Bertie's Hospital Blog - Part 3

Sunday came and, after the normal early morning routine, I decided to venture out in my green scrubs trousers and tee shirt to find the WRVS shop. Rumour had it they sold proper coffee, newspapers, sweets and all things nice. Unsure of whether parole was allowed, I had slipped past the nurses’ station and quickly reached the lifts. Three floors down and I was there – the NHS equivalent of Switzerland to escaping Colditz officers. I purchased coffee, Werthers (after explaining they were for my grandfather) and Bassett’s Cherry Drops and made my way back. No alarms were sounding so I was feeling pretty damn’ good..........until I realised the doors to the ward were locked! Paranoia instantly took over until I noticed the sign asking visitors to press the buzzer, as a security measure. I pressed it and tried to affect the air of a rather eccentrically dressed visitor. They obviously fell for it as I soon reached the safety of my bed once more.

The rest of the afternoon was not good as I had yet another bout of the pain but Mrs B and the kids arrived with Cher (my laptop), a large bag of Joosters, a bag of gobstoppers and Pepsi. The bed area was now looking a tad cluttered: laptop, iTouch, iPod, mobile phone – not to mention the Sunday paper and its 473 supplements. Football was on the TV but I managed to get a grunt out of Master Bassett before kick-off saw him revert to his normal catatonic footy-watching trance.

At one point, I noticed both Mrs and Miss B in hysterics – I mean real, eye-watering, knuckle stuffed in mouth hysterics. I was also aware of a stentorian voice behind me yelling down a phone that he couldn’t hear the person on the other end. Mrs B weakly gestured behind me before once more falling to the ground in a puddle of mirth and, as I turned, I realised the cause of their bladder-loosening hilarity......Mr Snorey had forgotten to remove the TV headphones!

Poor kids were a little worried when they left - I think one tends to think of parents as superhuman and it's not often that they've seen me really poorly. I'd reached the stage however where I couldn't mask it very well. They toddled off and I could allow myself the luxury of doing what unwell males are best at - moaning, groaning and trying to elicit as much sympathy as possible. The nurse came over and gave me some OraMorph which seemed to do the trick so I spent the evening feeling better and starting this blog.

By the time tuck-down came, my previously canulated arm was starting to get hot with a solid lump above where the canula had been. I spent an uncomfortable night as I had apparently contracted phlebitis which is caused by the canula allowing the vein to become a little infected and is characterised by a tenderness of excruciating sensitivity. It also gets extremely hot and swollen – definitely not recommended.