Update on the sickly one
In an emergency, the NHS is unbeatable. Wednesday 31st July was an interesting day.
After we agreed it was time for him to consult the professionals, Barry filled in an online triage form in the morning, then ‘phoned 111 for advice. That prompted someone to call him and question him further, and then someone else called immediately to make an appointment for him at the Urgent Care clinic, where the doctor there referred him to the hospital.
At A&E he was seen at once, admitted, scanned, x-rayed, and put on intravenous antibiotics and a saline drip in the Acute Medical Unit. This all happened within four hours, from triage to hospital admission.
He had pneumonia, which I had suspected from the occasionally crackling lungs and wheeziness of the preceding two nights, but the diagnosis of sepsis came as a complete shock. The doctor we spoke to thought that he’d had an initial viral infection and then developed a bacterial infection on top. He was monitored thoroughly and had two Covid tests, which proved inconclusive. (The Covid ward at this particular hospital is still maintained as a separate ward and currently has twenty patients in it. Lung infections are also very common at present.)
Anyway, there he had to stay until the tests were repeated and found satisfactory. He’s a good patient, asks lots of questions so that he’s completely aware of his condition, and follows instructions carefully. He was full of praise for the staff and as anxious to leave them as they were to see him go. Hospitals are hotbeds (!) of infection. He was not discharged until he was taken off intravenous antibiotics and given two lots of tablets, to be taken at different intervals.
He came home on Friday, feeling as if he’d been away for a month. On Tuesday, he had another blood test at the hospital. Two days later he had an appointment with the local GP practice to follow up the possible skin cancer they noticed (!) and will have another x-ray in a few weeks’ time and further blood tests as he is slightly anaemic. He has always taken good care of himself and is very fit, so this episode has been a shocking wake-up call.
When we think of hospitals, we think of doctors and nurses administering advice and medication. What we often don’t consider are all the other things that have to be dealt with. The cleaners clean the floors, unobtrusively. Porters cheerfully transport non-ambulant patients at all times of day or night. Trolleys are wheeled round at regular intervals with tea, coffee, cordials, water. Food is brought, and in this hospital it was excellent – freshly cooked and nicely presented. Fresh hospital gowns are provided daily and tests are conducted quickly and courteously. Temperature, blood pressure and blood tests are taken through the night and analysed promptly to inform the attending doctors of the state of play.
Some of the patients are not at all appreciative. They complain all the time, and ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ are rarely on their lips. One man with dementia was very distressed and so someone sat with him all night to try and calm him. Another young man caused a disturbance and the police were called to attend to him. A third man swore loudly and frequently and threateningly. During this, the staff were calm, efficient, and cheerful. Many, in fact, probably most, of them are not British, but hail from South East Asia, are poorly paid and save to send money home to their families.
We take our hats off to them and wish them better pay and conditions.
Meanwhile, our youngest daughter is in France on crutches. Bethan tore a ligament in her ankle just before she and her husband were due to fly. She would have preferred to abandon the holiday, but her children were excited at the prospect of going away and she didn’t want to disappoint them. In addition, her husband takes little time off and it’s important for him to have a complete break. I don’t think it’s a lot of fun for her, as her leg is very painful, but it’s probably easier than trying to entertain two very lively little boys at home.
She needs to compare notes with our son-in-law. Paul fell off a ladder and damaged his ankle badly, so he’s not very mobile. It’s not broken, but is an interesting range of colours. He’s in a lot of pain, hobbling around with the support of an elbow crutch, and fretting about the work he cannot complete at the moment. Gillian is being kept busy ‘managing’ him.
Our middle daughter, Susannah, did all the ferrying around on Wednesday and continues to do so, despite her personal problems. She keeps the rest of the family informed, so there’s no glossing over facts, even if we wanted to. Our son appeared at the hospital while we were there on Thursday and it was so good for Barry to see him and have some male conversation. Gareth worries, but not as vociferously as our daughters.
It’s good to be in contact with our family, but better when it’s in more relaxed circumstances.
It will be several weeks before we can assume that Barry is completely well again, but his habitual cheerfulness masks the fact to outsiders that he has had an enormous shock. He is very much better, but still puzzled that he succumbed to infection without much more than a cough and feeling unusually tired.
Without the fitness trackers he wears, which record things like variable heart rate, pulse, blood pressure, stress, he would not have thought anything was amiss. Those signs, more than anything, alerted him.
There will be no escape now from the Inquisition from our children. I have to grit my teeth when I hear, ‘I know you’re fiercely independent, but you are getting older . . .’
We have been well and truly put in our boxes, though fortunately not the final ones.
