Tag Archives: hospital

3 August 2008

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Another very old picture – this time of Dot, which must have been taken in late 1971 or early 1972, because she was clearly learning to drive (see the L-plate on our Austin 1100, which I had bought from a second-hand car dealer on the North Circular: our second car). Could have been taken in Wales, in which case I suspect it was on top of the Berwyn Mountain, scene of a well-known UFO sighting featured recently on television, with Dot’s cousin Adrian an impressive interviewee. Or it could have been somewhere else.

Back to the present, and an extraordinary week, as heat gave way to rain. Nothing extraordinary about that, but if you remember I had a urine infection. I had been given tablets for this at Wells, but by Thursday I had reached a stage where my flow had dried up completely. This was bad psychologically (I was instinctively terrified) and physically (it became more and more painful). I tried the urology nurses and the surgery, but couldn’t get through, so we went to the hospital, where coincidentally I had an appointment at the out-patient clinic to get the result of my blood test – to see if my prostate operation was successful.

Despite the urology nurse (who had picked up my message) trying to get me in quickly, the doctor was still about 15 minutes late, and by then I had lost all interest in the blood test. He examined me, made some phone calls and got me into the Emergency Assessment Unit. I just about managed to ask him about my blood test as I left the room, and it was CLEAR – the operation was SUCCESSFUL! But I was in agony.

Dot and I walked to the EAU, and a doctor tried to insert a catheter – unsuccessfully. There was some kind of blockage. Enter my personal saviour – Wayne, a nursing auxiliary. He gave me a mixture of gas and air (usually used for births), which was the only thing that gave me any relief during the next few hours, during which I was transferred to a bed in the EAU ward. They tried morphine and various other tablets, but only the gas worked – on and off. I can’t ever remember being in such distress.

There was talk about an operation the next day, which didn’t do anything for my mental state, but eventually, after some hard praying by Dot, I got an emergency slot at 8pm (the original appointment was at 2.25pm). Never had losing consciousness come as such a relief. I was told later that as soon as this happened the flow was released, and that they went on to stretch my urethra. It certainly feels as if it has been stretched, and my new catheter is less comfortable than the old one. I am due to return to hospital early next week to have it removed – and possibly to learn how to insert one myself if necessary. Don’t like the sound of it much.

I was in hospital overnight, of course, but discharged early the next day – without speaking to a doctor or being told officially what had happened during the operation. But that’s nothing new. I’ve been feeling very fragile since, but went out for a short walk yesterday afternoon.

I’ve spoken to Big Blue Sky and had hoped to take some poetry books out to them on Friday, but of course that had to be postponed. Also postponed is Andrew’s visit to Norwich next week, which is sad as it’s his 60th birthday on Wednesday. I’ve let The Langleys know, but haven’t told him yet, because he’s out a lot. I’m trying again tonight. It will be nice when things get back to normal, if they ever do.

2 July 2008

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Another shot of a cathedral sunset, taken a few days ago. Since my last post I’ve had my catheter removed, which is something of a relief. Everything seems to work more or less OK, but the downside was that I had developed an infection from it, which meant I had to stay in hospital overnight on Sunday. In fact I had been feeling pretty rotten on Saturday with what I thought was a stomach upset, but on reflection it was probably the same thing. So on with the antibiotics, and into the bed.

I was in the opposite centre bed from where I had been before – the one previously occupied by Ron the policeman. At first this didn’t seem to matter, and I got on with the novel – Arthur & George, by Julian Barnes – that Dave and Julia had bought me, then watched Spain overwhelm Germany 1-0 in the European Nations Cup final. However, as I tried to get to sleep later, I realised this time was going to be different. On my left was a guy who brought a new definition to the word “restless”. I don’t think he went 20 seconds at a time without some kind of major shift of position. This sounds like an exaggeration, but it isn’t. He moved up, down, side to side, got out of bed, sat sideways on the bed, knocked his water jug on the floor, got it back and knocked the lid off it, yawned theatrically, sang a bit and moaned a bit halfheartedly. Then the same again. I lay there till 2am, then walked into the corridor and sat in a chair, but that didn’t help. I was there for half an hour without seeing a nurse, which was sort of interesting. Eventually I went back to bed, and somewhere around 3am he must have lain still for a whole minute and I dozed off. I was woken again by nurses clattering around at 4.20 – and that was my night’s sleep.

