It was 9.15am. I was lying in bed. Waiting to be helped to get up. The ambulance was booked for 10am. I was desperate for the loo. I had asked a few times. No voice.
By this time, I had been in hospital for four weeks. Four long weeks. Four weeks after going in with a sore knee. A very sore knee.
I wasn’t going to write this, but I now feel compelled. It’s a collection of my thoughts and reflections on four weeks in hospital.
It started with a flare-up of the arthritis in my knee. Having coped with this pain and annoyance for a few years, mostly just about coping, I wasn’t too surprised when it got worse. But it was super painful, excruciatingly painful, and even worse I could hardly move around – not even stand on it. That’s when I decided I had to speak to the doctor…
I was advised to call an ambulance to go to A&E as I couldn’t even walk down the stairs.
After a long time in A&E I was admitted to the assessment suite and spent my first night in hospital. I can’t now remember too much about that day…
After one night I was transferred to another nearby hospital. I’m not going to write about my experience in a day-by-day form but will try to address some themes.
‘Casual’ racism
This was not something that I had expected – maybe I am naïve – but it was something that I saw in my first few days/nights. Of course, there were loads of non-white, non-English staff. Our NHS could not survive without them. And there were a (smallish I think and hope) number of ignorant, racist views being expressed.
One night I heard a woman in the bed opposite me being racist towards a black member of staff. I had to call her out and then show my support for the lovely nurse. I was happy to do this but still shocked.
Physio and pain relief
I was told very early on that what I would need was pain relief and physio. This was indeed a constant of my time in hospital. The pain relief was paracetamol, ibuprofen, and the wonderful morphine, much needed for a while, but something I was determined to come off as soon as possible…
The physios were wonderful. Moving my knee was very very painful – and still is. But the progress, that maybe only I could detect was incredibly important.
I was also introduced to the amazing piece of equipment that is the Sara Stedy…
Toilet stuff
Toilet stuff is not something I would normally mention. However, it’s an important part of the story. For many of us, for those who walk about ‘normally’ then we don’t ever think about how easy it is to go to the loo. But, imagine…you can’t move independently, you have to ask to go to the toilet, rely on others to pull down your pants, and clean you up…and all done with immense knee pain…it doesn’t bear thinking about…
And then there is the constant “when did you last open your bowels?” question…
But in my view, the worst of it is losing your voice. You feel you have no say, no importance, no value. This is all something I am still processing.
No voice
My main thoughts of my stay in hospital are around not really having a voice. I am normally quite confident and vocal when I think I need to be. However, I found my confidence decreasing, found myself crying uncontrollably, and feeling I had no power, no voice.
And of course this was not just me. There were women in my hospital ward who were dealing with much more difficult and frightening circumstances, very distressed, and without a voice…
The angels and the Bylines network
I have to mention a few of the angels on the ward. There are some truly wonderful human beings, who supported me and other patients, showing real professionalism and empathy. I am not mentioning names, but you know who you are. And thank you.
And what really kept my going was my Bylines work – editing and publishing. Thank you.
Maybe I didn’t completely lose my voice – but it was frighteningly close…
