"Reflection of the day: but what's the point of wanting to build new hospitals if there aren't any doctors and nurses to make them work?". Thus begins the precise and acute story of a day of "ordinary normality" in the emergency room of Brotzu, in Cagliari, lived by the journalist Carla Mura: the report of 11 hours of waiting for an injury suffered by her son, among staff who four, voltages and a really excessive temperature range.

Here is the "chronicle".

Today I'm telling you about a day of ordinary normality, about my 11 hours in the emergency room.

Oh yes, it's not ordinary madness, because we're so addicted to it that it seems normal to us, and instead we should turn the tables. Not in the hospital obviously, but in via Roma 25, in Cagliari.

Yesterday I accompanied Filio to the Brotzu emergency room, because he hurt his knee. I knew it wouldn't be pleasant, but on a Friday, with many specialists on vacation and an urgent X-ray, moving privately was impossible.

Eleven hours, without lunch or dinner, unable to go and get something from the vending machines because if you move and they call you, it's the end. A hellish bedlam, but with arctic temperatures, because they save on everything but the air conditioning. Nurses handed out folded sheets to people waiting to protect them from the cold.

People who complained, people who, freaked out by waiting, malaise and perhaps previous discomfort, shouted bad words and threats in Sardinian. My son is educated. 45 minutes to get some ice to put on the knee, because we had also brought it from home in the fridge bag, but after the fifth hour of waiting the ice was already gone.

For about half an hour an elderly gentleman said he had to pee, and called. Later, someone came and in the face of privacy, loudly told him not to worry that he had the cloth. People with asphalt rash ( strupiata in moped), people bent over by pain waiting for shelter, travelers from the magical world of Alzheimerland, who if it weren't for the drama of the situation, told wonderfully bizarre things.

But also a young lady who had scratched her mole which was now bleeding, someone with a toothache who perhaps wanted to save money on the dentist, and other similar amenities. Because it must be said, there are people who could adopt alternative solutions and don't do it, they clog up the already overburdened emergency room.

To the whole outline of the infinite wait I have to add my concern for the outcome of the visit, with a 15-year-old boy who, although calm and resigned, had his knee as swollen as a child's head and was unable to support the leg, it's not that he was exactly fine, even if it was nothing compared to certain situations.

Around 8 pm, from 11 when we were there, they took us to I don't know which floor, because they finally put Filio's leg in plaster. We thought we'd finally left, but when they came to get us (we had to go down to the emergency room for discharge and we couldn't do it alone) they realized that the wheelchair they came up in couldn't be used for a patient with the cast from the foot to the groin.

So the very nice and helpful nurse apologized and said he would go get a stretcher and would be right back, I thought the hospital had swallowed him up: he returned at 9.45 pm, after three reminder calls, one from the doctor and two from the nurse who from time to time gave enemas, administered medicines, set up rooms and clinics.

Before resigning, the doctor tells us that heparin must be prescribed in the emergency room. In the end the poor nurse, mortified by the interminable wait (some emergencies had held him down) took us back to hell, where we discovered that no, the doctor had to prescribe heparin, we had to go back to traumatology.

At that point I think my eye began to shake, because the infirmary, after a moment's hesitation, understood that it was better to postpone the conflict of competences and give me the prescription right away. In short, in the end almost 12 hours in the emergency room. A lost day of work, because unlike those who govern us and should manage these situations, I have a VAT number, and if I don't work, I don't earn.

In all of this, it must be said that Filio is currently without public health care, because having turned 15 last week, he no longer has the right to see a pediatrician. Aware of this, I made a transfer request well in advance, via email as requested by the ASL, but I have not yet received any response.

The staff, apart from some grumpy, but at this point I also understand why, doctors, nurses and security guards are all very kind and helpful, they bend over backwards, but there are few of them and eight or even sixteen can't do it . But really, what do we do with a flaming hospital if we don't have someone to make it work?

A huge thank you to the man from 118 who helped us get Filio into the car, a person of touching sweetness, apart from the fact that he confused Queen Elizabeth with a cowboy. Thanks Mr. Paolo for the kind words, I don't know Filio, but after a day like this I really needed to hear that there are people like you.

(Unioneonline)

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