The Dreaded Virus
The Dreaded Virus
Doctors make the worst patients. As a group, we are poor at prevention, either over-interpret or ignore the first signs of illness, often try to diagnose and treat ourselves, and are useless at complying with appropriate treatments recommended by others.
I turned up at work on a Monday morning to find the ward a bit stretched. Some of the nurses had taken some days off with what was probably Norovirus, which had come in from one of the local rest homes. Over our customary morning cup of coffee, I was bragging to Nina, one of the other doctors, about how I had hardly ever taken time off work, only two or three sick days in a 30-year career. I should have had less to say.
We were interrupted by the nurse from HDU asking that we see one of her patients immediately. I knew the man, an elderly gentleman with congestive heart failure, on replacement cortisone, who had come in with chest pain and breathlessness. What they were concerned about though was not his heart or lungs but the fact that he had suddenly developed vomiting and diarrhoea. Off he went into a side room, had a line inserted, and started on IV fluids and steroids. We were all extremely careful, without the need to further read any policies or anything, about gowns and gloves and hand washing.
Maybe it was all this extra care, or the time taken for the impromptu summit meetings of the Infection Control Committee, or maybe I was just working slowly that day, but for some reason I was an hour or two late getting ready to go home.
The only remaining patient for me to see was another elderly man who had come in from the affected rest home the day before with, just to add some symmetry to my day, vomiting and diarrhoea followed by chest pain, who was now all right to go home. As I was running late, I sidled up to the man, without taking any further precautions, and told him the good news. As he turned to thank me, he gave a spluttery cough that I just couldn’t avoid. I could feel the Norovirus entering my body.
I drove home and, as is my habit, forgot all about the events at work. There were various events to hear about from the family, and there was home work to do. One of the kids for our evening meal had suggested nachos: bright yellow corn chips, dark brown mince and red kidney beans, scarlet tomatoes and green avocados, topped with cheese and sour cream. It looked and tasted delicious. After tea my wife wanted us to play a game of table-tennis, which I managed to win, but I felt surprisingly lethargic. I needed to go to the toilet, for some serious business; a bit loose, but I didn’t think it was anything to worry about.
I woke through the night knowing for sure this time that there definitely was something to worry about. Vomiting this time. I somehow managed to get the light on before I rushed back to the toilet. My meal looked just as colourful, but much less appetising, on the way back up.
The diarrhoea associated with Norovirus is described as sudden and severe. I won’t add any further details (you may be trying to eat lunch as you read this). All I will say is that the descriptions are accurate. I crawled back into a tiny space on my own side of the bed and managed to get some sleep between trips to the ensuite toilet.
I phoned work. Could I take some time off? Yes, I would have to. There was a compulsory three day stand down period. I knew this, but it had to be explained to me. What if the diarrhoea stopped? No. What about if I was feeling completely well? No. I made a quick and complete recovery. I pride myself on not having passed it on to anyone else in the household.
I returned to work, feeling much less bullet proof than before. There were no new patients with the virus, but we remained careful. I felt relieved to be better, chastened by my experience, ashamed to have become a victim of the illness we were supposed to help prevent and treat, and extremely grateful to my colleagues for covering for me at short notice.