Sunday

Recently, in March, on the 10th I think, I found myself being rushed to hospital. Avoiding particular details, I lost all my strength and ended up on the floor in my bathroom, unable get up and barely able to move.

Just before Christmas, I had a severe bout of Covid. That wrecked Christmas for me. But after recovering from that, I started to lose my appetite. Since the New Year, I had a total loss of appetite and anything I did try to eat went “straight through”. I didn’t feel ill as such, I just lost all interest in food and drink. Eventually, I guess, I “collapsed” due to severe nutritional deficiency and dehydration…

My phone was in my living/bed room (I live in a large studio flat, you know, one big open-plan room for living and sleeping and everything else, with attached open-plan kitchenette, and separate bathroom/toilet off of a entry hallway).

Realising I was in severe trouble here, I had to haul my sorry ass from where I lay, to where my phone was. A very pain-staking and exhausting crawl/slither, manoeuvring myself from the bathroom, out into the hall, into my living/bed room and across it to my bed where my phone was. I lost track of time but it was hours before I finally got to my bed, still on the floor, weak and very tired. I still couldn’t get up, I had to pull my bed coverings to finally retrieve my phone. This all started just before about 13:30 on the Sunday afternoon. I think it was about 18:00 or so when I finally had my phone and I could call for help.

It took roughly two hours before an ambulance came. Initial observations were done. Nothing dire was observed, but I still had no strength whatsoever. Because of where I lived (upstairs flat, tight doors and corridors, stairs only), the ambulance crew decided they would require help to get me to the ambulance. Further help took a little while to arrive too. But I was eventually taken to the ambulance. By now, I had been on the floor around 8 hours.

At the hospital, I was taken to Accident and Emergency to be assessed, blood taken, etc. Then I was moved to Acute Assessment. There, they tried to get me to sit in a chair, then get up and walk a bit. Getting up took supreme effort and I needed a lot of help, but once upright, I was able to walk a bit, although rather shakily. They said i was good for discharge and I would be sent home on that basis! I was like “what?”, knowing that I would only be in the same situation the next time I sat down. They eventually listened and, realising I was right, the took me back to a “private” room in Acute Assessments where I spent the rest of the night, in a nightmare (even in a “private” room, the area was so noisy, other patients shouting, etc,), until I eventually fell asleep.

The next day

The next day, I was moved to a 6 bed bay in Acute Assessments, more tests done and I was left to rest. I was put on a saline and anti-biotic drip. Conclusions from tests so far was that I had a long running gut infection that was responsible for my woes since Christmas. A few hours later, I was offered a sandwich, my nurse offered to make me a tuna sandwich else I could have a pre-packed cheese one. I opted for tuna. I could only eat half. That was my first real food in 48 hours by then.

Later, that same day, I was moved to another ward, I forget its name, but it was on the first floor of the hospital, in another “private” room. My sister and her partner were coming to visit that day and I had to send a flurry of texts telling them I was being moved. As it was, they met me, in the corridor, as I was being bed-wheeled to the new ward/room. Half delirious I suppose, I didn’t recognise them at first, they spoke, seemed familiar yet were strangers. How bizarre is that?

The next day, I was moved into a 6 bed bay and my “fun” really began…

My next set of posts will be the actual stories I sent my family and friends when I was more recovered and bored…