It’s 3 am – dial 111

When Johan went to bed at close to midnight on Monday night he was not happy. A few hours earlier he had complained of ringing in his ears, and then he had suddenly lost all hearing in his right ear. Google had suggested he had SHL – sudden hearing loss and that he should get it checked out as soon as possible. Not so much a diagnosis as a description of his symptoms. Well close to midnight in Level 4 lockdown is not possible, so we agreed to take him to the doctor or A&E if necessary in the morning.

Sometime, while I was sounding sleeping, Johan got up and went to the bathroom. When he went to stand up he could not. I was woken by him calling out, “Linda, I’m sick”. Instantly awake and breathless, I found him lying face-down on the floor. Any movement was next to impossible, and caused him to throw up. I cannot lift a 100 kg man from a prone position on the floor, and he was not willing to let me try. Nor would he accept staying on the spot with a pillow under his head. Instead he hauled himself along the floor to the bedroom in the hope of being able to climb into bed.

No hope, actually. He made it to the foot of the bed while I dialled 111. Not the first time I have done this. The operator was calm. “What is the address? Who is the patient? What happened? Is he breathing normally? Is he conscious? Is his colour normal? How old is he? Does he have any COVID symptoms? Have a mask on for when responders arrive.” The ambulance was on its way and I was to ring back if his condition changed. Blanket over him, tissues and bowl for vomit. No pillow because he would have had to lift his head.

Throw some clothes on quickly. Wriggle him into some pyjama pants at his insistence. Shut Kali in another room.

I am trying not to panic. Assuming it is some form of vertigo and not a heart attack or stroke. Mercifully the ambulance arrives in minutes but I have put my phone down and cannot find it to take the call. It stops ringing and I have to find the phone and call back to let them know I am on my way down to let them into the apartment block. They have been to the Isaac a few times before. We have quite a few elderly people and shit happens.

Johan is wedged between the bed and an armchair in the corner of the bedroom. Any attempt to move him causes extreme distress and nausea. No, he cannot sit up. At his suggestion we put on the mask he sometimes uses to treat an eye condition and this helps since it blocks the light and mitigates the effect of movement on his eyesight. They run through the basic checks and confirm his vital signs are strong. It does not look like a heart attack, although it is possible that a brain bleed has caused the loss of hearing and dizziness. It is unlikely but possible, and in any event he needs to go to hospital. But to go to hospital he first has to sit up so they can put him in a wheelchair and then onto a bed. This is not easy. They can no more lift him from his position on the floor than I could, and for him sitting up is excruciating. But they get it done as I throw some clothes and his Birkenstocks into a bag with his phone and glasses.

Can I go in the ambulance with him to Auckland Hospital? No, of course not. We are in Level 4 lockdown. I leave the pile of jacket, glasses, phone and face masks I have gathered for myself and follow them down to the ambulance at the front steps. He is cold as the night air hits, and it takes a few minutes to get him into the ambulance. First he has to stand, take a step forward, then turn and sit on the stretcher before he can lie down. All this he manages, but his world is spinning out of control and the effort has him retching into the bag they have provided. In the ambulance they put a line into his arm and check his vital signs again. There is the sound of a police siren in the distance. Otherwise all is quiet, although at least one of our neighbours has a light on. We did not wake him. It has been on all night.

I rub Johan’s feet. It is the only bits of him I can reach. Now I have a mask on, and my own slight anxiety attack is easing as I breath in my own carbon dioxide. Who knew wearing a mask had this positive side effect? But they are going to drive off any minute and leave me standing there. The ambulance officer asks, “Are you listed as the first contact on his medical records?” I don’t know. I tell them I am not his wife as they have been assuming up until now, and he takes my contact details. “Ring the hospital in an hour. Go and have a cup of tea,” he tells me. Then they go. It is 4 am.

I go back upstairs. Let Kali out of the office. Clean up a bit. Take off the mask and immediately start breathing hard again. At least an hour to wait. I lie on my back on the bed and force myself to wait until 4.55 am. Then I get up, have a quick shower, dress again in a more considered manner. At 5.15 am I ring the hospital. They put me through to ER. The phone goes to the Registrar who has a message telling me not to leave a message but to ring back in five minutes. I hold off for twenty. Then I ring again. Same inquiry, but ask them to put me through to ER straight – off. They connect me to the receptionist in AED who transfers me to the nurses station where the phone rings and rings. I think about hanging up, but I have been in ER in the middle of the night. If you wait long enough a passing nurse will answer the phone. I wait nearly four minutes, but I do get a pick up. The doctor is seeing Johan now. No, she cannot tell me anything else. No, it is unlikely anyone will ring to tell me anything unless he becomes dangerously ill.

