since August not to get sick or hurt enough to have to go to this place and I'm now driving myself there.
The good news is that once I paid the DOC his 60 quid, I was all paid up for the remainder of my medical journey. That includes the tests run at the DOC, the DOC consultation, the Emergency Department (ER) visit and any tests run there. This was the only reason I hadn't just thrown in the towel.
I pull into the Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital and find the ER parking lot then walk painfully slowly to the reception, hand them my form from the DOC and then sit down to wait. It turns out that the ER there was almost the same as the ER in Oregon. There were people in the waiting area sick, poor, drunk, out of their minds and just not in good places. As I was now one of them, I lowered myself to onto one of the remaining chairs in the packed room, opened my Rick Steve's Spain book and proceeded to zone out.
After 45 minutes, I am exhausted and starving and just beginning to be fuzzy in the head from it all. So when the nurse calls my name--Emmy Cakabreade--I don't even react for a couple of seconds. Then I realize that that name means me and I get back to my feet and follow her. She takes me to a cramped triage room. This place is hard core. I know this because I have to step over some persons blood on the floor. The nurse takes me through all the usual questions, hooks me up to a blood pressure machine and leaves to do...well, I'm not sure...for a while. When she comes back she records my vitals and proceeds to tell me that my wait is likely to be 6 hours. Yes, 6 hours. She claims that the ER is very busy and that there are many more serious cases that need to be seen before me. At this point, I'm done. Stick-a-fork-in-me done and I'm not stepping over blood once more second. I don't care how bad it hurts. But, she convinces me to stay so a Dr can check me out.
I last all of 45 minutes before I realize that I'm so out of it I won't be able to drive if I don't leave soon. So, I head up to reception and let them know that I'm leaving, make my slow and painful way to the car only to realize that you have to pay for parking in the ER parking lot. But, the nice parking attendant has been watching me make my way to my car and just can't stand see me have to deal with the parking situation too. So, he lets me out. And, I'm on my way home. I get there, scarf down some food and make my way to the bed which looks more like a medieval rack. I get into bed like a very old lady and drift off to sleep. My sleep was interrupted several hours later by a phone call from the ER doctor asking if I was okay. I don't even remember what I responded before I hung up.
But, the story continues the next morning when I ask Ker to drop me at the ER to finish what I started the night before. After a short 15 minute break, I am yet again ushered into the triage room--this time minus the blood--and asked the same exact questions I was the night before. Then I was asked to wait in the waiting area for a doctor to call me back. That only took 35 minutes. Once I got in to speak to an actual doctor, it was just like visiting an ER at home. He took my blood--badly, I might add--ran some tests and came back to tell me that he thought I was having back spasms but that my blood showed moderate levels of white blood cells indicating a possible infection. So, we decided to treat for both a back spasm (ibuprofen) and a kidney infection (antibiotic).
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