Author: Mhalaise (Page 2 of 2)

What follows is the first “story” I shared with friends and family during my hospital stay. This is day 8, I didn’t “record” the previous days, there wasn’t much of interest and day 8 was where I felt more my own self and able to write. Read on…

A day in the life of a hospital inpatient.

So, the previous night proved, um, interesting. My canula was removed. Yay! Big lump of white gauze taped to the resultant “hole” to catch the few drips of my lifeblood and settle to sleep. Strange sensation on my left wrist, slightly damp feeling. Hmm, let’s check this out. I’m covered in red, my whole hand is red, my sheet is red (ok, big spots of red then), my hospital gown is red (well, big spots again).The gauze looks looks like an oversized clot, completely soaked through and red. Omg, I’m bleeding out! Much longer and my whole arm will be empty! So, call the nurse back. Got sorted, washed arm, changed gown and bedding, new gauze was applied and a lot of pressure applied and no further incident from that. Time for sleep finally…

Woke up at what I thought was 06:00, breaking my neck. Turns out it was only 03:something (but I was breaking my neck – why they insist on giving my diuretics right before sleep time!). That emergency dealt with, fall back asleep and, um, wake up at 06:00 (for reals this time). A strange presence over my left shoulder jolts me awake. A vampire? Well, maybe. Blood sugar test. (Will that make me bleed out? Will the finger prick heal?). See, sometime in the past, after a particularly nasty illness, I got labelled as diabetic. Once thus labelled, you are never unlabelled, even if subsequent tests etc. all prove negative (for example, this particular stay, the highest my blood sugar has been is 7.2 – this morning’s was 4.9). By the way, I’m not careful with diet nor sugars. So you can’t say I’m “managing” diabetes, more like I’m not diabetic! Hey ho!

Breakfast at 7(ish). Cornflakes (no added sugar – my preference) and a mug of tea (also unsweetened). Then a long wait to be allowed up to freshen up etc (sometime between 9:40 and 10:30 by the time they get to me). Oh, the reason I can’t just get on with it myself is that I am still unsteady, with little to no strength in legs and arms so need a bit of a helping hand to transfer from bed to chair.

That all done, inspect my phone for well wishes (none yet), check the WiFi (still broken), check tv, still broken! I find an old Bournemouth Echo article from 2022 when Hospedia (supplier of inpatient wifi and entertainment services) last had a problem. It took 7 days to fix (where I’m sure a good proportion of affected inmates expired of boredom! That’s one way to clear waiting lists) It’s going to be a long old day! As I write (14:00ish), things are still broken. Oh, it all went down at 19:30 or so last night – right in the middle of Bob Mortimer and Paul Whitehouse Go Fishing (on Dave channel).

Before lunchtime, needed the little boys’ room. Not sure why we call it that, I’m sure little girls use it too. Sought permission to go, permission got granted about 30 minutes later – I’m getting good at tying knots now! With permission granted, let’s see if I can do this. Little shimmy on this uncompromising chair, both arms in use and… I lift myself up out of the damn thing. First time managed since I came in here (a week ago today, more or less). Go me! Out to the aforementioned “room”, relief, then back to my chair and blank tv screen.

I can smell lunch has arrived. Apparently there will be roast pork. Haven’t had that in years. Oh, I should add, usually we choose our meals, through the tv! We get a list of options for savoury and for dessert. Not today. Because the tv is broken. Today’s choice was simply “take it or leave it”. Just as well I like roast pork, else I would be bored, and hungry! Heaven forbid.

Actually, the roast wasn’t all that bad, no crackling with the pork though – guess that’s deemed to unhealthy for hospital food. Purbeck vanilla icecream for dessert.

However, before lunch was served, a little trouble from some of my fellow inmates. We are in a bay of 6 beds, 2 occupied by normals (I class myself in that) and the rest occupied by people of diminished mental acuity. “D”, the chap who currently resides directly opposite me has some (well, a few) issues. He demands attention and if if it’s not immediately forthcoming, starts calling “nurse” or “help” or “bloody hell” or  combinations thereof until attention eventually arrives. I feel sorry for him but it’s slightly unnerving, especially today when I became the target of a badly thrown plastic coffee mug thing (it missed, it fell short, but was definitely on target). I’m sure he didn’t mean to throw it at me, he was just highly frustrated he wasn’t getting the attention he needed (they are short staffed here and the staff can’t be everywhere at once) so he chucked the mug for attention.

Anyway, lunch over, I’m bored out of my skull – still no wifi nor tv entertainment – so thought I’d write a little about my experience here today.

My other inmates? There’s “J”. Elderly chap, fallen a few times (once last night I think – the days run into each other). Nice enough chap but not entirely “with it”. Thinks everyone is talking to him so when a nurse asks me, or another patient, something, he answers as if the question was directed at him. The results can be hilarious!

And then there’s “H”. He has permanent mental health support worker with him (I say permanent, I mean there’s one always present with him but they work in shifts). He’s on a fluid restriction but will take every opportunity to grab a sly cup of water using whatever receptacle he can find lying around. He wanders back and forth constantly or he just stands and stares at close quarters. Usually in some partial state of undress which isn’t pleasant. He also gets right in the face of his support workers if they tell him off (for wandering or drinking when he shouldn’t) and has even pushed a couple of them (not forcefully, but definite physical contact). And he hovers over the drugs trolley, or the food cart which is a bit worrying. But I think he’s largely harmless.

And finally, there’s “R”. Supersonic “R”. Looks frail, speeds along like a flippin’ greyhound – has the nurses running to keep up with him.

The other “normal” I mentioned (besides me), I can’t recall his name. But a very nice, friendly, helpful chap – wants to aid everyone (think he is actually a nurse when he’s not a patient). And has the patience of a saint to deal with the likes of “D”, “J” and “H”.

Anyway, that’s me signing off now. I will write again if I have anything of further interest to tell…

Oh, and it’s 14:45 and things are still broken…

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…