Chapter 1: A Desperate Situation

My back ached painfully as I screamed in agony. My vision began to fade, and I felt utterly helpless, gripped by fear. Was this how my life would end? At that moment, even death felt like a release from the torment. But then my thoughts turned to my infant son; if I were to die, he would never know his mother. Tears streamed down my pale face.

"I have to go to the hospital!" I cried, torn between desperation and despair.

While many would instinctively think of a hospital as a place of healing, my feelings are quite the opposite. I recall visiting my father in the hospital when I was 13, a traumatic experience. I witnessed my grandfather lose his battle with cancer within those sterile walls. The smell of bland hospital food still haunts me, reminiscent of something one might find in a cat food can. That was my unfortunate experience in Australian hospitals over 15 years ago.

It was 10 am, and after rolling in agony since 4 am, I finally found myself in the emergency waiting room. "We’ll be with you shortly," a nurse said. "Shortly" has become a term I dread, as it often means an indefinite wait. As I scanned the room from my wheelchair, I saw at least a dozen others who had been waiting far longer than I.

"I'm going to be sick," I warned.

My husband quickly requested a bag from the desk, fully aware of my condition. I had already thrown up seven times that morning and could keep nothing down, not even water. My body trembled from dehydration, teetering on the brink of shock.

An hour later, and "shortly" had transformed into an excruciating wait. I had managed to share my misery with my fellow patients, who seemed less sickly and more inclined to leave. Perhaps my condition had frightened them; they might have thought I was contagious.

My dignity was lost in the chaos of pain. What did it matter? If I were to die, I wouldn't see these strangers again.

Finally, I was taken into a makeshift ER room. However, my husband was barred from accompanying me. Apparently, I had chosen the worst possible day for my medical emergency. The hospital was understaffed, and everyone seemed to have come for help.

All I wanted were painkillers. I pleaded, and after another agonizing 30 minutes, a nurse finally entered with an IV. Just as I was about to vomit again, my husband managed to slip in to hand me the bag.

"This might sting," she warned. "Sting" was an understatement as she struggled to find a vein. After several attempts, she walked away in frustration.

My body began to shake uncontrollably. A nearby patient, oblivious to my suffering, attempted small talk, and I forced myself to engage, feeling perhaps it was my last chance to be kind. Moments later, another nurse arrived to move me to a different makeshift room. At least I was one step closer to relief.

I waited for medication, an IV, and a diagnosis. After three hours, I still hadn’t seen a doctor.

Finally, another nurse managed to insert an IV into my arm. My veins now looked bruised and battered. "You look like death," the doctor remarked, accurately reflecting my state.

"I feel like death," I replied, barely able to muster the energy to respond.

As medication began to flow through the IV, I felt a glimmer of hope. An x-ray technician came in and asked if I was pregnant. I replied, "I hope not," but the thought lingered in my mind. They had somehow lost my urine sample, so we had to wait while they searched for it.

Over the comms, we heard "code blue." Ten minutes later, a nurse informed me that a proper room was now available.

As my stretcher was pushed into the new room, I overheard staff discussing the unfortunate fate of the previous occupant. They were still cleaning up the aftermath. It made me feel nauseous.

Next came the blood sample technician, who drew my blood with the precision of a mosquito. I was exhausted and irritated with the endless needles. I kept asking why all these tests were necessary, but no one had answers.

Hours passed without any pain, yet I still had no answers. I just wanted to go home to my baby, especially since my milk supply was overflowing.

I could hear the conversation between the stroke victim beside me and her family. They were struggling to keep her calm, but she, too, wanted to escape.

By 7 pm, the doctor finally came to deliver my diagnosis.

"You have kidney stones."

"KIDNEY STONES! But I'm not old!" I was shocked, bewildered, and full of questions.

"You're lucky. Your body went into SEPSIS. If we hadn't given you fluids…"

That explained the relentless vomiting and shivering.

The next day, I was discharged from the hospital, but the experience left an indelible mark on me. I learned a valuable lesson about the fragility of life. During my brief stay, I heard multiple "code blue" calls, and the elderly stroke victim next to me passed away. It could have easily been me.

This experience made me acutely aware of how precious our time with loved ones is. Since that day, I've made a conscious effort to be present in every moment—whether I’m talking to my husband, playing with my seven-month-old, or spending time with friends. I want to savor every second and express my love more freely.

Make today count; you never know when your time is up.

Chapter 2: Reflections on Life

In the video titled "THIS IS WHY I HATE HOSPITALS | ALEX COSTA," the creator shares a personal narrative highlighting the negative aspects of hospital visits. He delves into common frustrations and fears that many experience in these environments, resonating with viewers who share similar sentiments.

In another insightful video titled "Why I hate hospitals (3 reasons we all hate hospitals)," the host outlines three key reasons that contribute to the widespread disdain for hospitals. His perspective offers a humorous yet relatable take on the often daunting experience of seeking medical help.