How the Czech Health Care System Has Stripped Me Naked

 Short, hopefully humorous story about gallbladders, hospitals and nudity. 

Spending three days in hospital drastically changed my views about the sanity of surgeons, about necessity of sleep and mostly about nudity. Before the unfortunate failure of my luckily not-so-important body organ, which decided that the best way to deal with stress was to create some giant bile stones which then maliciously decided that the best way to keep me from gaining weight was to cause me a colic fit every time I opened fridge door, I used to be very shy girl. Shy to the extent that my poor boyfriend could strip me only in 100% darkness. Spending three days in hospital, however, has changed my life-views (and levels of dignity) forever.

My soul-self-dignity-shyness purification started when I ended up in the emergency room with colic fit again. After eating the most repugnant dinner of my life which consisted of watery mash and something resembling a cat food, I spent sleepless night of not knowing when the operation is going to happen or who is going to perform it. My classmate who is currently studying to be a surgeon used to claim that duck has four legs, not wings included - so yeah, I was naturally quite nervous. In the morning, I signed an agreement that stated I have read every possible way I could die during the operation, and that I won´t blame the hospital for it (naturally, since dead people do not tend to do so), and then the real fun began.

Two nurses emerged from the hallway and told me to strip completely - yes, completely! - and when I reluctantly did so, hiding beneath the covers, they shared an exhausted look and uncovered me again. My heartbeat quickened when I saw haughty looking nurse lift up a razor blade, and for a moment I wondered if story tales about hospital death-angels were true - but the next minute I was sure I would prefer having my throat slit because these two completely strange women began shaving me - shaving me everywhere.

Like, even down there, where only my boyfriend occasionally wanders.

After recovering from my petrified state, I - still red in the face and completely mortified - managed to ask weakly why it was necessary since my gallbladder was located right beneath the ribs.

"Because the surgeons want to work on a clean property, dear," the elder nurse explained patiently - and continued her work on my lady parts. From this day on, I internalized two things. One - nurses are incredible beings that should be appreciated and paid way more. Two - surgeons are ridiculous big-headed idiots.

So, to sum up: for my gallbladder laparoscopic operation, which entails four small cuts - the lowest one on my bellybutton - I had my private parts shaved clean by two complete strangers. Hail the Czech healthcare education.

After this first beyond-nudity experience, quite an uneasy feeling crept up on me. I received a pill that was supposed to calm me down before the operation, but by this point I was so stressed up that it didn´t work. I was shaking like a leaf, walking around the sickly-yellow room in circles wrapped in thin sheet, so my roommate wouldn´t have to watch me naked anymore. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention - my hospital roommate, a really old lady who couldn´t hear properly, was there the entire time watching the show from the front row. So, by this point, three individuals except for my boyfriend saw me naked - more was soon to come.

The nurses came again, this time taking me for the green mile. I had to give up my sheet and ended up in wheeled bed covered only in some paper, being transported to the operating hall. They have this weird system, where you have to climb from the wheeled bed over a stone-cold surface onto another, sterilized bed. Having only a paper canvas to cover me, I instinctively held it to my chest. But my butt has been seen by at least other three people.

Feeling like some creepy exhibitionist, I just genuinely prayed to be put into a coma soon. Thankfully, my wish came true quickly. When I emerged from the nothingness (apparently three hours and one gallbladder-short later), my first thought was that I am terribly thirsty - and covered in a warm blanket, nothing leaking out to the outer world. I submerged into blissful sleep.

When I woke the next time back in my hospital room, I felt like a car must have run me over. But I was alive! I survived! I didn´t die from those many reasons the legal agreement stated! The next second though, I realized it hurts to breathe - it hurt to do anything. I was forbidden to drink starting last night, so my throat was burning, but suddenly I wasn´t sure if it was even worse to move. The nurse came back and gave me little sip of water and I was happy for a moment, but then she returned with a strange bowl - and brought me on the verge of tears again.

"I need you to pee, Miss."

Never have I ever wished more to be a man who could just inconspicuously pee in a jar.

The nurse saw my desperate eyes but insisted anyway. It is apparently some protocol after surgical operation. She put the bowl under my butt and covered me in blanket and stepped behind the corner, but my roommate was still there and the nurse was technically still there too and my bladder is public-toilet shy. Why were they doing this to me?!

I think this was the moment when something inside me finally and definitively broke.

After the deed was done, the nurse brought the pee-bowl away. I promised not to drink ever again, but my dry throat protested, so I slowly sipped some herbal tea. After waking up from another slumber, I needed to go again. But I wasn´t, I just wasn´t going to pee into the bowl like a well trained dog. I could walk. I definitely could. The nurse helped me to sit up - and then I almost threw up on her.

(Again, much respect for nurses and all they have to endure).

When my head stopped spinning and I finally made it to the bathroom dressed only in that white-ish hospital gown where your backside is on view literary as God intended, I collapsed on the seat and realized that I don´t give a damn anymore that the doors are opened. My way bigger problem was that it physically hurt to pee. Not like UTI hurt, but stomach muscles hurt. If you ever have to go through a laparoscopic operation, be prepared - it hurts to even breathe for a few days in spite of floating on a morphine trip.

The whole bathroom adventure which entailed about fifteen steps from bed to loo was so exhausting after the anesthesia that I couldn´t stand up again. So, the nurse kindly retrieved me from the toilet. At this point, I didn´t care anymore. A few days later when I finally got home, I must have shocked everyone when I wasn´t particularly bothered that they had to help me shower. They were definitely more uncomfortable than I was.

When I returned to the hospital half a year later to have my injured shoulder fixed, I flew the halls in my butt-bare butterfly-gown like a boss and nothing could surprise me anymore. In case you suffer from nakedness anxiety, I highly recommend spending a few days in any medical facility. It will change your views. Drastically.