Bertie's Hospital Blog - Part 4

Monday morning and the usual 6.30 wake up call. The night had been punctuated by several episodes from Mr Snorey who had been ranting loudly in his sleep. I’m sure that, in normal circumstances, he is a jolly, larger than life character with whom I would establish instant rapport. Currently however, he is prime candidate for my “Hit of the Month” award.

There was a new staff nurse this morning who introduced herself as Lesley. I knew things had changed when she asked why I was eating breakfast? I tried to explain that eating was the most accepted method of dealing with breakfast when she uttered the immortal words ‘This is a surgical ward, you know.’ I can only assume from this that she was of the school of thought that starved all her patients on the off chance that there might be a spare operating table. Then, she questioned me about the fat-free diet whereupon I, in best service traditions, gave only my name, rank and NHS number. Needless to say, I now have a big sign over the bed and she has been to see the kitchen staff!

We then went through a plethora of needless forms and I pointed out that I was lucky to have her here as nobody else seemed to have bothered with them. Totally missing the irony, she agreed that she liked to be methodical and then took my tablets away – the ones I have taken every night for the last 20 years! As I raised a quizzical eyebrow, she observed that there was no label on the bottle and I might not therefore know what they were and thus, place myself at risk. Despite me pointing out that, by her asking me what they were and my replying, it sort of proved I did know, they were duly locked away ready for allocation at the appropriate time.

Back to the forms: What foods did I like and dislike?

OK, now it’s revenge time. If she likes methodical then she can have methodical! I reeled off a list of foods I dislike ranging from fish pie to Somerfield beef sausages, fully expecting her to capitulate and ask me to generalise. Oh no, she wrote them all down and I collapsed once more, defeated.

Later on, she did pop her head round and impishly ask if I needed a blanket bath? Perhaps the Bassett magic had penetrated the Hattie Jacques exterior and found the wanton woman beneath? Maybe, if I wooed her, I could persuade her to remove the low-fat sign? Somehow, I doubt it!

The doctor rounds started and I marvelled once more at the blatant use of child labour. Earnest looking adolescents following their Svengali as they moved from bed to bed; the swots standing at the front looking eager and the less brave hiding away at the back. Mine eventually arrived and told me that it looked like gall bladder but they needed yet another ultrasound and might even consider removing it sooner rather than later! I was pretty keyed up at the thought of going home and felt pretty low at this point so was really pleased when a med. student friend of mine popped in. I tried to persuade her to sign discharge papers but no good. I was even prepared to compromise and settle for asking her to change me to full-fat diet but nope. I waved a sad farewell to macaroni cheese and settled for a chicken sandwich for my lunch.

This whole hospital thing is losing its appeal. At 4.30, the medic popped back and told me they have decided not to ultrasound after all as they are unanimous in their opinion that it is my gall bladder (probably). He explained that if I still have the pain tomorrow and, provided they can find me a ‘slot’, they will operate Wednesday. If I am feeling better, then I can go home and await their pleasure.

This is a tricky one for me to decide. There are more risks if I have it done now but there will be less pain in total. I decided to leave it to Fate, the surgical team and my own particular guardian angel. His name is Barry and he’s great for advising on house decor and soft furnishings – I just hope he’s up to speed on choleocystitis.

The afternoon was a bit quiet but I was buoyed up by the thought of my (low-fat) sweet & sour pork. As it arrived and the Catering Dispensing Technician lifted the cover with a flourish, I gazed at a pale grey, slightly amorphous mass undulating gently on the plate. I hesitantly tried a taste and have to say its relationship to Chinese cuisine was rather similar to China’s relationship with Tibet – cold, sterile, tasteless and totally wrong. It was shite! I drew comfort from my slab of orange jelly as well as Mrs B’s observation that all the prohibited dishes looked disgusting also.

I knew things were getting me down when I started to ponder on the excitement of whether tomorrow’s jelly might be of another colour? Perhaps they make one giant jelly at the start of each month and it lays there in a corner of the kitchen, rather reminiscent of a Torchwood alien, whilst bits are hacked off it each day? Loyd Grossman was apparently the driving force behind this NHS menu so perhaps I shall write to him and ask.

I watched a documentary on Kamikaze that evening and learned some useful tips for my flight simulations. Judging by the footage of the planes plummeting out of the sky, I really feel I am making progress as was evidenced by the number of times I proudly thought ‘I can do that’. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one that can take off, fly and then totally screw up the landing.

Ooh, just one other thing that happened: I had a shower this evening and blagged a razor off one of the nurses. I have an electric one with me but this doesn’t fine-tune my moustache to my satisfaction hence the disposable. The only problem was that I had no shaving foam and there was no way I was going to ruin my skin by going in dry. Luck smiled upon me as I spied a small individual sachet of lubricating gel left over from Goodness knows what. It worked a treat and I can thoroughly recommend it in an emergency! I would imagine however that shaving foam and lubricating gel are not necessarily interchangeable from the other point of view, if you see what I mean. Please tell me if you know differently!