For statistics purposes I’m now on a clinical decisions unit. Which appears to be populated by indecipherable elderly people who all have bruising and facial injuries. It’s really sad on here, and I want to go home. Badly. Pete just called the ward, and I was a bit shocked to hear from him, especially in front of a chubby ward clerk and camp health care assistant. I’m secretly chuffed he called. I was starting to feel a bit neglected here! I’m listening to a really sad case where some young chap, about my age, is pleading with his grandfather, who is determined to discharge himself, asking him to stay in due to his fading health. Stubborn old git won’t listen. I’m bloody well telling you something, I’m not watching Holby City when I get in. After over four hours in A and E I’m not sitting through another bastard hour of it all. All this patient based melodrama, I don’t need to sit through anymore, I’m even shedding a tear over this young lad wanting his grandad to be properly looked after. Camp HCA and chubby ward clerk have just talked old man into stopping in. That’s resolved that one. The old dear who is jabbering away keeps saying she can’t walk without her chair. I have no idea why she is stuck on saying that. She appears to have suffered a stroke, no one is with her. All very sad.
Ok so I wish I had timed my paragraphs. It’s now 9pm, give or take a few minutes. I’m still here. I’m still waiting for my blood test results. I last ate at 12.30pm, I’m no longer hungry I’m just fed up. And tired, and I want to put my pyjamas on. Apparently my bloods didn’t go down at 6 when they were taken due to a pod error. Im assuming this was not a Snog, Marry, Avoid, Jenny Frost-related error. It’s so ironic. The old lady jabbering away is now driving me nuts. I just want a cup of tea and to go to bed. I may stop and get a bottle of milk and have an ovaltine when I get home. In my Le Creuset mug. This is the low point I was waiting for before using it. God I would have been rubbish during the war, if I’m struggling with 5 hours in A and E I’d have been proper shite for a night in an Anderson shelter.
Given my analogy I need to Keep Calm and Carry On I think. Just focus on getting home. I think my problem before was jumping the gun. Focusing on tea was not taking into account I was supposed to get home to eat it. I should have focused on home, as tea always held the possibility of being a WRVS sandwich. It’s not even been that. I just had the treat of a porter whose voice sounds like a Yorkshire Kermit the Frog. Genius. Was almost worth sitting in a chair coated in a wipe clean material listening to old people moaning, both generally and also through agonising pain. But not quite. Actually scrap that, it falls so far short of that mark.
I’m starting to lose my mind slightly. It’s like I’m going native. But i’m turning into a senile person from a care home. 9.40pm. I got here before 4pm. I assumed I would be home for dinner. I assumed I would see Pete for at least an hour today. I’m fed up, tired and grumpy. In any variety of order. And to top it all off, I still feel short of breath. And I assume I shall not know any better why by the time I get home. So it’s been a really crap investment of seven hours (and counting) of my time. Although I just laughed very loudly when an old lady bellowed NURSE! so loudly that we all jumped out of our skin. For a tiny little woman, she has some volume I tell you.
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