Much is currently being said about the risk of contracting an infection, sometimes deadly, in our hospitals. The latest statistic says some 200,00 people in 12 months caught an infection while being treated in the health system. What is alarming about this figure is that medical experts agree the toll could be easily halved if staff just washed their hands more often. This is tantamount to basic potty training hygiene drummed into young children. When it comes to health professionals , surely they are more alert, vigilant and meticulous in handling vulnerable patients. If not, why not? My casual observations and experiences in hospitals has resulted in a feeling of disquiet about cleanliness and vermin control . Recently I visited a family member in a private hospital attached to a public hospital , the latter with a bad reputation for infections. The inside of the window in the room had numerous greasy looking smears , the sun revealing spore- like patches which did not look like penicillin factories. The nearby small waiting room alcove had an offensive odour , dust was visible and there was a pile of tattered magazines which seemingly dated from Gutenberg press days , no doubt thumped by by countless people and a grand repository of potential infection.
In the same private hospital was a specialist's office where my wife went. As I waited for her , I glanced about the room and, having once done large office cleaning , glanced into corners and along ledges. During several visits , the same tell -tale scraps of paper and fluff were visible banked up in corners.
When my mother was rushed into a Brisbane public hospital , the family , from various states, kept vigil , often spending long hours in the wating room , the lights turned low at night, enabling people to snooze. But once the lights were dimmed, out came fleet - footed cockroaches from beneath the water cooler. A woman yelped on seeing a midnight marauder and her partner jumped to his feet and chased it about the room trying to stomp on it before it made the safety of the cooler. He failed . One night, my head against the wall, my eyes heavy, something fell on my hair and I was bitten on the scalp. This critter , not a cockie, moved faster than Phar lap when I brushed it from my hair and disappeared under the cooler.
When going to another Queensland hospital to have my plumbing looked at, along with a brigade of other leaky old sods, my name was called and I was ushered into a small room. Eventually, the urologist hurried in , covered from head to foot as if prepared for an operation. A few basic questions , the mobile phone rang , the specialist apologised and dashed off to the theatre. On returning , our truncated conversation resumed but was again curtailed by another call back to the theatre. All that tooing and froing must have raised the possibility of transporting infections . I was advised to make another appointment.
An old mate of mine who is in and out of hospitals has developed a monstrous infection in the shape of a large boil which refuses to respond. He dreads each visit to hospital because of the questionable hygiene standards he has witnessed.
I may sound liket that whacky Dr House , but I have this wild theory that the work stations where doctors and nurses spend an inordinate amount of time, filling our endless paperwork, gazing at monitors, pounding on keyboards and sucking nervously at pens is a happy hunting ground for infections. Running swabs through these flight decks , I believe, would reveal the source of much collatoral damage . Then there are carpets , an undoubted source of infections and mutations
Cyclops
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