Discharge can be a dirty word, especially when used in the same sentence as ‘accidental’, ‘oily’ or ‘gusset’. But yesterday I had the only good type of discharge, the one from Ward 17.
And so ended the third admission of the year. I don’t mind admitting that the novelty has well and truly worn off and much like a movie trilogy that has gone one movie too far, I am fucken over this failure of my lungs to well, work.
I had it so good for so long, that’s the real kicker. Prior to this year I hadn’t had a hospital admission for something like 12 years. That’s unheard of for a person with my condition. Respected medical professionals couldn’t believe it when I told them; they had to have my file dug out of the archives just to confirm I was telling the truth. Lying about the length of time between admissions is rife, apparently.
Once word spread I was the hottest show in town; crippled folk were being wheeled into my room in the hope that my touch would cure them, children down in the paediatric ward were told of my exploits at bedtime so that they wouldn’t cry at night and in some far away third world country cave dwellers were etching my image on their stone walls using their own excrement.
But that’s now all gone down the shitter. My name is mud these days and I’m just ‘that guy again’. Even the eye candy was particularly disappointing this time round. Physiotherapy, for so long the home of the lost tribe of the Amazon women of the nursing profession, this time provided me with Conan, a six foot something young man who was surprisingly gentle for a fella his size. I never did get round to asking him why his Mum called him Conan but I was interested to know if it was because he was a big baby or did he feel he had to grow into the name? He was a cool guy though, despite not being a blonde with great boobs. In fact he couldn’t have been more far from it. He’s one of those chaps that look like he is wearing a woollen long sleeved sweater under his polo shirt. He is a hairy young man.
Even the tea lady didn’t even have to ask how I liked it anymore, she would just hand me the mug with a sigh. Incidentally the rumbling of the tea trolley was one of the few chances of a perv I got this time round, but only when Swedish Sofie was on shift. I think she had a twinkle in her eye every time she handed me a banana for morning tea which left me gagging to ask her if it was true what they say about Swedish girls – that they all love Abba? The one thing I dig about Nordic girls is that they really know their football and Sofie was no exception so we had many a chat regarding the state of play in the Euros.
But that was about it. The highlights were unfortunately few and far between. Maybe it was just a case of me having to be in a again so soon but the little quirks I laughed about the first two times really started to piss my off this visit. Nurses who couldn’t speak English at all well, then gave me the wrong medication, or left me waiting for due medication. Anybody who took the time to put the mandatory rubber gloves on, only to ruin the token effort by then thrusting their hands into dirty pockets or by touching dirty surfaces whilst wearing them. Other people’s nosy fucken visitors who simply can’t help but slip a few vertebrae craning their neck to see in your room and noisy, inconsiderate other patients who treated the ward like it was home. This is the shit that drives those that can afford it into private health care, but you shouldn’t have to pay twice for good health care in this country.
I thought that one of my night nurses fancied me – she was very giggly whenever she came into check on me. Admittedly I did have my top off; I was in bed after all and that’s usually enough to make anyone laugh. I told my wife about it last night and I think she’s still laughing hysterically even now. Apparently were I to post a topless pic of me on ‘hot or not’ I would only get two votes for ‘hot’ – hers and mine.
See I think staying in hospital is a bit like playing at a casino; you have a few nice nurses - a few nice wins - but at the end of the day its Arvin that gives you the bed bath and Conan who gets to pound you till you’re red in the face.
The house always wins in the end.
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