Side Room 1, Ward 24 (Part 2)

Despite putting everything (e.g. iPad, iPhone, and Kindle) down onto my bedside table and having my room’s light switched off before midnight, I just could not get to sleep. The pain in my left leg caused by the special tight sock that had been put on it was so great that I just could not get comfortable … and seemed to get worse as the night went on. In the end, I removed it at 3.30am, but only after a struggle to do so.

During those dark and painful hours, I felt my old enemy - the Black Dog - sniffing around and it was difficult to clear my mind of very negative thoughts … which did not help me to sleep. I remember looking at my watch at 3.45am … and I must have gone to sleep soon afterwards as the next thing I can remember was being woken up for my early morning blood pressure, oxygen level, and temperature checks at 5.00am.

I feel asleep again, only to be woken up at 6.30am for my morning medications to be given to me. This was followed by another hour or so of sleep … and then it was time for breakfast! I could barely stay awake enough to eat … and then it was time for my bed bath and change of bedclothes. This was followed by yet another blood pressure etc., check, and it wasn’t until 9.30am that I felt able to relax and recover.

I spent the rest of the morning reading, resting, and listening to military music ... and waiting for news about my hoist … although as it was Sunday, I didn’t expect to hear any! Lunch arrived just after midday, along with my midday meds.

Once lunch was over, I spent the time until Sue arrived watching a number of YouTube videos about the WATERLOO UNCOVERED archaeological digs that have take place on the site of the battlefield as well as binge watching some videos made by BUDGET MODEL RAILWAYS.

Sue came in to see me at 4.15pm and stayed for ninety minutes. We spent most of the time discussing the practicalities of my going home, assuming that I was finally discharged on Monday or - as increasingly looked likely - Tuesday. We were very lucky in that the sister on duty was able to answer a lot of our questions. Apparently, once the hoist is delivered, I will be prepared for discharge. This will involve moving me to the discharge area of the hospital to await transport home. On average this takes between two to eight hours as it depends upon whether the appropriate transport and trained personnel are available.

As had become the norm during my past few days in hospital, I spent the rest of the evening reading and watching TV programmes and YouTube videos. I settled down to sleep at about midnight, hoping that overnight I’d get a message that the hoist would be delivered on Monday.

Surprisingly, I slept quite well for a change, and didn’t wake up until my usual 6,30am blood pressure, oxygen level and temperature checks. I then dozed until 8.00am, by which time any message about the hoist being delivered that day should have arrived … but it hadn’t. I ate breakfast, which was an interesting experience as the ward had had no spoons delivered with the food that was being served and I had to ‘learn’ how to eat Weetabix and milk using a wooden disposable fork!

By 9.00am I had been given my daily medications and I began to mentally prepare myself to face my nineteenth day (and possibly twentieth night!) in hospital. According to a parliamentary reply in Hansard back in early 2023, it costs the average hospital £903 per day to house a non-surgery patient, which means - to date - I’ve cost the NHS just over £16,250, not including the cost of my medications, treatment, X-rays etc. When you look at this from the point of view of getting value for money, had the hoist had been delivered to my home at the same time as the bed was (i.e. a week ago!), the hospital would not have had to have spent just over £6,300 looking after me when I could have been at home … and someone else could have been using the bed I am in.

Sue called me at 11.30am with some very welcome news … I was going home! After some discussion it had been decided that rather me stay in bed in hospital waiting for the hoist to be delivered, I might as well do my waiting in bed at home.

As soon as this decision had been made, the complex process of discharging me from hospital began. The necessary medications were ordered from the pharmacy, checked, and delivered to the ward. At the same time the specialist transport team was booked and my care package finalised … and then things began to unravel!

Apparently, the council - who were providing the carers - needed more notice and would not have anyone available until the next day … so I could not be discharged! Emotionally, this felt like the equivalent of being in a motor vehicle that was moving at very high speed and had then done an emergency stop. I quite literally felt as if all the air in my lungs had been expelled in an instant, and that I was struggling to breath normally again,

I didn’t think that things could get any more stressful … and then they did.

Sue got a phone call just after 2.00pm to the effect that they were going to deliver the much-needed hoist later that day. At approximately the same time, I had a visit for one of the council’s care coordinators who informed me that the ‘free’ carer support was actually means tested, and that only the first three days were free! After that, we were expected to pay a contribution based on an assessment of our income and assets. If you have more than £23,250 in savings and assets, you are expected to pay the full cost. This was a bit of a shock as I thought that all reablement care was free. This was something that I would need to investigate further.

Sue didn’t visit me as she had to wait at home for the hoist to be delivered … which it was at just before 6.00pm. It was finally assembled by 6.20pm … and it is huge!

No

Now that all the equipment was in place, I finally felt as if the end of my time in hospital was in sight. So far I had spent nineteen night sleeping in a hospital bed and hoped that the twentieth would be the last.