Zone Doubt, a.k.a. 'Surreal Я Us'...
Joules, trusted by... dozens... to make a drama out of your crisis...
:: JAT :: WaveWrights :: Publications :: Joules... on writing [on hiatus] ::
I live to write. It's not wise to get in my way.
August 2011: the earlier posts in this blog are a mess, the result of me changing the format some time ago. I'm working to edit the entire blog from the beginning, but with over 4K posts and sodall time for such luxuries it's going to take a while... [02/09/16 - Now reached 09/10/2004][20/03/2019 - giving up. I don't have enough time to update the blog atm, let alone edit old entries!]
If you come across any words you don't recognise in this blog, take a look at the Taylorspeke Glossary in the left-hand infopane, you'll usually find a definition there.
First, a recommendation. Dive over to The Jonathan Day Fiction Site and try some of the stories. I love this author's writing - it's funny, bitingly witty, dryly incisive, chilling, and deliciously subversive by turns. Absolutely well worth a look!
Saturday, May 23, 2020
Well, that was... interesting.
After my trip to Downend temporary health clinic (set up in Downend Dental Clinic) and ultrasound confirmation that it was NOT a deep vein thrombosis - and after a late night nasty fall due to dizziness caused by the antibio I was initially given - I was summoned to our own surgery for blood tests... Next thing I knew I was rushing to the BRI (oh, the taxi fares this week!) as the blood tests had thrown up what the hospital discharge notes call 'acute kidney injury'. (Will go into details next post. Can't sit for long, supposed to be keeping my leg raised near-permanently for the next two weeks.)
Wheeled up to ward A522, usually for liver problems but pressed into service for other ailments during the lockdown. Poke, prod, attempts to draw blood: my veins had decided they didn't want to play and getting a needle or cannula into one proved increasingly difficult. Three holes in right elbow crook. Two in left. Five holes in back of left hand (OUCH). Eventually juuuust managed to draw enough for further tests, a cannula half inserted into back of left hand and intravenous antibios started.
Then the fun started.
Opposite me was a lovely lady - AB, early 80s - who had fallen and torn all the ligaments in her right knee and was in a LOT of pain. Next to her was 'Jean' (not her real name), a dour, grumpy, five foot nothing Scots-born early 90s who was suffering breathing problems. Next to me was Ann, who did nothing but groan in pain for 24 hours. We found out later she had shingles all down her left side and the powerful meds she was supposed to be taking hadn't reached the hospital pharmacy, so she spent the first two days in excruciating pain. She was actually in because she'd fallen in the morning and her daughter hadn't found her until 6 pm. Once they'd got her stabilised she volunteered to move to a solitary room so we could take L - early 50s, hooked up to umpteen monitors and receiving meds practically 24/7.
AB and I introduced ourselves. In keeping with my usual attempts to stay cheerful, I started joking around, which AB enjoyed and joined in. It got very very silly. Even the nurses were laughing. And 'Jean', once she was more settled and feeling a little better, sat up and listened in, occasionally, in a deep growly voice, coming out with her own funny that had us in stitches. Turned out she's a real treasure, lovely woman with a pretty awful background who nevertheless kept her chin up (when she wasn't sleeping curled around herself like a kitten!)
And the rollicking fun continued the whole time I was there. It helped keep our minds off our pain.
Others joined in. I swear the nurses loved handling our ward (well, all except for one, but I'll deal with her in another post) and joined in the fun (and the decidedly risqué jokes and comments!) Our lovely little cleaner - didn't get her name, but I think she was Polish and looked very young for someone 10 years married with two children - joined in the banter with delight - and later on thanked us all for being so nice, as she's usually ignored when she's doing her job (I hate humans sometimes). She kept dropping in for a few minutes throughout the day for another dose of fun...
Then there was Eva. Eva is tiny, and she sparkles. I thought she was a student when she first came in (there were a lot of students, working during the lockdown to make their qualifications), but then she started handling the meds, so I knew I was wrong. She was a delight, kind and funny. Turned out we share the same birthdate! (Our greeting after that was 'Happy Birthday!') I remember mentioning this to another nurse who was nearby when Eva was administering iv antibios, adding, "But we're several decades apart, of course."
She went quiet, then said, "Not so much."
I looked at her, and she said quietly, "I'm 44."
I swear my metaphorical jaw hit the metaphysical floor. "WHAT???"
She nodded. I said - "No way, I'd say you're 28 at the absolute maximum." Which is true, by the way. She looks that young.
She grinned and said. "It must be the mask."
"Can you move it a mo?"
She did, and she is absolutely beautiful. And looks no older than 28 at the most. I shook my head.
"Whatever it is, you should bottle it and sell it on the open market. You'd make an absolute fortune, Young Eva."
I swear she floated out of the ward to continue to the next one - after giving me a virtual hug and saying I'd made her week!
Then there were the cute young male nurses. Haseem, who looked like an Indian prince and was delightfully easy to (very gently) tease, and Muhammed, the only person to immediately, efficiently and painlessly find a vein for my daily bloods.
And too many truly awesome nurses to remember, with such pretty names - Mia and Maria and Leila and Crystal and Kira and Benedicta - and every accent under the sun. Goddesses, every one of them.
So what should have been a nightmare experience turned out to be almost a holiday, and AB and 'Jean', especially, simply wonderful people.
We will most likely never meet again, but you will always have a special place in my heart, and I wish you all the joy in the world.