Back On The Wards

Regular visitors to Clubdes – yes, all four of you – will have noticed that the right hand side of this page hasn’t been updated this week. Rest assured its not through lack of inspiration because we at ClubDes are blessed with a fertile mind, unfortunately the body is not so well endowed. Except for the huge chopper that is.

So we’re back on the wards for another 10 days of fun filled excitement in what I like to think was a pre-planned sabotage of my last course of treatment by all the hot nurses who never got to give me the bed bath they were all clearly gagging for. That’s my story anyway and I’m sticking to it. Coincidentally, although I’m on a different ward this time round, I did notice my old murse Arvind had transferred wards too and he still has that glint in his eye…

It was quite the surprise to find that I was no longer on the ward where all the cool kids hang out. It was even more of a surprise to find that Ward 16 has a higher mortality rate than 17. Considering that two people died on my last visit to Ward 17 I’ve been expecting to witness a steady stream of bodies to start trucking their way past my room each day. It hasn’t eventuated and to date there have been no deaths which is even more amazing considering that in the week that I’ve been there I’ve been given the wrong medication - not once, but twice - and have even been ‘misplaced’ by my duty nurse. Admittedly I was on my bed the whole time but my room is a big place, I can see how she missed me there.

Infact it’s been all rather quiet and dare I say it – peaceful. That was until the lady with explosive diarrhea moved into the room next to me and started using the bathroom we share. There’s nothing quite as invigorating as hearing someone ablute throughout the day, especially when it sounds like they’re exploding every time they take a dump. To her credit though, despite sounding like a espresso machine on steroids, I never found the toilet in such a state as to look like one, so she either cleaned up big time or it was all for show. Thankfully her stay was a short one and my carzie has returned to sole occupancy.

The Beijing Olympic committee is my other neighbors. An elderly Asian lady is in Room 1 and true to form, so are 47 members of her immediate family. My Chinese is not what it should be but they seem to be coping well despite the space restrictions. I'm best placed for when the food starts cooking though, I'll be first in line for a Number 5 and some wantons.

What a multicultural world we live in aye? Why at this very moment I am typing this in an Internet cafe run by a Somalian couple. They run the wig and hair extension shop next door too which is handy really because I'm in the market for some braids. Unfortunately I still have the remnants of the ADHD boy haircut my wife gave me a few weeks back so it's going to have to be my pubes this time round.

Back on the ward there is a large Maori nurse that spends her evenings phoning the whanau from the front desk right outside my room and speaks to all 23 of them in turn. Sometimes they discuss the content of the Ngati Porou website she spends the rest of her shift surfing. And I can’t forget the Chuman who bought me mandarins (the fruit, not the people) on his visit with the Help Desk Massive last week.

So it’s fair to say that yet again, it’s been emotional. I can’t say that I’ve found this visit quite as inspirational as the last but I have had a few small highlights, my sexy blue eyed blonde Saffa physio, Sam, being one.

She’s worth getting sick again for.