Conscious uncoupling

It seems to me that being a patient in our NHS is a tremendous privilege. If we listen to the despicable BBC we are given the impression hat it is on its last legs chock full of elderly bed blockers. As usual the wicked BBC agenda doesn't concern itself with observations beyond the witterings of the permanently dissatisfied on Facebook or the grammatically challenged twitterati.

However, a rant is best left till later, for now I have to report that progress was smooth and mostly painless. Uncomfortable at times, but never disheartening except when fellow patients were horrible to their nurses (and everyone else) but the nurses never failed to do anything but that which was for the best.

In my case they kept telling me how well I was doing, to which, once my tongue was loose and enough sips had been sipped, I had to confess that progress had little to do with me. As the Psalmist says, "we are fearfully and wonderfully made" and all I did was offered my arms to the phlebotomists every time they wanted blood which was at least once a day and every 3 or 4 days the cannulas needed replacing.

I offered a place to put needles, they hung bags on the drip rails, I lay there and improved. Not exactly a lot of effort on my part, is it?

On Monday a couple of nurses came to remove the driver and tubes which had supplied local anaesthetic so valiantly. This was about the first time I had to lean forward but they gave me a heads up to let me press the morphine button but, alas, every time I managed to press it 3 or 4 times I forgot to carry on pressing.

They removed the redundant hardware and laid out before me were a pair of small bore tubes easily 200mm long as I guess they had to be to circumscribe the not inconsiderable arc. What amazing technology but far more amazing are the people who know how to use it. Whilst they were at it they peeled off a few more electrical contacts as well. They missed a couple but that's not a complaint!

The next day a nurse came looking like she was going to undertake a serious bit of

surgery. Which, indeed, she was. Stitched in the side of my neck was a plastic lump with electrical contacts and a few flying leads. Much swabbing, dabbing and the application of sterile blue sheets about the shoulder and neck ensued. A scissors delicately handled and expertly wielded removed the stitches as another nurse arrived on cue to hold a large absorbent pad over my neck. I was advised that I wasn't to move for at least 1/2 an hour so I offered to apply pressure myself. In a swift move a black worm about 3mm or so in diameter and 200-250mm long with a shiny silver cap on the end was extracted from my neck.

This had been in contact with my heart and had been giving a continuous readout of blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation and a myriad other things. It wasn't till it went that I was aware of how uncomfortable it had been.

I was allowed to apply my own pressure. It was so nice to be allowed to do something.

Next, the right hand abdominal drain was removed, it hadn't been doing a lot compared to the other but it was still nice to get rid of it. I assumed that it would hurt a bit but not at all. The nurse asked me questions and every time I breathed out he gently extracted a bit more. In no time he held it aloft. I was waiting for him to start.

The catheter was next to go and at the same time I had a cannula removed and not replaced. Unfortunately, we had got to the point where my veins ran away at the sound of the phlebotomists  footfall. I had a picc(?) line inserted. This was 550mm of thin blue plastic tube which was inserted in the inside of the upper arm and using ultrasound is guided to a point in the centre of the chest. It was terminated with a pair of flying cannula terminals. This came out on the day before my leaving.

After a week or more I was hydrated so the thirst had abated but sips were still all I was allowed. Eventuality a dietician appeared by my bed. She proudly wore a badge of a white cross on a black background. I was at ease. She was going to feed me.

Hooray! In truth I wasn't hungry but I asked her for a pasty, Hampson' s hogs pudd'n sandwich and so on. OK, she said. It'll be mixed up but mostly there.

It was all in a grey bag the label of which is opposite. She assured me that lots of the contents were constituents of a pasty. The next bag would have a load of s cones in it and the jam would be under the cream, proper like. I think she may have been winding me up but there are a lot of chemicals on that list so I didn't argue although I said I thought it more like kaolin, China clay.

This stuff kept me going for over a week. When I say going I wasn't going in all areas.

Bit by bit I was becoming mobile. Not very and not independently but sitting in a chair was a big deal and walking two metres was a major achievement.

My almost constant companion was a great source of encouragement most mornings

But come the afternoons I had to vacate the chair whilst she slept. I lay down and did likewise but usually for much longer.

All this time the ng tube was filling a beast of a bag. It was the single most inconvenient attachment. After nearly a fortnight the tube fell out as I got up from the chair. It was replaced. Unsuccessfully as shown by an x-ray so another was put in.

A most unpleasant experience but at least the beast of a bag gave way to a more modestly sized bag. Shame it wasn't a little more discreet.

Alas, a day later the new one slid out so slowly I didn't even notice.

The doctor was consulted. We need to get his stomach working and his bowels, too. Leave it out and we'll see what happens.

I cannot begin to describe the feeling of not having a tube up your nose but I'm sure you can imagine it, I just hope that if you've never experienced it you never have to.

It felt like getting better ought to feel.