I spent two weeks in hospital undergoing various treatments, being poked and prodded, having various needles and tubes inserted into me. I posted a few updates on Facebook, but as many of you probably don’t follow me on Facebook a couple of the posts from there. I didn’t really write anything of length until about a week into my stay, by which time I’d undergone a second procedure to drain fluid from my chest and right lung.
October 3rd
Day 7 update from the patient himself.
The second procedure is still ongoing. A plastic container with the nasty stuff in it is my constant companion.
I'm currently off the oxygen for the first time since Wednesday night, which means that I'm now a little bit more mobile. Try telling my legs that though.
If I said much more I'd be here for ages.
Hospital jelly and ice cream rules.
Still waiting for the work-related get well soon card after nearly nine weeks. Guess I'll have to fall off a bike or something to get one.
Oh, and thanks for the continuing messages either posted here or through my brothers.
If anyone wants me to post a photo of the pot let me know. Perhaps we could give it a name.
Slightly silly story from my hospital stay.
A couple of nights in I was feeling pretty shitty. Things were going to get worse that night but that's another story.
I lay in my room not doing anything when I heard from down the corridor a very loud voice saying "we need to turn left here."
The only problem was they went too left. They turned left into my ward but continued to turn left afterwards, ending up in my room.
They had no idea what to do as they looked at me rather embarrassed. I raised my hand and waved, and they promptly left and continued on their way.
October 4th
Tonight's the night! Help me celebrate my first week anniversary here!
(Please note, no food, no loud music, no dancing, no actual party because it will disturb the other patients.)
Come one come....one other! (Only two party goers allowed in the room at any one time.)
Special guests include the bloke who says he can't stay in because he's got to go to Germany, but then tries to get bus money home from the nurses, and the bloke who walks past my room talking way too loudly on his phone.
October 5th
The nicest thing they've done for me here so far was when one of the doctors apologised for the slight delay in my treatment brought on by the latest doctor's strike.
It's annoying but hey, what can you do.
PS I'm posting this on X as well. The doctors were also talking about strikes in the run-up to one of my other stays here, either in 2016 or 2020. The BBC contacted me wanting more info. Let's see if that happens again.
Here's a few factoids for you today:
My current weight is 12.5 stone. That's probably a good weight for someone of my height, but if you look at some of the pics taken of me at Morrisons over the past couple of years you'll see just how much weight I've lost. It's not a weight loss plan I'd recommend to anyone.
At the time of writing they've drained nearly 3 litres of fluid from my chest and lungs. If you want to know just how much that is then go to the shop and get three 1 litre bottles of water. You'll then find out how hard it is to carry those bottles without a basket. Then try and imagine what it's like to carry that much fluid in your chest and lungs.
Over the past week I must have had about fifty needles and things in both arms, ribs and back, taking fluid from my body and giving me much-needed antibiotics, with blood taken for tests giving me over twenty new little scars. Thank heavens for cannulas though. If I didn't have one of these in things would be a lot worse.
Finally, I think it would be safe to estimate that about a hundred people have looked after me since I've been here. They're all appreciated, from the doctors and nurses to the various assistants to the porters, the cleaners and the people who feed us.
A few little thoughts for you there.
October 6th
Just now before my CT scan, the guys helping me introduced themselves as Paul and Simon.
Sadly I was too zonked out to introduce myself as Al.
Found one thing this place does badly, fish and chip Fridays.
October 7th
Another tale from the hospital for you. These will probably end up on my blog when I get home. (A little warning, this does contain descriptions of procedures and other things that may make you wince a little.)
So, it was Friday, two days into my hospital stay, around the time my treatment was really getting started.
My first procedure took place that afternoon when a couple of doctors inserted the gubbins in my right hand side rib cage to drain the fluid from my chest. The procedure went very well, a little too well in fact, as it took just a few hours to fill the pot.
Then came the problem. The fluid began to back up onto itself as it were, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, I was screaming out with a pain the likes I'd never felt before.
That was just the start of the drama though, because the next thing I knew I was surrounded by six people checking me over, discussing my case and asking me how I was, and nearby one of the guys was going through a cardiology crash cart. The reason they were there was because my heart had suddenly started racing, a hundred beats per minute faster than normal.
With everything that was going on my mind went into overdrive. It was fucking terrified. I thought I was going to die.
I began planning my own funeral. Could I have "A Whiter Shade of Pale" played as you lot walked into the church? What hymns could you fuckers sing? And would they play George Harrison's "My Sweet Lord" as they carted me off to be cremated?
I have no idea just how long all of this went on for. Friday night became Saturday morning as I was hooked up to a monitor, given even more medication and left to rest.
Normally I have a very good memory of things like this, but this time it may be best that it's still quite hazy.
As for the procedure, the needle was taken out, with two litres of fluid having been collected in just a few hours. This step in the right direction could so easily have led me down a blind alley, but at least I was no longer on the path the GPs were trying to keep on.
October 8th
There's one thing I haven't written about since I got here nearly two weeks ago, and it's an important part of my everyday wellbeing, my mental health.
So let's be completely honest and open about this one. Despite the fact that I'm getting better, despite the fact that everyone is treating me brilliantly, there's still that sense of fear hanging over me.
I go to sleep at night afraid, I wake up feeling the same. There hasn't been one day since I got here that I haven't shed a tear because of the things and the loved ones I miss.
I don't want to be here, I never wanted to be here, all I want to do is go home, and I have no idea when I'll be able to.
Every morning when I wake up now I look under my right arm to see if Monty's there. Instead all I see is a rubber tube going from my ribs to a pot on the floor.
Tomorrow will be the tenth week of this illness. The GP said it would clear up after two.
October 9th
I can now confirm I'm single again! The large pipe that's been connecting my right lung to a plastic pot for over a week was removed a couple of hours ago. Now all I'm left with is a feeling of fatigue and pain.
Well, that’s just about it. I was discharged last Tuesday with strict orders to rest for the next couple of weeks, although the doctors told me earlier that it could be two-to-three months before I make a full recovery.
So to all of those who wished me well over the past few weeks a very big thank you to you all. I’m not quite where I need to be yet, and even though it will take me a while to get there I will.
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