Bag packed, nighties ironed, betadine scrub and towels ready, a couple of spare knickers all ready to go. All aboard the skylark bound for territory unknown.
We arrive at the hospital at the predestined time 15:00. The same miserable old hag is on the reception desk as checked me in and prepared my dossier the week before. Thankfully she did not recognise me. Did I get the single room I asked for? Did I buggery! Room 410, second floor, show the nurses this bit of paper when you get there.
We duly take the lift, find the pre-allocated room and look wildy around for someone to tell us what to do next. As ever there's no-one in the vicinity until someone turns up and waves us in the direction of room 410. We sneak in. Someone is already in the room, sleeping. My bed is by the window, not a bad view but it means I have to pass the other bed every time I want to use the bathroom and risk disturbing the other occupant. My loving husband then feels it is time for him to leave to return to work, much to my utter disgust, but there's little he can do so he leaves. I sit down quietly in the chair next to my allocated bed and wonder, wonder what to do next....
Evenutally a nurse type person turns up. She sits down and goes through a file - have I any allergies, do I take medication, what diet would I like (ha ha). Meanwhile the lady in the next bed gently snores off the after-effects of her anaesthetic. There's nothing left for it. I may as well start to read my book. Later an shortarse Frenchman comes in. He is an anaesthetist. He mutters something that he may come back later or see me in the morning then asks how tall I am. Odd question but I am considerably taller than you are matey!! Then the "chief" arrives. The man himself, Mr Ogre, the all knowing, all ruling SURGEON! He speaks to the lady in the next bed then comes over to me briefly. We discuss which hip his to be done (as if he didn't know alredy) then he vanishes, along with his entourage.
The afternoon becomes early evening, the "food" arrives (more on that later) and I wonder what to do next. When I am I supposed to take this betadine shower and will someone help? I tentatively press my sonnette. A nursey arrives and I ask her whento take the shower and will someone ehlp. No she can't help due to cross infection but if I can't manage all my bits she will help me with my second shower scheduled for the morning.
It looks like the time has come. The shower HAS to be done. I assemble the necessary gubbins and hobble off to the "bathroom". The shower is tiny with hardly any room to move. No shower curtain and the risk of creating a small lake follows. The betadine scrub is supposed to foam, yeah right! No it bloody well doesn't and no amount of rubbing would makes it get anywhere near foam so I squirted myself liberally with the stuff and rubbed away. There's no way in a million years I am going to beable to scrub my feet so I give them a liberal squirt and leave it on for a while.
Shower done. The tiny bathrooms is hot and humid and despite liberal rubbing down, with long wet hair,there's no way I am going to get dry. I ask the nurse folk if they can lend me a hairdryer which makes little or no impression so I give up. I do my best to slip into a long nightie but am sweaty and sticky and it's not a pleasant feeling. There's not a lo t else I can do apart from climb into bed, clean sheets, clean nightie and try to get some kip ready for the BIG DAY! GULP!
No comments:
Post a Comment