My Hospital Stay, Hurts "Only When I Laugh"!

 As those of you who know me are aware, I recently had to go into hospital for an operation to remove some floating fragments of broken bone from my right elbow joint. What I didn't bank on is the humour I would find in the whole experience from start to finish once I got home and thought about my 24 hours in the ward concerned. I want to share this with you guys, not only so you can hopefully have a smile as you visualise the scenes, but also so you know what you might need to expect next time it is you that is heading into hospital.

It all began back in August 2008 when we allowed a friend of ours to hold his 72nd Birthday party by our fishing lake. Needless to say copious amounts of alcohol were consumed, and at some point during the evening I managed to topple my chair over sideways causing me to land firmly on my right elbow joint. Luckily it was a grass surface, and for several hours I had no pain and carried on partying, but much later I ended up in a huge amount of pain and ultimately ended up being X-rayed in Accident and Emergency the following day. Unfortunately they couldn't see any damage and sent me home in a sling only, and told me to take normal painkillers. After a week or two the worst of the pain had subsided and I was left with a slightly stiff and 'clicky' joint that occasionally locked up.

I guess over time I got used to this and ignored it for well over a year. Quite by chance I mentioned it to my Doctor whilst visiting on another problem, and he decided to refer me to a specialist. To cut a very long story short, after two MRI scans and a CT scan (that involved dye being injected into my elbow joint), the results came back that I had signs of broken bone fragments in my elbow that ideally needed removing. The hospital soon wrote to me with my appointment date and then it was simply a matter of waiting and ensuring I attended the appointments with the nurse for an MRSA test and the anaesthetist for an assessment of my weight, any allergies etc.

Eventually the day arrived on the 8th December 2009 when I had to report to the hospital in order for the operation to be performed. Luckily for me my friend was in on the same day for a knee operation, so I would at least have the company of someone who I knew would be good fun. What I didn't know was this trip was to be a pretty amusing experience once I began to pay particular attention to what was going on around me.

Of course the first thing that happens when you arrive in the ward is that you are presented with a wonderful range of garments to change into. These include possibly the most unflattering "smock" you could ever be given that laces up at the back (just where you can't see what you are doing) and is covered in small flower logos somewhat similar to an elderly ladies wallpaper. In addition to this extremely 'not sexy' garment, the hospital are kind enough to additionally give you a pair of disposable paper knickers, a paper 'shower cap' and a delightful pair of white, extremely tight, ''Deep Vein Thrombosis prevention stockings. By the time I had donned this lot I was tempted to hide under my hospital bed until it was all over and done with, and any witnesses to my humiliation had long since left!

Eventually after several hours of waiting in my hospital bed I was taken down to theatre for my operation. My anaesthetist was great and totally alleviated any concerns I might have had over the fact he had been on crutches the day before (when I had first met him). After thumping the back of my hand a number of times to get my rather tiny veins to rise up, he successfully managed to administer the anaesthetic, and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery area before being wheeled back to my ward.

Of course I was delighted when I realised they had now moved me to the same part of the ward as my friend was in, and as an added bonus we were in beds next to each other. This was going to be fun as she has a wicked sense of humour very much the same as my own.

I then slept for a good part of the day whilst my friend was taken off for her surgery during the early afternoon. From where my bed was located I was opposite a lady who I can only describe as Susan Boyle in 30 years time, quite sweet but very "head in the clouds". I did chat with her, but am not sure she heard much of what I was saying at all.

After what seemed like a very long time my friend was brought back to the ward, bless her, she is only 21 and this is the third lot of major surgery she has endured on her knee since a bad trampolining accident 6 years ago. Sadly for her she always reacts badly to an anaesthetic so without being able to stop herself she was in tears. I felt really bad for her, but didn't trust myself to get out of bed just yet, and plus my elbow was quite painful, although not as bad as I had expected it to be. Meanwhile my Hubby had arrived and was being very supportive, although I must confess I was too tired to be good company. Poor guy, on one side of him he has me barely talking to him, on the other side he has my mate in tears, and opposite he has a geriatric Susan Boyle, (no wonder he didn't want to stay too long). Sadly for him the clock in the ward was 5 minutes fast, so consequently he missed his bus and had to come back again ten minutes after leaving. This meant he had another twenty minutes of our fabulously entertaining company to endure before his next bus.

After my poor Hubby finally 'escaped' I fell asleep. This was the easy part of the hospital visit, but it wasn't long before the endless stream of nurses started taking my blood pressure and temperature at incredibly close intervals. It seemed as soon as I fell asleep another nurse was waking me up and attaching a blood pressure machine to my "good" arm, although every test showed my blood pressure was low, (as per normal for me). I was just starting to truly relax when the one of the nurses arrived with the latest humiliating device, a pair of weirdly shaped slippers that apparently plugged into the bed itself and were meant to vibrate in order to prevent blood clots. Luckily for me my "bed" wasn't working so I escaped this additional embarrassment, phew!!!

