Hospital - Inpatient

I was now a Stroke Survivor and to prove it I was in hospital.

It was 03:00 in the morning and I was alone in room B of the Stroke Ward looking at the lights of the city below. I had no pyjamas, I had been issued with toothbrush and toothpaste, so was sitting on the bed wondering what the hell was going on.

At a little after 04:00 a nurse gave me my pills, I never did find out what they were, and took my blood pressure (210 over 129). 

As the sun came up over the estuary in the distance I was disturbed again for my blood pressure (220 over 133) to be taken.

At 08:00 breakfast arrived followed by yet another measuring of my blood pressure (185 over 121).

After breakfast I decided that if it was true that I had had a Stroke I was going to face it head on so I took to Facebook.

“Reports of my demise have proved to be a trifle premature! It would appear that I suffered a minor Stroke in the early hours of Sunday morning. I have received treatment at XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and as long as I keep taking the tablets and live the life of a hermit then I should be around for many more years yet!”

Mid-morning saw the arrival of the Consultant with the usual entourage. After introducing herself she expressed the belief that I had had a Stroke but to be sure she wanted an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) Scan. I would not be discharged until she had seen the results and as it was unlikely I could be fitted in before Monday I should expect to be there for the weekend. Nodding at two doctors, a pretty blonde haired female and a bearded black male, at the front of her retinue the Consultant commented that they would be looking after me. Both vaguely nodded in my direction but no one looked to make any form of introduction which did not matter, as neither stepped inside my room again while I was an occupant.

Medical visitors continued to appear. As the Consultant was bringing her own visitation to an end the Speech Therapist arrived and stood to one side listening. With the room to ourselves she asked a few questions and I told her of the slight slurring. Her diagnosis was that my voice seemed generally fine and any slurring would probably fade, in time.

The rest of the morning was taken up with having: my blood pressure taken again (194 over 102); my room cleaned and lunch.

As I finished eating two Occupational Therapists appeared to make an assessment which consisted of escorting me, on either side, to the end of the ward, up half a flight of stairs and back. They told me it was a rarity to take the walk with someone without a limp and as such they saw no reason for further therapy.

For what felt like the first time that morning I was left alone with my thoughts.

Afternoon visiting was 2pm to 3:30 and I was looking forward to seeing Kate, who arrived on the dot, bearing gifts: my wash bag; pyjamas; and the laptop. However, before we could say more than hello, a nurse appeared to tell me that I had an appointment with the MRIA scanner at 2:30. Not the best of timing but it was better than waiting until Monday, this way there was a chance of getting out over the weekend.

I will deal with the scan in a later post but with having to be escorted to and from the scanner and the length of time it actually took visiting time was over by the time I returned to my room and my partner had to leave.

My blood pressure was taken yet again (188 over 126) and I tried to get some writing done but was not particularly successful. Other things on my mind I guess.

At around 5:00pm the Consultant appeared, alone, and sat on my bed. She was heading home for the weekend and she wanted to let me know the latest position. She still thought that I’d had a Stroke but the MRI Scan had not yet appeared but there was some hope that it would do so later in the day or possibly early on Saturday. She told me that if it did, and depending on what it said, she saw no reason why I shouldn’t go home over the weekend.

At 6:30pm Kate arrived for evening visiting with two pieces of news: the step-daughter was coming home and would arrive on Saturday; that she had rebooked our trip to see the step-daughter for exactly six weeks time. We had planned to travel to the Alps on the Sunday after I went into hospital. The doctor in A&E had not only confirmed my stroke but had also informed us that I would be barred from driving for a month and that flying was out for six weeks.

Neither piece of news was particularly welcome. The step-daughter rushing to the bedside was making more of it than it warranted, and re-booking the holiday for the earliest possible date seemed not to be taking it seriously enough. I’m sure it was unfair of me but I said as much to Kate, who was less than happy. My overriding feeling was that I had not been involved in any of it.

I completely failed to communicate to Kate just how confused, alone, scared, angry and emotionally drained I was, who left at 8:00pm with a heavy sense of tension between us, even though I had told her of the possibility of being discharged the next day, or perhaps because of it.

I changed into my pyjamas just in time for my Blood Pressure to be taken again (200 over 122).