The guy opposite was clearly in a lot of pain involving his kidneys, and he had to have a procedure done a couple of times during the night, each of which took about half an hour. The guy in the bed I had occupied before was on two drips and occasional oxygen, so altogether the ward had quite a different atmosphere from last time. The only peron still there was Leslie, who was due to be discharged yesterday. Hope he made it.

On Monday morning my temperature was down and my condition much less painful, so I was discharged. This happened well before 9am. I eventually left about 12.30pm: it had taken over three hours to get me ten pills from the pharmacy. To say I was frustrated would be a masterly understatement, but I managed to avoid hitting anyone. Dot and I had a snack at Waitrose, did a bit of shopping and went home. I was feeling a bit woozy, but it wasn’t surprising.

Phil and Joy came round in the afternoon, and I was feeling pretty tired by early evening, so went to bed about 7.30, just as Andy Murray seemed about to lose. In fact he immediately turned it around, so I may employ this tactic again. Interestingly, I woke up at 8.30 when David rang and for a while thought it was 8.30 the net morning, and I’d had a good sleep. Bit worrying. Eventually I did get a good night’s sleep, and the next day we went to Jessie’s for a meal about 5.30pm with Roger. Excellent fare – followed by a drop-in at Ed’s, where the Tuesday Group were immersed in a barbecue. Stayed for about half an hour, then went home.

Slept badly again – don’t know why. It had been very warm, but during the night it rained and turned a bit cooler. Today has been dull and I’ve stayed in, but Fred and Sue called in late morning and we had a long chat. They’ve offered to lend us their caravan for a break either next week or the week after, which we have a mind to accept for two or three days if the weather is nice. Just watching Andy Murray being slaughtered by Nadal, so I’d better go to bed. Mmmm. Maybe not.

19 June 2008

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A longer gap than I’d anticipated. My operation – a radical prostatectomy and hernia repair – took place on June 9, and the first three days afterwards were pretty unpleasant. I was in quite a bit of pain from trapped wind, for which they gave me morphine, which in turn gave me extremely unpleasant sensations, distorting reality and slowing down time. Yes, it really happens – or possibly doesn’t really happen, but you think it does, so effectively it does. Maybe it speeds up your brain. Sounds harmless, but it’s very frightening. Shutting your eyes doesn’t help.

By late Friday, however, that was going away, and then it was a gradual struggle to get my temperature down (I was fighting some kind of low-grade infection) and everything back to operating normally. Eventually it happened, though I wouldn’t say my bowels are quite right yet, and of course I have to wear a catheter for a couple of weeks. (This blog is not for people with weak stomachs.) Dot brought me home yesterday at around 11am. I have been told not to do too much – an instruction I am happy to comply with without argument.

While I was in hospital Dot visited twice a day: in the early days this was a life-saver. I also got many, many other visitors. On the Sunday – Father’s Day – my son David drove over to see me as a surprise, which was fantastic, because I was just beginning to feel like something approaching normal. He brought me a book he had been reading – House of Suns, by Alastair Reynolds, which I consumed over the next three otherwise boring days. I can thoroughly recommend this for reading in hospital when feeling and getting better: it’s a great science fiction story and compulsive, easily overcoming peripheral distractions.

While I was in hospital I wrote a few poems (or parts of poems) which I’m hopeful about. I was in a bed with a view across the fields and lots of sky. Five other men in the room: two of them were there when I arrived and still there when I left. Lots of good old Norfolk tradition in there which I hope to write about in due course.

