As it tends to do, Time marches on, even when one is incarcerated in the hospital. On the health front, my foot seems to be improving, according to the Professor. It was re-dressed again today (with my help, as the wound specialist was at the European Wound Conference in Geneva, Switzerland, and enjoying herself with junkets onto the lake and the like) and the vacuum pump put back on. I was also taken down to X-Ray for a PICC line to be installed, just as during my last stay as a guest of the NHS. The external part of the line is slightly different than the last one, but it works as well, and thhe cannula has been removed. However, it looks like the Professor won’t let me out this week or, seemingly, next. I am going quietly crazy.
The ambience of the ward, however, has been spoiled by our newest inmate. I’ll call him H. H is from Surrey (judging by his accent), and he has spent much of the last year in hospitals. He had a spinal operation last year that went wrong (a surgeon mistakenly perforated his colon). This resulted in infections and finally in a large wound and a colostomy. He is in litigation with the NHS, but more importantly, he is a singularly demanding person.
There are limited food choices on the menu here, and most of us confine ourselves to what is on offer. Breakfast is cereal, porridge, or toast, with coffee, tea, or hot chocolate. There is sugar available for those who can use it. Most of us here are diabetics (H is not diabetic) so eschew the sugar and jam for our toast.
H wanted toast, 2 glasses of milk, and porridge (=US oatmeal). He wanted sugar and salt, as (he repeatedly said) no self-respecting Scot would eat oatmeal without salt. The breakfast trolley does not carry salt. He went spare. Then the breakfast server said that he could not have 2 glasses of milk as it would not leave enough milk for the rest of the patients’ cereal. Complaining about this kept him occupied until lunch. I was livid, as I don’t particularly like hearing that kind of groundless complaint.
At lunch I got sugared Jello, not sugar-free. Rather than complain, I gave H my Jello as well as a packet of salt (hopefully he’ll save it for use tomorrow morning).
This afternoon, one of the nurses, a nice older Caribbean woman who has always treated me very well, was asked to change H’s dressings. Now H is very particular about how his dressings should be done, but the nurse was doing it the way she was taught. For 45 minutes he argued with her about the dressings, getting louder and louder. I found this quite upsetting. Now he does have the right to get the dressings done as he wishes them to be done, but he didn’t make that clear beforehand. So he is now trying to complain to the NHS about the nurse (who doesn’t seem to mind) and about his treatment generally. I am not looking forward to tomorrow.
Now if Mr. McDonald were still around, perhaps he could return and strangle H like he tried to strangle P, my previous neighbour. No jury would convict him.
Jesus wept.
Holy crow, Chris. I’d be stark raving bananas by now. I know this because I’ve been in hospital for less time than that and have actually gone mad in the past for less aggravation.
Be strong as you’ve been, hang in, I’ll keep you in my thoughts and prayers. Mercy on you.
I wish I were there to take real food to your bedside! Feel better soon.
You’ve in my prayers.
Thank you so much. I will dream of your cooking tonight and wake up to three pieces of limp toast with butter and instant coffee. At least my foot is responding to treatment.
Thanks to all, Randy, Max, Serene, and whomever else replies. I am very grateful for all prayers and good wishes.
u gt so much better until can observe others? =)
Hope you heal up super quick! Sorry to hear you are having to live with crazy people while you get well.
I was much better off than you. I had a large room to myself. It was located in an alcove and the other room in my cud-de-sac had a contagious infection case with limited access (special gear was required to enter), so nobody ever came to visit except family. I was on a diabetic diet with extra restrictions to be gluten-free, so I ate pretty well. Too well, perhaps, as my sugars were high while I was hospitalized.
I finally got the doctors mad enough to kick me out, but I’m not exactly sure how I did it. I don’t think I actually dissed any of them, although the temptation was strong and growing stronger. I treated the nurses with respect and they treated me very well. I did discover that by shamelessly complimenting the phlebotomists on their near magical abilities to painlessly attack my veins I was able to get near-painless punctures and blood-lettings. Always be extra nice to those who can hurt you the worst. Anyway, treating the nurses as real people annoys the doctors. In my case, that may have hastened my departure from their care.
Thank you so much; the amount of support I have received from LJ, Facebook, and Twitter friends is very moving. I am now home but not very mobile.
I’m at my mother’s home, caring for her during her convalescence, and she says to tell you she’s praying for you, and would share my help with you if it were possible. 🙂
Tell your mother I am very grateful and that she is in my prayers as well. I would love to share your help with her, but hope that your giving her all your attention will speed her recovery.