So, hospital has become a kind of surreal home away from home. And home has become the place I go back to only in order to go to bed, tossing and turning and trying not to think negative thoughts until the morning comes.
Mr B is fast asleep when I arrive at his bedside this morning - in fact all but one of the patients are sleeping in various states of comfort except for the very poorly gent
in the bed by the window who kept everyone awake last night.
Two of the patients have no visitors at all and I am overwhelmed with sadness to think that the one
who is not expected to live much longer might die alone with nobody here for him. Mr B, quite the reverse, is literally surrounded by love with so many visitors that I am constantly being gently reminded that it’s strictly two visitors per bed, “Strictly”
being rather loosely interpreted in our case. Our Boy, who is feeling very far away, visits via FaceTime to talk sport with his Dad. I take it as read that a FaceTime visitor doesn’t count as one of our “Two Per Bed”?
The Darling Daughters are operating a kind of “Mum Rota” so I always have someone with me, from the Youngest who drove down on Wednesday to be with me for the traumatic
late night transfer into hospital to the Eldest who took me out for an early Mother’s Day meal last night before we went back to the ward for the last hour of visiting time, to the Middle Darling Daughter who is arriving soon. We have decided not to
introduce the trio of Rampaging Rascals to the ward on the basis that there are just too many opportunities for creating Merry Mayhem. I have visions of them touring the ward unplugging everybody’s oxygen, having races around the nurses’ station
with patients’ bedside trolleys and jumping into the wheeled laundry basket. It would certainly liven things up but I’m not totally sure Worthing Hospital is ready for it.
Mr B’s brother, Mr H (they are peas in a pod, as I’ve told you before) phones to ask: “Where do you think I am?” The answer turns out to be “Worthing Hospital”- he has driven all the way from North
Wales “because that’s what brothers do.” He is currently rearranging the contents of our garage to accommodate various items of furniture so that Mr B’s hospital bed can be moved downstairs in preparation for him coming home, hopefully
sometime soon. Mr H has the light of reforming zeal in his eyes and I can’t wait to see the transformation he has wrought in our living room.
I am getting
very good at finding my way around my Home From Home, mostly because the nearest loo for visitors is on the Ground Floor while Mr B’s ward is on the third floor. I have found several ways of getting from one to the other, mostly by Trial and Error and
have sampled coffee at both the Friends Coffee Shop and Costa Coffee. I alternate taking the stairs and the lift depending on my mood and the time of day - the lift is better for the meeting of Random Folks with Stories to Tell, most recently a hospital volunteer
whose duties seemed mostly to consist of fetching and carrying around the entire hospital site. He also occasionally carries out customer surveys so I did say it was a pity there wasn’t a loo for visitors on the third floor but apparently this subject
hasn’t come up as yet in the surveys he has carried out.
Visiting hours finish at 10 p.m. which is not so very much earlier than our bedtime at home
so I can say a timely, and just as usual: “Good night, God bless, see you in the morning…” Mr B says he still can’t understand why he can’t come home with me.
See you in the morning, I say. Oh, yes, I will…