Hospital log #1

For reasons which will become obvious the next log of blogs are backdated.  They are based on writings in the little red journal I always carry with me in order to have something interesting to read, and somewhere to vent.  As usual names have been changed to protect the innocent.

On the morning of Friday 7^th February (2020) I attended a finance meeting at a local charity for learning disabled people of which I am a trustee.  One of the things discussed was our sadness that we couldn’t afford to pay outreach workers and personal assistants more considering the responsibility they have for another person’s welfare and safety.  Chatting after the meeting the Chief Executive Officer asked me how things were going with me and mine.

“Oh fine, everything’s going smoothly at the moment” and off I went to the Knit’n’natter session for older ladies with learning disabilities.

FRIDAY 7 FEBRUARY ROYAL VICTORIA INFIRMARY

I seem to have spent an awful lot of my life sitting in a hospital cubicle.

Half way through Knit’n’natter this morning Emile our outreach worker phoned the office.  Ferretfingers has slipped on a gravelly path at The City Farm and couldn’t put any weight on his right ankle.

“Don’t worry” I said “his dad’s home, you can take him there and he’ll sort it.”

“We’ve called an ambulance” said Emile.

A few minutes later there was another call and I spoke to Paramedic Dan who wanted Ferretfingers’s date of birth, GP practice and details of any medications or allergies.

I went home, dropped off my knitting and picked up my mobile; of course this was the day I had left it sitting at home on charge.

I parked in the RVI’s multi-storey and made my way through the 3D maze toward Accident & Emergency Reception.  Suddenly a fire door was shut and a security man stood apologising that he couldn’t let anybody through for the time being. 

“You could go up and around there if you’re in a hurry” he offered.

I decided I’d rather not get lost and tried to phone Emile to say I was near, but there was no signal.

A small crowd gathered, tried to peer through the glass panels in the door and speculated on the cause of the stoppage.

“Are you shifting the corona virus patient?” asked one girl.

“Has there been an incident?” queried another.

“Has someone kicked off?”

“Aahm sorry I cannat tell ye” was the firm but friendly reply.

Eventually he was given the thumbs up from the other end of the corridor and let us through.

At A&E

“Hello, my son’s been brought in with a broken ankle, he’s autistic …”

Before I could finish the receptionist said “Oh yes, Ferretfingers , he’s in X-ray, this porter’s heading that way, he’ll take you along.”

At X-ray “Oh they’ve taken him to Resuss.  Don’t worry, it’s just that’s the quietest place for him, this porter’s heading that way, he’ll take you along.”

There was Ferretfingers looking remarkably unperturbed and Emile looking even more anxious than usual, with a ginger haired Scottish anaesthetist in green scrubs and a blur of nurses.  Dr Ginger gave him analgesics, a little sedation and oxygen while the orthopaedic staff manipulated and plastered his leg. 

Whilst these obviously painful procedures were going on I relieved my tension by talking to Ferretfingers, trying to keep him and myself calm.

“I hope you don’t mind me blethering on like this” I said to Dr Ginger.

“Nah” in a Scottish East Coast accent “If you weren’t blethering on at him I would be.”

I realised Emile had stayed long past his allotted time with Ferretfingers.   

I thanked him and reassured him that it was ok, we were ok and in safe hands.  He left, still looking worried.

We had another fast-tracked trip to X-Ray and back.

The A&E doctor called me over to see the picture.  Ferretfingers had broken both bones in his ankle.  The Orthopaedic doctor wasn’t satisfied with how it was set; so they cut off the plaster, put on a stocking and tried again.  He was unhappy that Ferretfingers was fighting him and there was a quiet, but terse, exchange between him and Dr Ginger about the level of sedation.

There was another fast-track trip to X-Ray and we were put in the corridor outside Resuscitation opposite a room with “Isolation Nursing in progress” posted on the door.  There were police and security men hanging around.

“Would you like a cup of coffee luv?” asked one, and brought me 2 during the time we were waiting.

At one point an alarm went off and police and security dashed off in all directions.  I have no idea why, but it broke the monotony.

Eventually 2 nurses came and brought us up to the Trauma Ward, cubicle 4.

I was given a cup of coffee and some biscuits when we landed, and we’ve both just had hot chocolate.

Tomorrow, around 8, trauma team will come and tell us what’s next.

Ferretfingers is nil by mouth from midnight.

ADDENDUM

I’d been phoning Fester with updates throughout this.

I phoned him again and told him in specific detail what we wanted for an overnight stay and where it was.

“… and my toilet bag”

“Where is it?”

“Cupboard next to our bed, top shelf, left hand side.”

“What colour is it?  Is it pink? There’s more than one up here.”

“Ohforphucksake! It’s the one I always have with me when we go away!  The one with stuff in!”  In that moment my brain was not able to deal with the trivia of what colour my toilet bag is (it’s white with pink piping and flowers).  He, poor soul, was simply doing his best. 

Fester does not drive, and was waiting for Thunderthighs to get home, so for speed and simplicity I texted Mrs Leftfooter and asked if she could bring it over.  Bless her she did.

She came in, plonked the bag down and said “I think he said there’s something medicinal in the top.”

After she’d left I started unpacking the bag and found two tablets, the miniature computer laptop sort.  The father knows his son.