I found myself struggling to understand why it was that at home I spend far longer in bed without suffering from DVT (deep vein thrombosis), and I don't wear stockings to prevent it, (or weird vibrating slippers etc).

Nurses came round again and presented me with a cocktail of tablets that I know included yet more medication to avoid DVT, amongst other pills that prevent constipation (ironic when you consider I hadnt been able to eat bugger all since the night before the operation, so not much in my system to give me constipation anyway).

By about 7.00pm my hand had swollen up quite badly following the operation, so a bouncy northern English nurse set me up in some kind of weird suspended blue vertical foam sling to help the fluids drain from my hand. Being a bit of a "Rip Van Winkle" in my own right, I managed to still fall asleep although it was a little weird in terms of position.Then I awoke and needed the toilet, so my fabulous northern nurse tells me to leave the foam sling on and go to the toilet. What she didn't allow for was the fact the door to the toilet required two hands to close it, one to hold it tight to the door frame, and one to turn the lock. This is pretty hard to achieve with one hand wrapped in foam, so in the end I had to grit my teeth, bear the pain and use my foam covered arm to pull the door tight to the frame so that I could lock it. Relieved, (quite literally), I returned to my bed and fell asleep. When I awoke the next time my swelling had gone down so I removed the sling and relaxed.

In between times both my friend and I had to endure yet another DVT prevention in the form of an injection to the stomach. Luckily for me I didn't get the standard side effect of a throbbing and stinging sensation, but by now I am getting quite frustrated at the obsession with Deep Vein Thrombosis, I mean, what did people do in the war for goodness sake?

I soon fell asleep again and didn't wake up until about 03.00am when my friend went to the toilet. Shortly after I went as well, and upon my return we had a quiet chat comparing pain levels. So far I was doing great, the nurses had said they had never seen anyone with signs as stable as mine. I was sleeping like a baby and feeling no pain. Sadly my friend was in pain and the hospital were stubbornly refusing to give her even the same level of painkillers she was routinely prescribed by her Doctor for home use.

A couple of hours later "Susan Boyle" began snoring, and in my half asleep state I nearly told her to 'shut up' thinking she was my Hubby, fortunately I realised that I was in hospital before I got myself into any embarrassing situation.

When I was woken up the next morning by the nurses at 07.30 am (the middle of the night for me), I was fortunately quite well rested, and even another patient on the ward remarked on how she had never seen anyone sleep like I did, and that I never moved at all apart from going to the toilet at 03.00am.

Breakfast was next, and knowing I only have a small appetite I had chosen the small serving of Bacon, mushrooms and tomato. When it turned up I was shocked as to just how small "small" was. I was quite hungry by now so when I enthusiastically lifted up the cover over my plate I was horribly disappointed at what I saw! One rasher of incinerated bacon, half a withered tomato and two lonely mushrooms!!!! This wouldn't feed a hamster, never mind me. I wolfed it down without complaining though, (couldn't face any more of the hospital tea that was stewed and awful, so stuck to orange juice).

Time to relax... or not, as before I knew it 'Neanderthal Cleaner' arrives in the form of a girl who is clearly slightly "wrong up top" for want of a better word. Lurching around the ward armed with a vacuum cleaner and barely able to string a coherant sentence together. The only thing that cleaned the floor thoroughly were her knuckles dragging along it, as the vacuum was missing most of the bits and pieces that needed removing. My friend had to ask her to pass her some tablets from her bedside cabinet, and 'neanderthal' cleaner managed to eventually establish what it was my friend wanted as she did a perfect impression of "Egor" asking "Dooo yooo want annnny warterrr for themmm?"

Thankfully, and much to my relief, my specialist gave me permission to go home before I had to endure lunch or supper. The physiotherapist was impressed with my range of movement and agreed I could go home, having first fitted me with a spongy sling that I actually found more uncomfortable than no sling at all. You cannot imagine the relief I felt when Hubby turned up to collect me and escorted me down to my Step Father's car outside. I then slept the rest of the day at home. My friend was also released later in the day after giving the nurses absolute hell over her low painkiller doses, (I don't envy them her wrath at all).

(Makes mental note to take packed lunch next time I am in hospital and to bring earplugs to protect against snoring from the Susan Boyle's of the future).

Don't misunderstand me, the nurses, specialist etc were great, it just seemed the experience was kind of funny in a way that only your imaginations can convey!