Day 2 of my meander down Nightmare Alley as I remember Bob’s stay in hospital last year.
This is what I put on Facebook for Thursday 29 September last year.
29 September 2016
Bob had a very tough night and morning but a better afternoon and evening. He has even just been for a slightly unsteady walk up the corridor but it was good to have even a brief taste of freedom.
The medics now think they know what’s going on so let’s hope for progress in sorting it out over the next couple of days.
Thanks so much for all the good wishes. He has read every single one and really appreciates it.
What follow, in italics, is my exposition of what was actually going on.
When I say tough, I mean that he was spiking horrific temperatures every time the Paracetamol showed any sign of wearing off.
And then there was that moment when the Doctor asked “How long have you had the heart murmur?”
They must have meant someone else, surely. Of course he didn’t have a heart murmur. He was fine. He only had the Flu, after all.
Yeah, well. They were the professionals with the medical degrees and the stethoscopes actually listening to his chest. I might have a string of Highers in Languages and an HNC in Business Studies to my name but that didn’t really cut it in this environment. Of course they were right. They heard a murmur. But, of course, I tried to rationalise to myself, he was fighting an infection. It would all settle down, now, wouldn’t it?
It was somewhere around noon that a doctor said that they were looking at the possibility of the infection being in his heart. As we spoke, some microbiologists were finding out what they could grow in his blood and what would kill it. In a couple of days, we’d have the drug that would sort this mess out. That gave us a bit of hope.
I was thinking that I would much rather that there weren’t bugs in something so flipping essential. Except I didn’t quite think flipping. But my mother might read this.
There is nothing more horrendous than watching someone you love in pain. Except watching someone you love in pain and battling a life-threatening infection. I think that’s why I couldn’t write this all down last year. I didn’t know how the story was going to end. I mean, J K Rowling knew how Harry Potter was going to end, right from the start. She knew how it started and how it ended and took a few thousand riveting pages to find her way between these points. She might have taken her time, but at least she knew where she was going.
Not knowing where you are going is pretty terrifying. Not as terrifying as knowing you are heading to a bad place, but still, bloody scary.
Now Bob knew his way round the hospital. He volunteered with its radio station, Radio Grapevine. He found himself on the other end of the airwaves when his colleagues came round looking for requests.
He managed a very shaky walk up the ward corridor that night. Only just beyond the nurses’ station, but still further than he’d managed for a few days.
It shattered him, though, so I left him plugged into Radio Grapevine, slumbering gently.