Hospitalized! (Part 2 of the Hospital Saga)

In our last episode, I was sitting in the waiting room for the hospital A & E, Tuesday morning, leaking red liquid from my proboscis. Without too much delay, some medical looking person came out and called my name. Responding, I followed her in, through some doors, to the inner regions of the A & E ward. Now we were getting somewhere! I was in the belly of the beast; the inner workings of Britain's National Health Service (NHS), or, in other words, socialized medicine. This is where poor people like me turn, in the UK, when we are leaking red fluids and can't afford private health care. As a struggling actor/writer, with hardly two sticks to rub together, I can't afford to pay for both the taxes that fund the NHS and private health insurance, at the same time. Given that one is mandatory, guess which one I do without?
I was directed to a gurney, in a curtained off space, separating it from other gurney parking areas. A nurse was waiting there and, together with the nurse who walked me in, they directed me to sit on the gurney, then lie back on it. I struggled maneuvering myself, as I only had the use of one hand. The other one was clutching a bloody tissue to my face, trying to staunch the flow of whatever essential fluids my body had left, at that point. They spoke to me with that overly patient tone of voice, which sounds patronizing and annoying. Once I was in position, one of them started asking me more questions. Did I take this, or that? Did I have this condition or that condition? "Who is your next of kin?" There's a pleasant thought.
I was labelled, with a plastic wristband, complete with my name, age, date if birth, gender, post code, and bar code. I'm a product! The nurse who seemed to be running the show instructed me to try holding my nose for a half hour. She admitted that I had probably tried applying pressure, at home, but wanted me to undertake this exercise anyway. What the hell, in for a penny, in for a Pound, I gave it a try. When I applied pressure to my nose, the blood just pooled up behind the pressure, until it started spilling down the back of my throat. Tiring of that, they tied a cotton bolster across my nostrils and waited for the doctor to see me. They started sticking tubes in my arms and taking my blood pressure, as well as a blood sample. The doctor who turned up was a short, blond man, who over-used sun beds, or fake tan. One of the nurses consulted with him. They seemed bothered by something. Oh no, maybe they had discovered that I am a Cylon. The doctor ordered a saline drip. After a time, I started feeling warm. Then I started sweating a lot. I felt more and more uncomfortable. One of the nurses assured me that my reaction wasn't unusual. The doctor instructed the nurses to take the saline drip our of my right arm and attach it to my left. Eventually, the discomfort subsided.
Once I started feeling better, the doctor advised me that he was going to try "packing" my nose. The execution seemed a lot worse than the description. First, the doctor shoved a tubular device up my right nostril. That alone was very uncomfortable. Then he inflated it, so that it put pressure on the whole inside of the nostril. Leaving me to contemplate my situation, the doctor returned, later, saying he wanted an Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) specialist to look me over. When she finally came around, she was gorgeous and Indian. While she may have looked great, her behavior made up for it, by being awkward. She said I had lost a lot of blood and she wanted to admit me to the hospital, for a least 24 hours. What? I didn't expect that. I had an audition to attend, that night. I tried reasoning with her, but she was adamant. I gave in and her minions wheeled me upstairs. I was going to be spending the night in the hospital.
To be continued...