Home again I reflect on my hospital experiences. From time to time when I was well enough to absorb my surroundings I observed some interesting old folk.
Mrs O was a character. She had the same story, every day for each person she encountered. By the time she was discharged I knew the patter by heart “Do you know I am 84 years old? The doctors cured my asthma. They removed 84 years of snot from my nose. The Government says no one should be in pain.”
She was busy scribbling notes to the doctors at all hours of the day or night. She was assertive, cantankerous, demanding and loud, and I knew more about her bogeys than was decent. She was on an efficiency campaign. “Now” she explained to all the nurses that would listen. “The NHS is wasting all its money. Every day an orderly comes to take away our rubbish bags, then another orderly replaces them with a new one. Why can’t the same person do both? I will write to my MP. I was a civil servant you know”….and so it would continue.
Mrs G was another. She was in and out of the hospital like a bouncing ball. She was always moaning and complaining about extreme pain, but I don’t think the docs could find very much wrong with her. She enjoyed the role of sick person. I hate it. I feel like a frightened five year old but the nurses tell me I am very brave.
Night times were the most stressful. The routines never varied. First the staff come round and settle you down for sleep, administering injections, drips, drugs. This is around 10pm. At 11 they rattle round again with the blood pressure machines and thermometers, so if anyone has the misfortune to have fallen asleep they have no chance of staying that way.
The lights are dimmed in the ward, but left glaring just outside in the hallway. Then the noises begin. Initially it sounds like coal being shovelled. The nurse’s voices echo in the corridors. The man in the room on his own starts shouting out for ‘ Annie’ at full volume. He believes himself to be somewhere else. It goes on for hours, his voice becoming increasingly hysterical. Nurses and auxiliaries are in and out with commodes and bedpans, emptying catheters. It’s impossible to rest.
Nightly I long for the dark peacefulness of my own bedroom, but I know I am not ready to go home. It is a relief when the grey dawn light replaces the yellow glare.
I so value being in familiar surroundings now. The stomach problems have completely settled. I am in an unusual amount of pain from the operation site. Whereas before this latest trip to hospital I was walking a little more each day I am now in intense discomfort just hobbling round the house. The whole area burns and pulls. I don’t feel like walking. My body just wants to stay in bed. None of the medication touches this. I am concerned and make an appointment to see the GP later this morning. This is more depressing than having cancer. I can’t cope with this constant drain on my energy and spirit.
I keep wondering why this is going so badly wrong. I do as I am told; I try so hard, yet I feel worse as each day passes. I am seeing Dr B at the hospital tomorrow. How will I cope with Chemo when I can’t even manage today without bursting into tears on a regular basis? It does not augur well. I wish I had more faith in the Health Service.
Tidak ada komentar:
Posting Komentar