Blood on the Brain Part 2
It is difficult to express just how much of a relief it is to have an ambulance arrive when one has spent two days and nights as helpless and miserable as I had. Just moving a couple of inches or so and attempting to walk or even crawl would bring on seemingly interminable bouts of dry-heaving. I had not eaten, nor drank, in the entire time and the world around me continued to spin recklessly about. There were two paramedics, both men; they spoke a few words to Veronika in Czech that I paid nearly no attention to, and then helped me to the ambulance. Veronika was allowed to come with me in the ambulance and I remember feeling very grateful for that. I was taken after a somewhat long, or so it seemed at the time, to a hospital in a nearby town (I thought then that it was Prague, but afterward was told by Veronika that it had not been, but rather a town closer to the area I had been in, Beroun). I remember being wheeled in and given a CAT scan; I was then wheeled back to the entry area where I waited with Veronika for the results.
My next memory aside from waiting was being told by one of the nurses that I did not have any sort of food poisoning, but rather blood on the brain. I really did not understand the significance of that other than I knew it shouldn't have been there. I did not have any idea of what might have caused it; what the consequences other than those I had been through would be, nor how long I would have to stay in the hospital. I tend to be fairly optimistic about things and overly convinced of my own indestructibility (combined with overly certain that I was in good shape and just a few jumping jacks and sit-ups away from great shape--the reality was far from that; I had let myself over the decade preceding go from very good shape to better resembling a potato). Thus, I probably was thinking that I would be given a few shots and told a regimen to keep and then be let on my way. This changed a bit when I was told that a hospital was being sought that would accept me, but I still didn't think I would be hospitalized for more than a day or two. Little did I know. After around an hour, I believe, I was told that Na Homolce's neurology department had agreed to accept me. This was followed by another ambulance ride, approximately 45 minutes or so, and then admittance.
My memory is a bit fuzzy as to this period of time--there was, as has been said, blood on my brain, and I was being administered drugs that probably had a bit of an impact on how I was seeing, thinking, and perceiving the various stimuli my sensory organs were receiving. I will do my best to describe the different things I remember from that day and the next, but accuracy will be far from perfect and will likely misorder or simply misdescribe what happened to at least some extent. And to add some information I was not aware of until well after leaving the hospital, I had suffered a hemmorhagic stroke, which has a mortality rate of 30 to 60 percent, apparently.
So, I remember arriving at the hospital and being quite glad we had done so, as the ride was not particularly comfortable. One of the two paramedics had exuded a kind and calming influence, while the second, who had been seated next to me seemed rather blase about it all, and I got the impression that he didn't care too greatly what became of me. Both though were thoroughly professional. I was wheeled placed on a gurney and I think I went immediately to a conference room where a meeting was held to discuss my case. Questions were asked of me, and I answered as honestly as I could, but came away with the feeling that no one was quite sure of what had caused the stroke. Some of the possible factors were the stress I had been living under with a failed business, the breakup with my fiance (which had been itself influenced by the suicide of her brother and my poor reaction to this), cocaine use (which I brought up as it was important to me that all factors were considered, though it bothered me that the doctors seemed to disbelieve me when I explained that it had been minimal and that I would never again touch the stuff, which I haven't to this date), and lifestyle (which had become far too sedentary). No conclusion was reached that I could tell, though the coke had seemed to incite the most interest. For the reader's sake, I will explain that I had several friends who used it fairly heavily, so I was around it fairly frequently and would often accept it when offered; I doubt I ever exceeded two grams in a week, and even one gram in a given week was rare. I explained that I did not drink nor smoke, so these were obviously not factors. I really cannot recall if I attended that meeting in a temporary gurney, the bed that I spent the entire week in or even if I had been in a wheelchair prior to being placed in that bed.
The hospital itself was large and, to me, very much a labyrinth. I really had no idea what it all looked like from the outside, nor how many floors it had, or even what floor I was on. I remember a reception desk and it being there that I had been transferred from the stretcher used by the paramedics to the hospital gurney. After that meeting. I must have been pretty heavily drugged, as most of the day is just a blur of nurses, needles, and sleep. The bed itself was firm though relatively comfortable, which is a good thing, as I spent the next week with no exception on it.
