My recent acquisition of a new hip reminded me of earlier experiences I have had , comparatively recently as I have acquired new body parts, firstly my trust pacemaker, secondly my new knees. I don’t do hospitals well. The beds don’t fit, the painkillers stuff up my bowels, the ever present noise and eternal lighting are blooming nuisances and in a rather would destroying experience in rehab a year ago I was reduced to a blubbering hulk as infantile as a three year old courtesy of the NIGHT NURSE! I was eventually separated from my room mate at the time – we got on like a house on fire – they sent her packing and moved me to a private room so that I would no longer exert ” negative influence over other rehab patients”.
I did manage to do some writing while there at the time. It took the form of an 8 page letter to the hospital head of nursing, the chairperson of the board, my specialist and my own doctor. The head of nursing in the rehab ward was an ex-student, funnily enough, who, until the letter, referred to me by my Christian name and after the letter gave me my full title Mrs Roach ” out of respect” she explained!
The recent trip was to a different establishment, without the option of rehab and a three night only stay. The urge to write overcame me – rhyming verse this time. The first one at 1.47pm after being told there was a two hour wait, which became a four hour wait for the theatre. The second and third offerings were at some ungodly hour of the next morning in ICU. As I read them now, I am astounded by the fact that I was lucid enough to do anything!
But obviously it all caught up with me when I tried to fill out the menu before I was moved to my room hours and hours later. Lunch the next day arrived with everything I had ticked on the menu including the hot choice and the cold choice and DECAF tea and two types of bread AND assorted sandwiches!
I remember trying to scrawl a message to the chef to indicate that even I knew I was off my chops. I’ve got no idea what the text in the bubble was about but I did manage to get my being in a coma of exhaustion, I think I must be dreaming into something legible! I guess the chef must have thought I was just starving!
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