No hallway for old men: a collection of fifth-floor memories

In 1992, the late Queen Elizabeth II referred to her year as her “annus horribilis.” So far, 2026 has been mine. Rather than being on the pickleball court, playing piano or watching grandchildren play hockey, I’ve had three sojourns in my local hospital, the same hospital where I was on staff for 40 years, worked in emerg, assisted at surgery, attended and delivered rounds, walked for fundraisers, gave birth (sort of) to three great kids, looked after their childhood broken bones and much more.Without boring you with all of the clinical details of my confinements, let me just provide you with some key words that came up over and over, such as volvulus, laparotomy, drip and suck, NPO, paralytic ileus, perforation, ostomy, laparoscopy, complications, antibiotics and daily Fragmin.What follows is a somewhat disjointed memoir of my musings and feelings arising from my hospital stays. They may be of interest and help to you as a doctor, a patient or as a caregiver. They are not evidence based. Likely most are familiar to you. I have written them in bulleted form as my brain is too exhausted to compose the prose. Take your own salt shaker, or don’t forget to ask the nice lady with the menus for some. The food is not memorable, and salt helps.Ensure that your call bell is close by. It is your lifeline when you need some help.Steal or borrow an extra pillow if you can.NPO is miserable. Those sponges on a stick don’t provide much relief. Bargain for ice chips.Your IV will beep whenever you bend your arm. Learn to hit the reset button. If it happens to your roommate, you may be out of luck.Pain scores between 1-10 are ubiquitous. Thankfully my numbers stayed low. I frequently had to clarify that I was experiencing discomfort, not pain.If you intend to stay connected through your smartphone and iPad, take along a long extension cord.Stickless or ouchless tape will someday change the world. Having said that, I became immune to the pain (7/10) of its removal.“Have you passed gas?” is the most important question you will be asked on the surgical ward. Your answer dictates whether you are ready to move on, perhaps to the yellow Jell-o.Everyone is at risk of falling in hospital. Take slippers, or request a complimentary pair of those red adhesive socks. Sit before you stand. Stand before you walk. I’m still wearing my yellow fall risk band at home.The art of the physical exam is in serious decline. While I had an abdomen screaming for percussion and auscultation, that was rarely done, and when it was, it was mostly by a nurse. To quote one of my doctors, “If physical exam were a test, we wouldn’t do it!”No matter how much mindful meditation you have done, or how packed your iPad is with books and podcasts, the days seem endless. Company, especially family, is priceless and often indispensable.CT scans are even quicker than plain x-rays.That blue, back tying butt hugging neck strangling gown has got to go. I opted for my gym sorts and Tims T-shirt.It takes a village to look after each patient, including the doctors, residents, nurses, venipuncturists, food staff, cleaners, patient transporters, pharmacists, medical imagers, emerg staff, triage nurses and more.Your adjustable bed sometimes has a mind of its own. I’m sure that more than one patient has been trapped or crushed while trying to get into a comfortable position.Perhaps, just perhaps, medical trainees should experience what it is like to have a Foley catheter, an NG tube or even a rectal tube. Not so they will think twice about employing them when indicated, but rather to raise their empathy level.I managed to avoid a hallway during my stays. But I did pass through them several times on my trips to medical imaging. They resembled something like a homeless shelter or a refugee camp, a tragic mural of blue-gowned humans with IV poles, scrunched up like pretzels, clutching cell phones.I ran into a few old colleagues while in hospital, but for the most part I was Mr. Wise, or Mark. Sometimes I gently hinted that I used to work there. It tended to enrich the relationship.Pulling off feats like getting to your washroom at 3:00 a.m. with an IV pole and a dragging gown presented a great challenge, especially with a tremor. When done, I felt a sense of accomplishment, much as Harry Houdini must have back in the day.There’s always room for Jell-o. I never knew it could taste so good. The same goes for cold apple juice.The whiteboard on the wall is valuable. It reminds you of your name, location, nurse, diet and goals for the day.Contrary to what I think we were taught, many of the doctors, and nurses, phrased their questions as statements. “You don’t have any allergies, do you?” “You’re not having any pain in your chest, are you?” Only a well-designed clinical trial would determine whether this has an impact on patient outcomes.The 1974 hit by the Three Degrees, “When Will I See You Again” became an indispensable question after each doctor or nursing visit. Disappointedly, their answer was often “I’m off for the next three days,” or “That’s it today unless you have a problem.”I had several roommates along the way. For most of them, English was their second language. I question how much information they grasped when their doctor hurriedly passed through as the sun was rising. While I didn’t have a stopwatch to time doctors’ visits, and I hate to generalize, many were quick, to say the least.For so many reasons, the nurses shine.And finally, thank you to my surgeons for their infinite skill, judgement and caring.Enough with my scattered recollections. They are just that, scattered recollections. In spite of the incessant criticism of our healthcare system, I feel fortunate that it looked after me. Here’s to a better 2026. Did I already mention you should take your own salt?Dr. Mark Wise is a retired physician residing in Thornhill, Ont.

No hallway for old men: a collection of fifth-floor memories

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