Later that first day I remember hearing an orderly speaking to a nurse and saying the word 'trava' which is Czech slang for marijuana. I also came to believe that I had heard even more, enough to work out that they seemed to have some sort of side business going on where they were selling drugs on the side. They were getting some things smuggled in, apparently with the help of some sort of French Mafia and the rest I deduced they were stealing from hospital stock. The nurse would then secretly sell it to patients while making her rounds. It seemed they weren't worried about me hearing any of what they said because I am American and very few Americans here in Prague speak Czech with any kind of proficiency at all. My Czech is not what I would call good, but it was enough to make out what they were talking about. I stopped paying attention after a while but began again when that nurse came back from her rounds and seemed upset about something.
I overheard her explain something about some of the French guys being on the way over and that something had gone wrong. The orderly became upset, but they were too far and speaking too quickly for me to get much more than that. I could sense that both the nurse and the orderly were becoming more and more nervous. Soon, there was a loud knock at the entry to the neurology department; this was late, probably around eleven or midnight, and it was quite obvious that it was the french guys. I wondered how they had gotten all the way through the rest of the hospital and why no security had been called in. The nurse spoke to them in French, which I do not understand at all well, and they finally left after what sounded like some sort of threats. At this point, the head nurse appeared and the orderly and French-speaking nurse explained what had happened and that police were on their way. I worked out that the head nurse had been running everything with help from her husband or boyfriend who had also appeared.
They decided that they were going to remove all evidence and disappear for good. They went to work removing whatever it was they had to remove and getting ready to leave. One last conspirator entered the picture at this point--another, older and heavier set nurse. At this point, I realized that I might be part of the evidence that needed to be cleared away. If they realized I had witnessed all this and understood Czech, it would not go well for me, particularly since I was completely helpless, so I did what anyone in that situation would do, I pretended to have been fast asleep for the entire time. The nurse and orderly departed first; the other two nurses and the well-dressed guy (he was wearing a sleek suit) started to leave a bit later out what seemed to be the front door with a porch on it when they apparently remembered something and came back in. The heavier set nurse came over to me, and I was not sure whether it was to check if I were sleeping, inject me with some poison, or what. I lay there hoping profoundly that they had not worked out that I spoke Czech well enough to understand what was going on and that killing me, easy enough to do in a hospital, was the best option. Fortunately, she just checked my blood pressure and changed the drip bag. The chief nurse and her confederates had made a clean getaway! I wondered who would take over the neurology department in her absence as I drifted off to sleep.
The next day I woke up the next day in what seemed a completely different room, in fact, what seemed to be something separate from the hospital that I had been admitted to. The beds were arranged differently and there was a large area within the center of the U that the beds and the temporary dividers were placed. It was separated from the beds by a plexiglass partition. Within it, the people running the place could keep track of those of us being held prisoner. Looking around, it began to dawn on me that there was some sort of cult that was taking some of the patients from the hospital that was likely right next door and somehow keeping them prisoner for no apparent reason other than that they could. The strategy seemed to be to pick off a few of the ambulances carrying foreigners or other easy pickings, maybe separating them out based on some other factor that I didn't yet understand, but basically looking for people who had no one who would check into things effectively. They probably paid off the ambulance personnel to bring the right ones to a building next door or maybe they even shared the hospital building with the real hospital. I couldn't quite work it all out at that moment, but I was sure it was happening somehow. All of the members seemed to be women with only two male 'orderlies', which was likely my fate eventually. I had no idea what their purpose was, but it was definitely not a positive one. I then had my suspicions confirmed when a male was brought in and put into a bed near mine; he started stating vehemently that he didn't belong and though I didn't understand everything he said, I was sure he had figured out exactly what I had worked out and was valiantly resisting. I started to plan my escape.
I wasn't strong enough to get out that day, and the exits were under constant supervision, but if I could get my hands on some of the clothing that the male cleaners/prisoners/subjects wore, I felt confident I could do it. The worst part was that only Veronika knew where I was, and I had no idea how to contact her. Everyone else was thoroughly beyond my reach. It's not a good feeling to be trapped, helpless and have absolutely no idea what is really happening to you. I started to ponder what it would be like there for years and years when just a few minutes seemed to take forever in passing. I might have panicked were it not for my belief that all I needed was a bit more strength and knowledge of where I was and where everything and everybody was relative to that. So I lay there conserving my strength and planning.
Eventually, one of the orderlies, a younger, very kind (as were most of the nurses, it turned out) guy who I had noticed earlier, came over and talked to me. All of the above had been some sort of drug-induced delusions. So was the sound I had thought I had heard of people outside playing some sort of game with a ball against the wall (wouldn't have made much sense, what with being on the third floor and all). I had been in this same room all along, there was no cult, and apparently no French mafia guys at all! That realization marked the beginning of a full week of tedium and recovery that I will conclude this story with in the last installment.