An Unexpected Trip to the Pronto Succorso

September 26, 2021

Venice is everything I dreamed it would be, but ironically, it was the site of the low point of our grand adventure, set in a hospital emergency room…
Every few years I get bronchitis, the legacy of pneumonia I had when I was 29. When I do, I have to act quickly to keep it under control. I picked up a virus in Italy, and on our third night in Venice I was coughing badly and wheezing with every breath. The hotel called a water taxi, which whisked us to the other side of the city to a hospital.
We walked in and they sent Dempsey off to a waiting room. The triage nurse spoke little English but took me immediately to have a COVID test, which was negative. Then they took me to another waiting room with 15 other patients.
For a while, that was entertaining. We’d seen over-the-top emotional displays of people in shops yelling at each other, and drivers leaning out of car windows to loudly berate other drivers. I’d even on several occasions been in a public toilet and had women pounding on the door and yelling for me to hurry up.
Here in the ER, the drama was on full display. Whenever a staff member would come in the room, several women patients would moan and cry out loudly in pain. If I’d closed my eyes, I could have imagined I was in a battlefield hospital with soldiers whose legs had been blown off. But 5 minutes later, these ladies were back in their cell phones, chattering away.
Meanwhile, my coughing and wheezing were getting worse. A man sitting behind the desk in a glass cubicle brought me a paper cup and pointed to a water fountain. Whenever I tried to ask him, or any of the nurses who were ferrying other patients in and out of the room in wheelchairs, when I would be seen, they would either turn their backs on me or point and yell at me, “Madam, sit!”
As the hours passed, all the other patients were seen, and wheeled out and back. I was completely ignored. Meanwhile I was coughing uncontrollably that deep painful bronchitis cough. I finally went into the glass cubicle and asked why I hadn’t yet been seen, and the man, who had a few words of English, said the other people were sick but they would get to me eventually. I can only think that at triage they had written down I had a cough but not that I was having trouble breathing.
By the time 4 hours had passed, I was exhausted from coughing. For the first time ever, I’d coughed so hard I lost control of my bladder and was wet, smelly, and embarrassed. After 6 hours, I was wheezing so badly I couldn’t catch my breath and was wondering if I was actually going to die in this ridiculous situation. Another patient went and brought back a nurse who said, “Open,” shoved an inhaler in my mouth and gave me a dose of Ventolin.
Shortly thereafter I was finally taken back to see the doctor. She spoke only a little English but with the Google Translator we managed to communicate, and I could see she was doing all the right things. She sent me for a chest X-ray, gave me antibiotics and said she wanted to admit me for breathing treatments and observation. I had serious doubts about putting myself further at the mercy of these people, but I was too sick to go anywhere else so I agreed.
From the time I was admitted, the whole experience changed. The nurses were kind and competent and an English-speaking doctor talked to me as though I were an intelligent person. They gave me a few hours of breathing treatments and released me with the prescriptions I needed. The bill was $500. Dempsey, who’d walked across the island back to our hotel at five in the morning, walked back with clean clothes and we caught the vaporetto, the water bus.
I’m still processing the experience. Obviously the ER (in Italian, Pronto Succorso) system itself is deficient. In the States, I would have been seen, given an inhaler and something for the cough, and then put aside for however long they needed.
We have had similar experiences in much less important settings. When it’s become clear we don’t speak their language, we’ve had shopkeepers, train conductors, ticket agents, and bus drivers turn their backs and ignore us, stopping our attempts to communicate mid-stream.
Most of all, I am aware of how out of my element I was. I am accustomed to exercising my white, upper-middle-class privilege, being attended to and treated with respect. It was disconcerting and confusing to be dismissed and ignored. And I know many people, in all countries, are not accorded respect. It was a miserable but revelatory experience.

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About the Author

Jillian Coleman Wheeler

Hello, and welcome. I’m Jillian Coleman Wheeler, Trauma Recovery Coach, speaker, consultant and writer. I work with individuals and organizations. I offer classes, and I also speak and write about personal development, spirituality, and health and success in life and work. For people suffering depression, I created the Reboot Your Bliss™ process.

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