From the outside, hospital looks full of things you want to avoid at all costs: tubes attached to your limbs and torso, frequent injections and blood-taking, catheters, wound-drains – all invasive of your body. When you’re in there, none of that is very significant and you hardly notice the very minor discomfort involved. Presumably this is because something much bigger is happening to you and you have no control over it. You have to just let it happen. Other than the pain and the alienation (see first paragraph), it’s not so unpleasant. Just tedious. One of the worst things is waiting for doctors and nurses to do things: something more important almost always intervenes. A new understanding of the word “patient” has become very clear to me.

I was very fortunate to be in hospital at this time of year, when the days are extremely long. It was not really getting dark till well after 10pm, and the sky was brightening at 3.30am. It was intriguing to watch the changes in the weather. Almost every morning dawned bright and promising, and almost every time rain came later, usually around mid-afternoon after the clouds had gradually gathered. Yesterday as I left it was very windy and spotting with rain – not like flaming June at all. Went out in the garden just now and it’s not exactly sun-drenched, though it’s dry and easily bearable without a coat.

The Walpoles from Canada have landed in England, and we hope to see them at the weekend. Not going too well for them so far, Pete’s GPS has been broken, and one of their suitcases was lost in transit.

The picture above was taken on Winterton beach earlier this month.

17 April 2008

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Another picture from our visit to Wroxham Barns: after feeding the animals, Oliver felt it was time to feed himself. Today would have been his great-grandfather’s – my father’s – 95th birthday, if he hadn’t died tragically early, 53 years ago. I am taking it easy, after my prostate biopsy under general anaesthetic yesterday. No problems in the immediate area of the biopsy, but I have a cough and a slight temperature. I’m on antibiotics, of course, so I hope they’ll sort it out soon. I had a bad night, getting less than four hours’ sleep, but not because of any pain or even discomfort. Nor was I worrying about anything. I just couldn’t sleep, which is very annoying. I did also have an episode of acid reflux, which I haven’t had for months. The nurse who rang this morning to check on me said it was probably the anaesthetic.

Yesterday at the Norfolk and Norwich University Hospital went very well, and I felt fine the whole time. We had just got a late Christmas present from the Cares – some vintage port and a book called The Naked Jape, which is about what makes people laugh and contains a large number of jokes. The timing of this was perfect, because I took it to the hospital and spent much of the waiting-around time reading it, with frequent laughter, which had to be good for me. Dot was with me as well, of course, but although she is also funny, she didn’t make me laugh quite as much. Smile, yes.

The staff were brilliant, from the time we arrived at 12.30pm to our rather late departure at around 7pm – late because [stop reading now if you have a sensitive disposition] I had to produce a relatively blood-free batch of urine, which took several attempts. The two nurses who looked after me – Michelle and Liz – were not only thorough but also friendly and easy to talk to. They clearly deal with people in a similar condition all the time, but they showed real concern. The surgeon and two anaesthetists were also friendly and sympathetic as well as being meticulous in telling you what was going to happen and what might happen. I also lost count of the times different people checked I was the right person having the right procedure, and that the signature on the consent form was mine.

I don’t remember anything after the needle was put in my hand until I came to in the ward. Dot had popped out for something to eat – apparently I asked her what she’d had several times – and arrived back just as I came round. There was no pain or even discomfort, and no obvious reaction to the anaesthetic. I felt as if I could have driven home, though clearly I couldn’t.

On the Tuesday evening our usual group came round, and they ended the evening by praying for me, which was encouraging. I know various other people were praying too. David rang to check I was OK. In the evening yesterday (what was left of it after egg and chips), Dot and I watched a two-parter of Waking the Dead, which was not only appropriate but also very good – probably the best story I’ve seen on the series. Even Trevor Eve’s extreme emotions seemed almost credible, and the acting generally was superb.

15 April 2008

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Snow in Surrey the other weekend – one of a few pictures I’ve posted on Flickr. I’ve also started a photo page on my own website, and the NCMC one has gone live. Amazingly, I think it makes sense of a kind, and I put three of my poems on it to give it a bit of class. Just kidding: I was merely filling a gap in the Resources section.

