I think I found out why I don't like hospitals

I’ve never liked hospitals or doctors, and I know that’s a regular statement, but I have always had a serious aversion to the whole medical profession. Up until I was about 18-19 years old, I would regularly pass out while having my blood pressure taken. I only started giving blood regularly when I was diagnosed with haemochromatosis, otherwise known as inherited iron overload disorder.

Some information on haemochromatosis is below

Now I accept that I’m not that unique; lots of people have a dislike for doctors, fears of needles, etc. The problem is, I couldn’t really put my finger on anything that had caused this. I mean, from about 8 to 13 years of age, I used to keep getting throat infections, and I didn’t like the doctor shoving the tongue depressor down my throat. My medico-phobia seemed to predate this.

Fast-forward a few years, and I was in a conversation with my mother, and somehow, we got onto the time that I went to the hospital as a baby. I’d heard some of the story before. I was about a year old, caught measles, and ended up having some sort of seizure. I knew this; it had been talked about a lot. This time, however, I heard the details about how Mum had called an ambulance to take me to the hospital, and that’s when I discovered that I’d gone in the ambulance on my own.

I pressed Mum on this, and she responded, “Well, I had your sister there and no one to look after her.” I thought, but didn’t verbalise, that I knew my grandparents lived around the corner, and surely, they could have come up to look after my older sibling. Anyway, I let that slide.

As Mum continued re-telling this enhanced version of a story that I thought I knew, I realised that Mum hadn’t come up to the hospital at all during the 6 days I was there. As I pressed on this, she again reverted to her defence of, “Your sister was at home, and I didn’t have anyone to look after her”.

The added reassurance she offered was to tell me that my aunt, who was a nurse, was at that hospital, so she could check in on me regularly. So yes, it was nice to know that there was someone who cared enough to see if this young child was alive and being looked after.

The funny thing is, I didn’t even think about asking why my dad hadn’t looked after my sister so Mum could come up, but then she dropped the following clanger:

Well, I did ask your father to stop in and see you after work. But you know what he was like, he doesn’t like hospitals.

So, let’s recap the highlights: a one-year-old child goes to the hospital, for about a week, and neither of his parents goes to visit him even once. I don’t have a psychology degree, but if I were looking for any underlying reasons for my abandonment issues, poor self-esteem, and fears of medical institutions and professionals, maybe this experience had some sort of an impact.

I should say that Mum continues to insist that her actions were the completely right choice. But I remain skeptical.

I think about my daughter, who’s now 9. If she were going into the hospital overnight, I’d move heaven and earth to be there. I’d likely end up in a fight with a nurse or a doctor because I wanted to stay longer. Heck, when she was born, I didn’t like it when they took her away from us to make sure everything was fine.

Anyway, just one more tale to talk about why I’m a little bit messed up.

Thanks for reading.