There is nothing to do but wait and ring later. At 6 am I try texting Johan. At 6:40 am I try ringing him. Nothing.

What am I doing to stay sane? Writing this down and waiting till it is a respectable hour to ring his family. Seven o’clock. Ring Barbra. She is calm but concerned, and agrees to ring the family at Matakana for me. What next? Take Kali out for a pee.

Ring hospital again at 7:30 am. I know better than to ring during the 7 am shift change. They have taken Johan off for a CT scan, and will probably discharge him today if all clear. I can glean nothing else, except that I can inquire again in another two hours. Phone Jo to advise her she will need to cover for Johan today and probably a few days more. Text Barbra to let her know what I have learnt. Text BurgOvan Clan to let them know what is happening.

Maybe I could sleep for an hour or so? With the phone in my hand. Try Johan’s phone again first. No answer so I leave another text.

Attempt at sleep does not work out so well. Family message group seemed to have missed the text saying I would try and sleep for an hour. They text individual support messages at 5 minute intervals. Jo rings with offer to walk Kali. No text or call can be ignored in case it is from the hospital. Still, I do lie in bed for an hour.

At 9:37 am ring the hospital again. Routine is familiar now. First patient inquiries puts me through to AED (accident & emergency dept?), then AED reception puts me through to nurse’s station where it rings and rings and rings until someone answers if I am lucky. At each stage I have to spell – J O H A N R I J N B E N D E – no, not Joanne, YO HAN. Yes, with a J. The CT scan results are not there yet. There is nothing else to tell me. NO, I AM NOT PERMITTED TO COME IN. I can ring back in another 2 – 3 hours by which time they should have the results.

Agonising.

What to do now? You know what. Petrol stations are open. I am going to put petrol in my car. The tank is less than 1/4 full. This is an emergency. I need petrol!

Minor disaster at petrol pump. It was not pumping. I pulled it out to find out what was wrong. It started pumping all over my trousers, jacket and shoes. Then the car swallowed $130 + worth of petrol. The girl at the night pay window was not the least bit interested in the forecourt spill. All she wanted to know was if I had FlyBuys. Drive home with window down so as not to suffocate, change clothes, throw everything in the wash. Now the whole apartment smells of petrol. As I say, a minor disaster.

Still too early to phone hospital again, so I vacuum, attend to emails, whatever to keep me from climbing the walls. And I take Kali for another walk.

At 11:55 am I ring the hospital again. It takes more than six minutes but I eventually talk to the nurse who is looking after him. This time I beg for real information. The doctors have yet to review the CT scan. But Johan is still feeling dizzy and nauseous and incapable of moving without distress. He been given medication, but needs to stay put until he is feeling better. His phone is out of reach and the nurse has heard it ringing. He promises to give it to him when he wakes up. That might be sometime given Johan’s ability to sleep, and the fact that he will be disinclined to wake up to the way he is feeling right now.

There is literally nothing to be done. Johan is still in AED and I just have to wait and see. Hopefully I will get to have a word with him before the day is out. I send out my updated texts and take a call from my sister. She suggests therapeutic baking for his return home. I put the twice washed load of washing in the dryer still stinking of petrol and start heating up soup from the freezer for lunch.

First Amy rings, then in the middle of the call Johan. I quickly switch over and put him on video so I can see how he looks. He is still attached to the eye mask from home, so looks a bit like a pirate. Other than that, and the fact that he keeps his eyes shut so as not to get dizzy, he does not look too bad. But he still cannot move without feeling sick and is definitely not well enough to go anywhere yet. He quickly confirms that the scan was clear and it is an inner ear issue. So he is quite distressingly unwell, but it is not life threatening. I am very happy. He is less so for the moment, which is not surprising. The nurse in the background confirms the ‘no visitor’ rule, and we discuss how to deliver essentials like phone charger and tooth brush Even that is not easy in lockdown and the logistics seem daunting until I remember good neighbour Terry is working at the hospital tonight and has offered to check in on Johan. But using the phone is a drain on Johan’s capacity and we have a relatively short call.

So all is about as well can be in the circumstances. Not good but apparently under control. Kali and I will have to care for each other tonight, while others care for Johan. I can relax a little. Breathe normally. Spread the news. And hope for a good night’s sleep. The next few days could be challenging.