I’m talking about myself and no one else.
Let me set the scene. It’s 10pm Monday night and I’m in hospital waiting for this op.
Apparently I’m a “special case” so they are waiting for a specialist.
Whatever. It’s irrelevant.
It’s like a damn sauna in this ward. No air.
The cannula in my arm has come loose so they need to insert another one.
Nurse attempts, doesn’t work.
I hate needles and blood so the fact she has to have another go wasn’t fun.
Tries the other arm and it’s painful.
“Oh I must have done it wrong. Will call a doctor to do it. But it might be in the middle of the night”
I’m frustrated as I know I have an hour on this drip before I can go to sleep.
The drugs I’m on really dehydrate me and lying in bed all day is not great for the system.
To be honest, I’ve not been drinking as much fluid as I should – my mistake.
I’m getting more frustrated.
I must have dropped off as a doctor wakes me at 2.30am to insert the cannula.
On the drip.
I’m wide awake, sweating like crazy, all the lights are on and by the sound of things the nurses are having a block party.
The bed is like a hammock.
I get up, pissed off would be the appropriate term and slowly walk to the loo.
Can’t go, start to feel a little light headed and say to myself “I think I’m going to fai…”
Down like a tonne of bricks, head first into the toilet seat and wake up seconds later, bleeding heavily from a gash of my forehead and a few minor cuts elsewhere.
Very scary actually.
Had to pull the red cord and scream for help.
Long story short, I’m in for a CT scan at 5am to assess damage to my brain.
There was none but my ego has taken a battering and I’ve not even had my operation yet!
Had my bum in the air for inspection for every man, woman and their dogs and now this?!
What the actual f**k?
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
They say everything happens for a reason and to try and look for the good in every situation.
Well I’m looking…
I had a good conversation with a plastic surgeon that came to look at my wound.
She said “you are healing very quickly, are you eating well?”
I said “I am but not this crap you keep serving me”
She laughed and we went on to chat about the food in the NHS.
Fortunately, I have Alex bringing me supplies.
Off on a tangent here, but the NHS is understaffed, under budgeted without enough beds.
Would it not make sense to feed patients in recovery better food, the one section of society that needs it more than most?
I’m sure if they ran the stats, the recovery time could be sped up significantly for many patients meaning more bed space and less money to be spent on drugs.
I don’t know. Just throwing it out there. What do I know?
So maybe that was the reason I’m here.
To spearhead a campaign to improve NHS catering?
Maybe there isn’t a reason and it was my time to get caught out. That’s more like it to be honest.
I’m annoyed at myself for getting dehydrated.
So here I am, Wednesday afternoon, still waiting for this bloody op and now sporting a scar on my forehead that would make Harry Potter jealous.
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