A Sense of Direction

Earlier this year Mrs Drummerman, visiting friends in Leeds, fell downstairs breaking her neck, sternum and arm.  Her bones have mended but she managed to damage herself quite comprehensively.  After some weeks she was transferred to the James Cook Hospital in Middlesbrough which has a specialist spine unit.  This made life slightly easier for Mr Drummerman, who has to drive down from their home in north Northumberland to visit her. 

Mrs Drummerman is a determined sort of person and hopes to get back home within the next month or so.  Fortunately, and wisely, before retiring she and Mr Drummerman had the bungalow adapted such that, should either of them become disabled it would be easy to live there.  It's all level hard floors, there is a wet room shower and the bath has really wide sides to sit on as you get in and out.

Mrs Leftfoot managed to visit Mrs Drummerman in Leeds and we’ve been intending to visit her in the James Cook Hospital since she transferred.  Yesterday morning we finally managed it.  She picked me up from Chateau Midden before 09.30. 

Fester was still in bed and, as I kissed him goodbye, he grunted 

“Do you know where you’re going?  Have you got a map?”

I assured him that Mrs Leftfoot knew where she was going and would have it all organised.

 

We got in the car, drove to the end of our street and turned right: North.

“Strange” I thought “maybe she’s going to go through town to the bridge.”

We sailed straight over the FourLaneEnds crossroad.

“Oh!” I thought “Maybe she’s taking the long way around via the A1.”

Straight across the next roundabout and crossroads and then

“Oh My God!  I’m going the wrong way.  I’m just so used to heading this way …”

We did a 360 at the Findus roundabout and headed South.

“Do you know where we’re going?” I asked.

“Oh yes; Middlesbrough”

I noticed that, like me, she didn’t have satnav

“Oh no.  It’s far too annoying having that voice going on at you.  Anyway we can always stop and use my phone if we get lost.”

“Would you like to stop off at my house and pick up a road atlas?”

“Nah, there’s one in the boot.  Anyway, it’s a hospital, it’s bound to be signposted.”

We took the Coast Road to the A19, through the Tyne Tunnel, down to Teesside where we decided the turnoff marked “Middlesbrough centre” was the best bet, and found ourselves on an urban dual-carriageway.

There were no signs for the James Cook so we carried on for a while.

As we approached yet another slip road Mrs Leftfoot said 

“If we carry on much further we’ll end up in Whitby, I think we should turn off here.”

“You’re driving.”

We went down the slip road to another roundabout where, to her delight and my amusement, there was a large sign for the James Cook Hospital.

As you drive onto the hospital grounds there is a choice of three visitors’ carparks: we parked up in V1.

“Which ward is she in?” I asked.

“Don’t know.  It’s on my phone but a long way back.  Maybe I should phone Mr Drummerman and ask him.”

Which she did.

“Hello?”

“Hi.  How are you?”

“I’m in Tesco’s Berwick.  Where are you?”

“We’re in the James Cook Hospital carpark.  Which ward is Mrs Drummerman in and how do we get there?”

Of course we were parked as far away as it was possible to be, but the walk did us good.

It was lovely and reassuring to see Mrs Drummerman and chat with her for a couple of hours in the sunny courtyard next to the spinal unit.  She has sensation in all her body, except her ring and little fingers, and is working on muscle control, strength and standing.