Hospital visiting!!!

Having been told last Friday night, after Keith had been safely installed in his hospital bed, that 'visiting is 2-3pm and 7-8pm but we are flexible' I have had varying degrees of success at sneaking in to see him 'out of hours' without being noticed. This afternoon, however, was different. I was accosted by a nurse on my way to Keith's room and told that visiting hours were 2-3 in the afternoon (it was then 4.10pm).
"Yes," I said, "but I am at work then. I have been coming later all week."
"Well, we're tightening up on visiting hours," was the reply. "Did you ring this morning to ask if you could come later?"
"No, I have been coming at this time all week." (Oh and I'm sure there is another reason....Ah yes, work! I can't ring when I am in class!)
"Well, you can have five minutes but I'll have to clear it with the nursing staff."
Five hours in the company of stir crazy 3-5 year olds meant I was running a little short on the patience and forebearance front and I have now reached the age when I am am not impressed with being berated by a 'kid'. I glared at her..........she evidently decided not to push it and retreated.
I stayed half an hour, just to make the point.

And now what?

Latest decision is that the damage done to Keith's skin by the broken bones means that it has to be given a little more time to heal before he goes back to theatre, which means that they won't do anything further until Friday or, more likely, Monday.
Meanwhile the morphine drip was taken away this morning, with promises that the 'Pain Management Team' would put alternative pain relief in place. At eight this morning, his pain was getting worse and he asked to be given something to help. At three this afternoon, they got their act together and got him written up for something but when I visited this evening, the pain was still bad and he was hoping that he wasn't going to be in for a bad night.
If he is, I think the night staff might be hearing about it!

Another op?

So today the doctor came to see Keith. He told him he would be taking him back to theatre on Thursday. Why? Well after the cracks about being taken to watch a pantomime, which is rather apt as the name of his ward is Pantomime - don't ask me why - he had to confess that he didn't know.
"Didn't you ask?" I asked.
He looked sheepish and shook his head, then muttered something about, maybe they want to do some more manipulating.
Why do men never ask the right questions?

We have the technology

Keith was swiftly removed to a single room yesterday as there was a note, no-one seems to know why or where from, about MRSA. He hasn't got it and has never had a problem with it, but the benefit was a room to himself with his own TV which means that I don't have to miss Emmerdale and Coronation Street when I visit in the evenings. Every cloud....................
This afternoon it was decided that his operation should take place today instead of later in the week, as first thought, so off he went to theatre. Three hours later he was back, having had his bones manipulated, the ulcer cleaned out and his leg strapped up, and there he lay, lord of all he surveyed, with an indecent amount of thigh on view and wondering how soon he could be up and running around like a three year old.
So all he has to do now is let nature do its work, refrain from getting it infected and take it easy long enough for the bones to knit properly. It's the last that I think we might have trouble with. You can't keep a good man down...............

Pass the Gaviscon

Keith is good at cooking but, unlike a lot of good cooks, isn't too fussy about eating the odd substandard meal - which is just as well when I'm doing the cooking, but we'll gloss over that one. However, even he has rapidly come to the conclusion that culinary standards in our local hospital leave a lot to be desired. In fact, he wondered aloud yesterday, in between plugging himself full of pain relief with the self-administering contraption beside the bed, how 'they' in the kitchens could possibly manage to ruin food so efficiently. In Keith's case, although I haven't mentioned it to him yet, this could be an advantage as it could result in weight loss which could only be beneficial - if he stops forcing me to smuggle in chocolate and crisps, that is. But I had to smile yesterday. The man in the next bed, having demolished the hospital lunch, then proceded to tuck into pie, chips and mushy peas, brought in for him by his visitors. Within ten minutes the plaintive cry was heard:
"Nurse, could I have some Gaviscon please - terrible indigestion!"

What next???

I often have occasion to feel glad that it's not possible to see into the future. So, about the time on Friday afternoon that I was dropping a colleague off at home after a day in school and collecting Keith's prescriptions, he was busy slipping on ice outside the shop and breaking his ankle. Not content with doing things by halves, he broke it in two places and, just to finish the job off, chose the ulcerated one, which is giving him all the problems at the moment.
Once in the hospital, the doctors quickly realised that this was not going to be straightforward. Having plastered it to keep it stable for the x-ray, they then had to remove the plaster to assess the condition of the ulcer and surrounding skin as the first option was to put a plate in. However, as there was a strong possibility of introducing infection in such an operation, because of the ulcer, the consultant has decided to pin the bone on the outer side of the foot and manipulate the bone on the inner side where the skin is broken...................
in FIVE DAYS when the swelling has gone down.
Fortunately, as he is now on a self-administered morphine drip because of the combined pain of the break and the ulcer, he is taking a slightly more relaxed attitude to this prospect than he would be if he were fully compos mentis but, it ain't good.
Now you know why I tend to give the crystal ball a miss.

Great work if you can get it?

It's about 18 years since I last taught Nursery on a regular basis, which probably explains why I am feeling so exhausted at the end of each day! The Reception children are fine - they have been in school long enough to have become 'civilised.' They now understand the rules of the game of this thing called school, they know that when the teacher asks them to be quiet and listen, it's a good idea to comply - makes life easier all round.
Nursery, now they are in a different universe, especially if the general routine at home is along the lines of being allowed to do what they want, when they want and never having to do as they are asked, which seems to be the norm for a sizeable minority of the little treasures.
And so we have the daily routine - come in, drop coat on floor and walk over it, have a tantrum when made to pick it up and hang it on the peg, run round the room and roll around the floor when Miss is trying to get everyone settled and call the register, throw oneself on the floor when the classroom assistant intervenes and tries to persuade one to sit still like the other children. The next tactic is to start goading other children and disrupting their attention - and then of course, one has to have another screaming fit when chatised.
Myself, I would love to be a fly on the wall when these children are six foot teenagers and their parents are belatedly trying to exert some control over them. What goes around, comes around, as the Americans say!
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