Ashamed to say...........

….I ran away!


I’ve developed a real dislike for hospitals. I can do the out-patient stuff no problem, lots of people to chat to and generally people who are either only a little bit poorly or dealing with their poorliness quite well. It’s the in-patient stuff that makes the hairs (the sparse few) on the back of my neck stand on end.

Until this cancer malarky I hadn’t had much experiences of hospitals except that Master Bad Fairy was born in hospital. Such a delightful experience that proved to be that Miss Bad Fairy was born at home!

Last Thursday I was admitted for a planned procedure. I need a drain in my abdomen…the build up of fluid makes it look like I’m expecting triplets at least. Anyway, the plan was to go in on Thursday, have an ultrasound, fit the drain and then home on Friday. Can’t say I was looking forward to it but it needs to be done so with gritted teeth off we set. Unbelievably I was admitted and allocated the same bed as the one I had during my “visit” in June when I was neutropenic and had the hugely manky mouth. That set the first hairs bristling.

The ultrasound went ahead with much muttering from the radiographer. The idea of the ultrasound is that the radiographer picks the safest place for a doctor to stick a needle in without hitting anything vital….she marks the spot with a big X. Sadly there was no safe spot. The procedure will need to be done whilst the doctor can see the scan. The solution, stay in an extra few nights until this can be organised or go home and come back at a later date, probably in more discomfort and definitely with the equivalent of quads not triplets. Hairs bristling like no-ones business I legged it home!

Now I know most people will think that’s not the most sensible option, especially if you know me and know that I don’t get easily spooked so let me explain.

It all stems from my “visit” in June. I know I was ill and needed to be there and I’m grateful to all the staff for sorting me out and getting me back on my feet. My newly found dislike of hospital is nothing to do with the staff or the care they give, it’s simply down to the other patients. That sounds really callous doesn’t it? They can’t help being there either. But let me tell you, it was awful.

It’s a six bed, single sex oncology ward. One woman did nothing but whinge in one of those pathetic helpless little girlie voices, “I’m neutropenic, who made this sandwich, I have to be careful you know”, and in the next breath whinging that her takeaway Indian meal she’d had brought in was leaking sauce all over the floor. (It went on!). Another lady lay in her bed, I suspect close to the end of her life. Whether she was aware of much going on around her I don’t know but I’m sure her family were. A third lady spent her time talking, quite loudly, on her phone telling the world how the staff were with-holding morphine from her and then making racist comments about one of the nurses. There was also mention of sweet jars filled with pills being knocked over by cats and GPs confiscating the lot! The fourth lady sadly had the start of dementia to deal with along with her other ailments. She slept for much of the day but came to life at visiting time and continued through the night. She had conversations with people who weren’t there, getting cross because they weren’t doing what she asked. One night I found her next to my bed (she was in the furthest bed from me!). Apparently I had a hidden stash of chocolate and alcohol and she wanted some. I tried to carefully disentagle her zimmer frame and feet from my drip lines and guide her back to bed but had to use the “call” button to get the night nurse to come and help out. The next night she needed a wee and shuffled to the middle of the ward and did what she had to do. Again I had to get up and go and find the night nurse, fearing that she’d slip and really hurt herself.

The fifth lady was in the bed next to me. She was elderly and obviously very poorly. She still had a smile on her face and tried so hard to not inconvenience the nurses. I had no option but to lie in my bed and listen to the medical team trying to clear her lungs to help ease her discomfort and perform various other procedures to help her last hours or days be more comfortable. No option but to overhear the conversations her family had around her bedside, remembering that they had to speak loud enough to be heard above the shouting into telephones on the other side of the room. Lady number five died.

So now you know, that’s why I ran away. Cowardly? Maybe. Preserving my sanity? Definitely.