Tag Archives: delay

Sunday Once More

Sunday has come round with its usual reliability and I have just checked back on the week’s output. I’m not impressed. I have become irregular and have been using Julia’s photographs to cover up my deficiencies.

If you’re paying attention you might have noticed I’ve done it again with today’s pictures of a bear in the garden.

We had a reasonable weekend, with a massive queue on the A1, roadworks on the Cambridge road (it feels like there have been roadworks on the Cambridge road all my life), and then more roadworks…

During all that time, including on hour queued on the A1, we didn’t see a single man working. They just set up the roadworks, put up the speed limit signs and then abandon them, regardless of the disruption it causes to everyone else. It’s a bit like being a politician – you make a mess, you walk away. At no time do you have to consider your fellow man.

We were well on target to arrive in Stowmarket when we hit the first set of roadworks (I was using the satnav to keep track of the time) and we eventually arrived an hour and a half late.

It was a good party, but I won’t say what it was for, as my sister-in-law isn’t happy about reaching 50.

Later, at the hotel, we found they had laid on a group of swearing drunks for us outside the main door, all smoking whilst wearing smeared makeup and the remains of their wedding finery. It was very kind of them, and didn’t cost extra, but it’s not really my sort of thing.

I’ll leave details of breakfast for later.

Bear with seed packet from Kew

Bear with seed packet from Kew

 

Only When I Laugh

I have now lunched. We had the £6.95 lunch at Frankie and Benny’s (we elected for cheeseburgers, chips and a spoonful of coleslaw). I added strawberry ice cream for £2.50. Julia ate the wafer off my ice cream.  She does that every time.

Total bill was the same as the Harvester but you get a lot of salad at Harvester and not much at F&B (though the music is better at F&B and the toilets are easier to reach).

Now, my morning in hospital…

Rising at 6am I bathed, dressed, packed and gathered my paperwork together. I didn’t have breakfast (because I had to stop eating at midnight) but did have a mug of water and my pills at 6.30, the latest I was allowed to drink.

All went well to start. I spoke with the surgeon, two anaesthetists and some nurses. I was prodded, bled, monitored and documented. Everyone was very pleasant and it was very relaxing.

Then I dressed in a hospital gown, put on my new grip socks and started to watch TV. And more TV. And yet more TV. At that point I was getting a bit concerned about the wait. For one thing, it was a bit long, and for another, I was starting to worry there might be a problem. But there wouldn’t be a problem, would there?

A little later – it was about 10.00 a nurse approached and gave me a cup of water, telling me I could have it as long as I drank it in the next ten minutes as I wouldn’t go through to theatre until at least 12.00.

“Yes,” I said, “I thought the water was bad news.”

From there it was all downhill…

This is how the farcical charade developed.

In December when I was admitted with “the swelling” I was allowed to lie on a normal bed in the first floor male urology ward (known as Harvey 2).

In April – the first part of the surgery – I was allowed to use a normal bed in Harvey 2.

In May, when I was admitted with the abscess I had to have the bariatric bed, in Harvey 2.

Now, I have to have the bariatric bed but am now officially too fat to be allowed upstairs, according to the evacuation protocol. There was no bed on a ground floor ward so after the 12.30 bed conference they cancelled the operation.

I just don’t understand why they keep moving the goalposts.

Now, I’ve never denied being fat, but within a pound or two I’ve been the same weight for years. I haven’t suddenly become too fat for the upper stories.

I’m also happy for them to have protocols. They are a big organisation and they need such things to function. And so their many jobsworths have something to do.

They were surprised when I laughed, but what else can you do? Getting angry won’t help. And being rude to the staff won’t help because it isn’t their fault – they just get left to apologise for the acts of others.

Before I left, they fixed me up with another date.

It’s two weeks away.

But there’s no guarantee of a bed.

Tomorrow I will be more cheerful.