news-record.com

Solitude, silence and slumber will cure many ills and alleviate the symptoms of most others. It seems ironic, then, that the sick and the injured are sentenced to serve time in hospitals, where they are actively deprived of rest. Last month I spent 29 hours in hell -- at one of the Triad's major health care facilities.

A man will not voluntarily check himself into a hospital unless, perhaps, he has amputated a limb in a horrific chainsaw accident. So, when I suffered waves of nausea and excruciating pain a few weeks ago, I endured it until I passed out, then writhed around in agony for several more minutes. My wife found me curled up on the bathroom floor at 4 a.m. Finally, the spell passed, and by 4:30 I was sleeping soundly.

Women instinctively dial 911 at such times, but I would hear nothing of it. I am a man. But several hours later, just before noon, I was awakened by my mother, who had let herself in to check on me. (She has a spare key for pet-care purposes.) Of course, mom insisted that I go to the emergency room to be examined.

Once in a while, a man can disregard the advice of his wife and get away with it; the "advice" of a mother is another matter, especially when her tone is the one reserved for issuing commands to offspring. Soon I was en route to the hospital, mom behind the wheel. I felt fine.

Upon arrival at the hospital, you might as well check your dignity at the door. Fifteen minutes or so into your stay, you will be clad in a backless robe and -- in my case -- a pair of bright yellow "skid-free" socks. I playfully asked the nurse if they were designed to give potential escapees better traction when sprinting down the hospital's tile hallways. Unsmiling, her countenance grim, she informed me that skid-free socks prevent falls. Apparently, this was not the time for levity.

Nurse Ratched plunged into my right hand a needle for an IV, then pasted to my chest several sensors and wires attached to a heart monitor. Into my left arm she jabbed a needle to draw blood. Less than an hour into my visit, I had not only been stripped of my dignity but also demoted from a person to a number. Nurses could be overheard in the hallway: "Give me a minute. I have to check on 33," and "When you're done with 17, we need a blood sample from 24."

The hospital's ICU is a hub of activity. The unrelenting din from the hallway reminded me of a nightclub. Uniformed males -- security personnel and, I presume, drivers of some sort -- loitered in the corridors, eye-balling and chatting up every passing nurse. Most of the women curtly acknowledged the attention and went about their business; others lingered, savoring a reprieve from drudgery, and hooted and hollered at the antics of the uniformed males.

Eight hours after my arrival, Nurse Ratched told me I would be staying overnight, and I was moved into a room in the cardiac wing. My first roommate was a man in serious pain, who moaned and yelped loudly and constantly, ruling out the possibility of sleep for yours truly. Finally, sometime after midnight, a new nurse came and asked me if I would like to move to another room.

Those skid-free socks proved quite beneficial as I scurried -- IV and heart monitor in tow -- three or fours doors down the hall, into a room with a charming elderly gentleman named Orville. He was a brilliant conversationalist with a lively sense of humor. He became confused and belligerent only once, after he had been given a powerful sleeping aid. At 3 or 4 a.m., he accused the nurse of putting him in the hospital's mental ward -- an understandable accusation. Hospitals induce dementia.

On the one hand, there is the misanthropic nurse who, while performing tasks competently, makes no effort to conceal her disdain for patients; on the other is the perky, cheerful nurse who prances noisily into your room at 3 a.m. for blood-sucking and temperature-taking, jolting you from a deep slumber. For me, it was all for naught: A battery of examinations and analyses revealed nothing out of the ordinary. The cause of the debilitating attack remains a mystery.

If ever you need a break from silence, good food and sound sleep, check yourself into the hospital. Otherwise, avoid it like the plague.

Charles Davenport Jr. (daisha99@msn.com) is a freelance columnist.