Hospital Visit

(Friday) I've been to visit one of the leadership team from Shenley Christian Fellowship, who is currently in Milton Keynes Hospital with some sort of leg infection. I have him on Facebook and he's taken a photograph to show the extent of the infection, and how his leg has blown up (if that's the right way to describe it.) and not looking nice. As it's such a short walk to the hospital, I decided to walk, thus making it easier because I wouldn't have to drive and then find a space to park the car. I found out he was in ward 22 and had a vague recollection where it was, because it was one of the wards Carol was on at some stage or other. Once there, I totally forgot where it was, thinking it was up the stairs when you enter from near the Cardiology department, but then, having enquired of a member of staff, that it's not actually in the main building, but on it's own, nor a short walk from the cafeteria and the shop. It then dawned on me that it was close to the M.R.I. scan unit. as far as I remember, just over the fire road (called, presumably, because that would be where fire engines would come in if the hospital caught fire.) and close to the courtyard which was set up with tables with umbrellas on them and where they had a barbecue last year, as part of the 70th Anniversary of the foundation of the N.H.S., and a BBC television crew set up cameras to interview staff and shown on Look East, live that evening, a day when I went to see Carol on Ward 22 and during that exceptionally hot summer we had last year. Ward 22 is upstairs and on the ground floor is the Endoscopy department, where Carol had to go for a scan at the beginning of the process which eventually gave the diagnosis that she had bowel cancer. Not the best memory to have, but still part of the same story, unfortunately.

I went up the stairs to the ward entrance and had to press the button beside the door to gain entrance. I think it has a camera on it so that staff on reception can see who's wanting to enter. I had to press several times before someone came to let me in, I think one of the doctors.

I had no idea where on ward 22 Danny was. It's not like a general ward, where you have patients in a sort of communal area, each with curtains that pull round on a track whenever you need privacy, a bedside chest for your personal belongings and a table on wheels that moves up and down and on which you have your meals. But on this ward there are separate rooms, some single, but a couple, like the one Carol was on, had four beds, and they had the use of their own bathroom and toilet (which I soon discovered I wasn't supposed to use, something to do with cross-infection, although I could use a toilet on the main body of the ward.) As I walked along the corridor, hoping to find the nurse's station, which is usually central to any hospital ward, and which is where there is usually a receptionist and ward administrator/manager, and where the door to the ward is opened when you press the door button outside in the corridor, I came upon the doctor who cared for Carol and was responsible for her pain control. Doctor Ben, but I don't remember his surname. A very easy to talk to young man and very good at his job, and was seen on occasion when Carol was in Willen Hospice.

He turned to me and spent some time chatting to me. It was obvious that he knew of Carol's passing, well, he would have known, working as he did at Willen and spending a lot of time with us, trying to get Carol's awful pain under control, which was the main reason she went into Willen Hospice. I can talk about this now, write it on here, but only a few months ago, I would have found writing this extremely traumatic, but actually, but writing about it now, it's sort of therapeutic. He asked me how I was coping, and I said that it was a sort of roller-coaster ride, up and down, at the moment, more down. I told him I had been prescribed medication to help me sleep, and was currently on Diazepam which was helping me calm down as well as sleep, but that I was getting panic attacks (I don't know why.) and was caused mostly because of being messed around my various government departments regarding benefits and also, not having my rent paid in full by Housing Benefit. He asked me if I was getting any support. I said I had been to Willen and had some bereavement counselling, but it had finished because the lady who counselled me didn't think I needed any further support. I said that I had been to Macmillan to see the counsellor there, but I was told what the Willen lady had said and that I was moving forward, especially with my volunteering at Camphill. He told me that I should go back to my doctor as the N.H.S. should have some sort of support for me in my situation. Perhaps going back to get support from Willen Hospice might be part of the answer. I'll have to wait and see.

I wasn't sure exactly which room Danny was in, so Dr Ben asked a nurse, who wasn't sure and had to consult a list, but eventually we discovered which room it was. I walked round the ward, which is so much quieter than the average ward. I remember when I was in hospital after my first heart attack in 2006, on the C.C.U. (Coronary Care Unit) at Bedford Hospital, there was a corridor which passed more or less straight through the ward, and, even in the middle of the night, you'd get people walking through, almost always talking at full volume, and then there was a noisy refrigeration unit on the roof outside the window which made the most awful sounds all through the night. And on top of that you had new patients being bought in, on beds usually, and the nurses weren't exactly quiet.

I was directed to Danny's room. A single room. His wife Chris was there, but no sign of Danny. He was in the bathroom. For some strange and totally unaccountable reason he couldn't open the door. If it would have been me I would have been stressed, because the thought of being trapped in a room with a door which I couldn't open wouldn't be a pleasant experience. I don't like enclosed spaces at the best of times, but being stuck in a bathroom or toilet when the door doesn't unlock would be my worst nightmare. Most N.H.S. facilities, usually toilets, have similar locks which are usually easy enough to open (I recall the bathroom when I worked as a Support Worker at Country Cottage in Everton, part of the N.H.S. Learning Disabilities Service, where the bathroom had similar locks to those in the hospital and all the equipment, grab-rails, waste bins with that strange mechanism that you weren't supposed to push down with your hand and coloured yellow, even the taps and shower units and flooring were the same.) so I had a vague idea how to get out, even if it meant pulling the red cord which would call a nurse to your assistance. Then suddenly Danny appeared, but not from the door into the main room. I presumed there was a second door which opened out into either the corridor or the adjoining room. He looked pained. The leg which is causing so much trouble, probably an infection, is bound up with bandages but it's a bright red, from what you can see. He looked in real pain and managed to get to the bed and lie on it. But in these wards there are never enough chairs. Usually a high-backed one with padding for the patient, but visitors get to sit on plastic chairs. They may be one in the room, but if more visitors come then you have to hunt them down, usually stacked elsewhere on the ward. I remember several years ago, when I had a brief stay in hospital, following a rather prolonged angina attack which meant I had to remain in hospital for a couple of days, Carol needed to sit down and sat on the bed. Just never do that! It's against the rules. There was a very officious woman of indeterminate age (I think her role was probably ward administrator, but I'm not sure, but she might have been a volunteer.) Carol got told off for sitting on the bed and when she started reading my notes (which were kept in a folder in a slot at the end of the bed, she got even more of a telling-off! Even though we were husband and wife, she wasn't supposed to look at my notes, which could have been read by anyone who came on the ward. Now, with new computerised technology, all notes are stored on a computer system (which was being started up whilst Carol was in hospital.) so it would now be very difficult for anyone without the relevant password to get into such personal and sensitive material. All patients, when being admitted to a ward, has to have a paper wrist band put on, which shows your name, date of birth and has a bar code which is read by a scanner when a  nurse comes to do your 'Obs,' or gives out your medication.

Several nurses came in to do the various checks, to do the obligatory 'Obs,' give medications and check Danny's leg, which looks redder and as painful as ever. All these checks done by technology. Then Carline Swann arrived, another member of S.C.F., who I have seen in church but have not had an opportunity to speak to. She seems to know a great deal about nursing and care (not sure what her job is exactly.) and as a result of her arrival another chair was required. Another difficulty of these small rooms, never enough space when you have several visitors requiring seating. And those plastic chairs which are in all these wards for visitors, made of plastic and not as comfortable as they might be. I think they have them as they would be easier to clean for hygiene purposes, but you begin to slip off the seat after a while. So, by this time it was my time to leave and bade farewell, just hoping and praying that Danny's leg heals soon so he can leave hospital and return to his home.