I’d just had major spinal surgery & my obs were every 15 mins. Around 1am, I was having a lovely (quiet) chat with the Sister & she was having her tea break with me. First cuppa of the day (in a Tommy Tippee mug as I was immobile). Sister did my obs & said “I’ll have to pop your tea down, don’t panic but we need the crash team.” I was wide awake & chatting, felt fine (god bless fentanyl) but my bp had crashed & she couldn’t get a reading (!) & my respiratory rate was low (and the old ticker was slowing down).
Cue the crash team running in, I’m still away with the fairies & chatting, they did their magic & stabilised me.
It was utterly bizarre to be conscious & having a crash team doing their magic!
After the excitement, my bay were all awake (I was 20, all the others were over 60, they were like wonderful mother hens to me).
So the Sister made a fresh brew for everyone, got out the posh biscuits & a bit of a midnight feast was had! To be fair, the 4 of us had spent most of the day in surgery unconscious, so sleep wasn’t forthcoming for any of us.
I did apologise profusely to the ward for the kerfuffle; they were lovely & one said she quite enjoyed the excitement lol!
When I was moved onto the larger ortho ward (about 24 of us), my next door neighbour took me under her wing, and when I could walk again we’d nip through the man’s ward at midnight (grabbing a few lovely guys, if I’m honest) & escape outside for a sneaky quick cigarette, standing in pjs, the group of us with drip stands & all manner of ortho devices to aid mobility & chat utter shite in the frosty midnight December air.
Sleeping tablets were hoarded to take after our nightly jaunt (given as standard, there were a lot of older ladies having hip replacements & they were given little bells to tinkle if they needed help, so the ting-a-longs went on through the night). It was only 1992, not quite the Stone Age, but it was a very old hospital! And ear plugs were a given to stay vaguely sane.
There were no TVs blaring, mobile phones were still a twinkle in Nokia’s eye, just everyone chatting together & getting on with our recovery as best we could.
One nurse brought in a pile of old Cosmos, which prompted one hip lady (as we called them) to shout over the partition to us young ‘uns that orgasms hadn’t been invented when she was young! And Ethel, always the naughty ringleader of the Hip Ladies, proclaimed she might have felt something with a Yank in 1943 in an air raid shelter, but the all clear siren killed the mood.
I have no idea why I’m rambling. I think hospitals have always been busy, bustling places, and technology is great at keeping you in touch with your loved ones (and TVs joining the noisy throng) but it just makes everything so loud. Add the lovely machines that bleep & ping & the resulting cacophony is hellish & no friend to recovery.
Sleeping pills, ear plugs & an eye mask. Maybe when the NHS get that fictional £350 million a week that was plastered on the side of that ruddy bus in 2016, all patients will get a sleep pack containing the above, just like you’d get on a long flight.
Or you could just read my drivel & it’ll soon bore you to unconsciousness.
Sleep well & hope you feel better soon.