Had a really nice time with Stella, who has now departed for Yorkshire. She very kindly gave us a signed hardback copy of Legend – which will replace our own paperback, now much fingered and the worse for wear. We’ve been trying to track down the rest of Dave’s books. I’m sure we once had all of them, but there are gaps now. Obviously we recommend them to everyone and must have lent them a little recklessly.

Still very cold, though sunny. I’ve spent a large part of the afternoon sorting out the travel, health, card assist and document-registering services that come with our Alliance & Leicester current account. I’ve been reeling out numbers over the phone, then going through a health screening (Dot too) to see what exactly our travel insurance will cover. Aargh!

Still, tomorrow in hospital should be restful, especially the bit when I’m unconscious, though I don’t like the way they warn you to bring pain-killers with you. I shall be glad when it’s over. Of course.

7 March 2008

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A close-up of my parents’ grave, with the marble refurbished and new headstone. Hope Andrew likes it, as he’s been wanting it done for a long time. He’s due to come to Norwich next weekend, so we shall find out. I think it looks pretty good. Next week sees the anniversary of both their deaths – mum on the 11th and Dad on the 13th – his 52nd and her 14th. Sandwiched neatly in between is Phil’s birthday, something he is not going to forget.

Today the weather is bright, but still blustery. Quite a bit milder. Dot has just gone up to see the nurse for a routine check-up. Tuesday evening went well, with a rather splendid salmon dish for eight cooked entirely by Dot. Afterwards we listened to a tape by a guy who was really too laid back for that late in the evening and spoke very slowly. So although what he said was good, people started falling asleep. One of the things he said was that if God stopped loving us we would cease to exist. The same goes for everything created. I rather like that.

Wednesday was very stressful for various reasons, mainly to do with the insurance company but partly because I got the results of my blood test, which were not as good as I had hoped they would be. So it seems likely that I will have to have the mammoth 20-strike prostate biopsy, which involves general anaesthetic but is only a day procedure. Ironically I feel fine and the symptoms are much less than they were a year or two ago, but you can’t argue with PSA levels. Apparently. I spoke to the consultant’s secretary, but although she said she’d get back to me, she hasn’t. Is this a good sign or just normal incompetence?

In the evening I played chess at Diss, which involved picking up two team members – one from the other side of the city – and driving there, which took a total of about an hour each way. We lost 3-1, but I managed a draw on Board Two, though I was disappointed to miss what might have been a win earlier in the game. We had a strong guest player on Board One, but he lost to Mike Harris, as most people do.

Very poor night’s sleep on Wednesday – about four hours – and I had to get up early yesterday to give a talk on poetry at Costessey Junior School for Sheila Greenacre, who’s a friend and the assistant head. Managed to get there in good time, and the session went very well, partly because Sheila is a very good teacher, partly because they were an excellent set of children. Used quite a few of my poems, but also a couple of others – notably W B Yeats’ He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven (Yeats is a brilliant poet who never quite got the hang of titles). One of my favourites, and they seemed to appreciate it. I thought of doing it as I was lying in bed at about 5am, trying to sleep.

Afterwards we went to Dunston Hall for a bar meal and to make arrangements for our ruby wedding do in August. All went well, but by the time I got home I was pretty well shattered, and we plonked in front of the TV and did some more catching up. While Dot did some work preparing for next inspection I watched Van Helsing – a horror film that’s surprisingly good. I don’t normally watch horror films, but I’d heard it was exceptional, and it is.

In the evening I took the momentous decision to stop watching or recording Torchwood after viewing a particularly tedious episode about someone who is supposed to be walking around dead but acting normally. I love Dr Who, but this spin-off totally fails. The lead character is supposed to be charismatic, but is a smug bit of nothing with no redeeming features. No-one is interesting, the scripts are wooden, and the direction lacks any spark at all. You just hang on waiting for the one new idea to come along, and too often it doesn’t. There’s also a nihilistic background philosophy, which grates. It’s very unusual for us to stop watching a series we’ve started, but last night’s episode was just too appalling. There was no reason to go on, and if you lived in the Torchwood world, it would be hard to see why you would want to. No motivation, either for the viewer or the cast. I have stopped loving Torchwood. It has ceased to exist.