Above is a photo of the flowers that Sarah gave Ann on Mothering Sunday, which was of course, last Sunday, 10th March, when I recommence my journal of the last few days:-
Sunday 10th March.
At 11 a.m. Ann comes into the ward, and we sit and natter quietly and discuss changes that we think are going to be necessary in our lifestyle.
At a little after 12 noon my lunch is served. Ann sits with me while I eat, then goes off to the hospital canteen for her lunch. She comes back later with Sarah's two younger children, Lucy and Guy, who sit and keep me amused for half an hour. They are then shepherded off by Ann to the canteen. She returns shortly after that with oldest daughter Sarah and S.i.l. Mikey. A few minutes later Lizzie's two elder offspring, Matthew and Georgia, accompanied by Georgia's boy friend, Andy, arrive and bring the total of visitors around my bed to exactly double the number permitted by the management. The management (in the shape of one of the more case-hardened staff nurses) arrives, puts its hands on its hips, and states the company's policy on this matter in no uncertain terms. Three of my visitors withdraw to the canteen, licking their wounds, and drink coffee in confusion. I must admit to personally having a sneaking admiration for said Staff Nurse. She may, and indeed has over the last few days frequently stuck needles in me; but she does so with a skill and accuracy that would earn her a place in the most discriminating darts team in the country.
By just after five o'clock my visitors have started their journey home. Actually that isn't strictly true, as Matthew is staying over with Ann for a few days. On Sunday he will be viewing Sotheby's Arms and Armour Sale on my behalf. There are two small items I'd like him to bid for. Actually there are two large items I'd like him to bid for as well; But I don't think the acquisition of a large military blunderbuss, and a seige weight crossbow would go down awfully well with my chief medical adviser (I allude, of course, to Ann), as I've been told that I must NOT lift heavy weights. Even a couple of long case clock weights (ten or twelve pounds each) would meet with the disapproval of the cardiology 'expert' who spoke to me the other day.
Oh well!! and indeed Ho Hum........
We'll see.
P.s. I realise that this journal is becoming a bit wordy, but I find it.........therapeutic ( I think is the word I need) to lie here and jot it all down, with a view to future bloggery.
4 comments:
I sense a rebellious trend running through the tale of your encounter with the health service. Why am I not surprised? Very pleased to hear that you are home.
Very, very pleased that you're safely home. And do write it all down while it's fresh in your mind, the details vanish after a while and, as you say, it's therapeutic.
Hello Sir Bruin. I am just old enough to remember the N.H.S. starting, and being told by my parents and grandparents what a brilliant idea it was. Well, in some ways it still is, as I've been finding out this last week or so. The real breakdown there has been is in the area where there's least excuse for it - in communications. I'll come to that, probably when I get to the two days I spent in Papworth later.
Thank you Z. It is GOOD to be home. Whilst in hospital I kept a foolscap lined pad and a couple of pens beside me and took notes all the time. I'm now simply transcribing the notes I made directly onto blog (mostly).
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