Wednesday 5 April - Question time
My time on the hospital bed began with numerous questions, most of which I could not remember the answer to, or the short sequence of events that led to me being here. I should have pointed the nurse asking the questions in the direction of this Blog or printed it out prior to my admittance into hospital.
I then received more questions from an Assistant Consultant, and from the answers I gave he must have wondered what I was doing in hospital
‘Coughing Phlegm?’
‘No’
‘Blood’
‘No’
‘Chest pains?’
‘No’
‘Shortness of Breath?’
‘No’
And on it went: more questions, more answers in the negative. I began to feel like a fraud. I would have begun to doubt my own illness had I not seen the x-rays and CT scan images. It really was there and it measured somewhere in the region of 3cm x 4cm, was this a 2D tumour, where was the third dimension?
He had not seen any results from the PET scan.
He examined me externally – even mentioning my ‘man’ breasts. At this point I should point out that they do not require a bra, they are not too big and I have had them since my last Chemotherapy treatment some 14 years ago. They had not increased in size recently and had not become more or less sensitive. Although having increased sensitivity was a bonus when I had the Chemo and for sometime thereafter, that is another story and not one for Blogging.
I really do wish I had printed the sequence of events out as I was again asked questions on my short journey from having a cough at the end of last year to being in hospital now.
More MRSA swabs to be taken as those done at the local hospital would no longer be valid: this time I got to do both nose and groin swabs myself.
I was told no more questions for now and a senior consultant was on his way around the wards. I tried to write from memory the sequence of events I would inevitably be asked again.
One of my pet hates from being in hospital previously is the use of Television sets in shared Wards. I know in other hospitals they have the use of personalised televisions etc, but his one had one annoying set sat on a bracket on the wall and was blaring away to itself, I switched it off.
I sat on the bed in the four bed bay and waited. None of the occupants seemed interested in holding a conversation or watching television.
A very senior looking nurse, dark blue uniform, came to take some blood samples. She was very efficient and friendly and, at the risk of sounding sexist, extremely attractive. To even things up a little, the Assistant Consultant was quite a good looking chap also. Unfortunately this was the last I saw of this particular lovely dark blue uniform as she was due to go on holiday: she was later replaced by a less agreeable dark blue uniform.
The consultant, who arrived with the senior nurse, still had no PET scan results but could confirm that the very fact that I was admitted for an operation meant the results and been good.
I seem to have been left alone for a while since I have managed to log all these thoughts in the four hours since entering the hospital building. Time to get away from the hospital bed, which I am still to lay upon and go look for a cup of coffee.
I then received more questions from an Assistant Consultant, and from the answers I gave he must have wondered what I was doing in hospital
‘Coughing Phlegm?’
‘No’
‘Blood’
‘No’
‘Chest pains?’
‘No’
‘Shortness of Breath?’
‘No’
And on it went: more questions, more answers in the negative. I began to feel like a fraud. I would have begun to doubt my own illness had I not seen the x-rays and CT scan images. It really was there and it measured somewhere in the region of 3cm x 4cm, was this a 2D tumour, where was the third dimension?
He had not seen any results from the PET scan.
He examined me externally – even mentioning my ‘man’ breasts. At this point I should point out that they do not require a bra, they are not too big and I have had them since my last Chemotherapy treatment some 14 years ago. They had not increased in size recently and had not become more or less sensitive. Although having increased sensitivity was a bonus when I had the Chemo and for sometime thereafter, that is another story and not one for Blogging.
I really do wish I had printed the sequence of events out as I was again asked questions on my short journey from having a cough at the end of last year to being in hospital now.
More MRSA swabs to be taken as those done at the local hospital would no longer be valid: this time I got to do both nose and groin swabs myself.
I was told no more questions for now and a senior consultant was on his way around the wards. I tried to write from memory the sequence of events I would inevitably be asked again.
One of my pet hates from being in hospital previously is the use of Television sets in shared Wards. I know in other hospitals they have the use of personalised televisions etc, but his one had one annoying set sat on a bracket on the wall and was blaring away to itself, I switched it off.
I sat on the bed in the four bed bay and waited. None of the occupants seemed interested in holding a conversation or watching television.
A very senior looking nurse, dark blue uniform, came to take some blood samples. She was very efficient and friendly and, at the risk of sounding sexist, extremely attractive. To even things up a little, the Assistant Consultant was quite a good looking chap also. Unfortunately this was the last I saw of this particular lovely dark blue uniform as she was due to go on holiday: she was later replaced by a less agreeable dark blue uniform.
The consultant, who arrived with the senior nurse, still had no PET scan results but could confirm that the very fact that I was admitted for an operation meant the results and been good.
I seem to have been left alone for a while since I have managed to log all these thoughts in the four hours since entering the hospital building. Time to get away from the hospital bed, which I am still to lay upon and go look for a cup of coffee.
posted by old enough to moan @ 4:36 am
<< Home