I guess you could say I have always been a little accident prone, in and out of hospital since day one of my life really. I didn't start my life in hospital as most people do, ironically, I was born at home! Anyway I have a bit of pressure on me at the moment, a few big decisions to make, which generally in my case means upsetting a few people. A few family issues that need resolution, although having spoken to several people about that, I may not bother at all with that. Then a few personal issues, decisions and a 'biggy' that simply need to be sorted before I will feel better. So when I have things on my mind, I write. It takes away the pressure for a while.
I am going to write about my latest stay in Hospital. I really could write several books every time I go into hospital on some of the things, that happen not only to me, but I have witnessed too. I shall try to be concise!!
I was shown to my room in the hospital. I was disappointed not to have my own room as I wake on the slightest sound, so when you have to share a room with several hairy arsed (I presume!) blokes who will undoubtedly snore, well, the rest that I had fully intended to have whilst in there would be hard to come by..
The upside of this shared room scenario was that a lad who I had known for many years was in the same space so that made things a little easier.
The room stunk though. The reason for the smell was relayed to me by the friend in my room. Apparently the resident of the particular bed opposite me had not washed in 6 months plus. Neither himself nor his clothes. Although why the staff had allowed things to degenerate into such a sad state was not clear to me. I was told by everyone just to spray loads of deodorant and the like in the air.
I had stopped eating just about completely several weeks or months before. Along with not sleeping at all. I was also dodging the hospital food trolley. I had been in only three days when I was allowed to basically come home and spend the day at home and the night time in hospital.
I was walking miles at this time and 'running' on sugar literally. Even I sometimes wondered how I kept going sometimes. During my vast walkabouts around Calow, that's where the hospital is, I had come to know the estate and all the rat runs and short cuts. But since my last stay here, 3 years ago there had been a few alterations and additions to the roads around there. One night a 'familiar' one of the local residents shouted at me... "OI! You went up there last night. Still a dead end mate!" I had a kickabout at football with some of the locals one night too. I would consider moving into the area as I know the Postmaster and Newsagents and a lot of the Calow and locale residents are nodding acquaintances, everyone seems to nod in acknowledgement, which is nice. I knew there was a takeaway in Calow as one of my friends and I used to walk up there during my last admission 3 years ago. (I often wonder what happened to her, she had Anorexia, I have not spoken to her since last new year, but changed my phone and lost her number... Thinking aloud:))
I found myself outside the takeaway. Don't ask me what I bought, all I know is that it came to £12 and I intended taking it into the field and eating the lot. It was particularly cold outside during my tenure in Hospital so I decided to take the takeaway back to the Hospital grounds and go and find somewhere 'safe' to eat it (I HATE eating in front of anyone else) I ended up taking the takeaway straight up to my ward and plonking it on the Nurses station and telling them to share it all out. (I remember it didn't last long, the food)
I just remember breaking down in sheer desperation.
I was a bit peeved that someone actually said the takeaway was cold!!
One of the sweetest Doctors it has been my privilege to meet spoke at very great length with me, as well as the brilliant nurses on the ward, one in particular was amazing.
The ensuing conversations that took place did more to help me than anything than had gone before.
One of the outcomes of these life affirming conversation was that every day I would have salads ordered for me and over time these salads got me back into food. I used to make two plates into one massive plate of salad and after a few weeks enjoyed eating them at night. Why salad? I adore salad.
Remember I said I was incarcerated in a room with 4 other blokes? Well one of them could hardly be described as a 'hairy arsed bloke." He was just eighteen and had been in for quite some time. I had become quite friendly with him as he spent most of the night playing the Playstation 3, we struck up some great conversations into the wee small hours. For one so young he was incredibly articulate and knowledgeable. On the outside he looked particularly well. He looked very young. He had told me just about straight away that he hears voices in his head. How awful. I have never heard voices in my head but I empathised.
I grew quite fond of this lad, who was suffering quite a lot of bullying so I guess I kind of took him under my wing and looked out for him.
Then one night, we had been chatting (obviously I was getting on with everybody on the ward, Staff, most of who I knew anyway and other patients, some I knew, some I didn't)
The lad turned to me one night and said that he was hearing particularly bad voices that night. I wanted to know what they were saying.
"The voices are telling me to kill...." he said.
"Who are they telling you to kill?" I gently asked.
"You Rob. The voices are telling me to kill you."
Well as you can imagine I had not been sleeping during my stay up to then and this conversation was certainly not very conducive to attaining that sleep either.
It hit me the next day when I came back to my home and went to see some friends and recounted the previous nights conversation. The response was astonishment and "Not being funny Robin, but he might just do it, kill you. He could hide anything, anywhere."
I had not thought like this, I had talked him through these voices he was experiencing, trying to ascertain if he would indeed try to kill me and I just thought him such a little lamb that, no he wouldn't. BUT I decided to tell the staff about the conversation and my fears. I was told that he would be sent home on leave that night as a prelude to being released so not to worry.
Over in the corner by the window of the room I was staying in, was a man I became very good friends with too. He loved his music. He never went out of the room at all and he used to act as the unofficial 'security' guard for our room. When the choice was given to me one day after a few weeks if I wanted to go back onto my usual ward I wasn't sure if I wanted to move and I said let me think about it.
The lad over in the corner came over and sat on my bed.
"I would be so upset if you went. You are very attractive. I am so attracted to you."
This didn't upset or offend me in any way at all, in fact, it actually made me feel a lot better that day!
I knew the lad was gay but had no ideas he was holding a torch. We spoke it through and have managed to remain hugging friends to this day (I saw him a couple of weeks ago:))
I took the opportunity to move to my usual ward because I had got to know everyone on this particular ward and looked forward to seeing all the usual staff and getting to know new people.
I just hope that this particular lad didn't think I moved because of his ardour... I think and hope I told him this at that time.
Prior to these incidents I had my first asthma attack too and thought I was a goner.
Remember me saying that everyone (including the cleaners/domestics) was spraying anti deodorant and other such smelly stuff in the air to mask the smell that was caused by the unwashed resident in our room? I am not going to blame that directly for nearly causing me to die but it must play a huge part.
I remember that it was definitely within the first nine or ten days, but I was still having everyone in stitches, staff included. One particular night, very late on, I had decided to go and get on my bed and as was often the way someone would start a conversation and then a free for all usually happened! Anyway the said conversation had been going on for a while and I remember I was laughing so much, I tried to inhale a breath. Nope. And then the most awful rasping sound as some air managed to get into my lungs. I was panicking. By now two or three minutes had passed and I had run into the toilet and was seriously preparing to die. I didn't want my body to be the first real dead body that the young lad would ever see. I just remember being really cool about things (Remarkable really as I remember my mum had her first asthma attack at about my age, witnessed by me) This seemed to last for quite some time, there was like a band around my chest, nothing going in, nothing coming out. It eventually passed and so far I have not had anything like it since. But I am wary.
I was going to write and tell you how I saved a lads life by employing the Heimlich Manoeuvre in the dining room (TRUE) but have no time now.
I could write so much, but have to leave it there as I have to do something now.
