Following on from yesterday’s retrospective post, I spent the night on the Short Stay Ward with a view to have a CT scan and a couple of other tests today. Before I carry on, I would like to point out that I have no problem staying in hospital and I’m not one of these people that look for a reason to complain or be awkward.
I’ve mentioned here before that I often struggle in the mornings at the moment, ranging from needing help to sit myself up in bed, to waiting for my painkillers to work before I can function well enough to shower, dress and generally move about better. This morning was one of those days that I woke up unable to really move thanks to pain and stiffness, not even to lift the blanket away – as a young person, this is difficult to admit and I would certainly never exaggerate or play on it in any way.
The breakfast lady woke me and put a bowl of cereal and a hot drink on the bedside table; I told her that I needed some help to sit up and eat and she said she’d let someone know. Twenty minutes later, someone else came and took my uneaten breakfast away and placed my tablets on the table instead. Again, I tried to explain that I hadn’t eaten because I needed help to get myself up and would do to take my tablets too, she said she’d let someone know but later came back with a wash bowl and told me to have a wash as ‘it would make me feel better’. I tried to explain that I couldn’t get myself up AGAIN but she just huffed and went away before I had chance to finish.
I was starting to really hurt now, being stuck as I was in the same position. Then half an hour or so later, two nurses came to change the bed and told me I’d have to get up. I tried to explain again that I would need some help sitting up; their response was to stand and stare then say ‘Just swing your legs round and sit yourself up’. Not very helpful but I kept calm and tried to explain that I couldn’t as I was in a lot of pain. ‘So why haven’t you taken your painkillers then?’ they asked me, quite sharp by this point. I couldn’t believe they had to ask. ‘Well it’s not like we can lift you up, you’re not a baby’. The other one spat.
I was just trying to explain that all I was asking was for a bit of a push/ support on my back to prop me up in a seated position, from which I’d eventually be able to unfurl my locked arms and legs, when the first nurse grabbed me by the (extremely painful) arms and started to drag me to the edge of the bed; because I ended up horizontal across it, the second nurse proceeded to grab my ankles and pull me by them too. I don’t know if they were expecting a miraculous recovery, for me to sit up and say ‘okay I give in, I can actually sit up I just wanted to make a fuss…’ but if it had carried on a few seconds more I’d have ended up on the floor.
Thankfully, at that point, a doctor appeared and asked them what was going on. I just burst into tears and in all my life, in all the times I’ve spent in hospital, I have never cried. But then I have never been made to feel so humiliated either. The doctor calmed me down and asked me what the problem was; as soon as I told him he gently gave me the right support to prop me up in bed so that I could take my painkillers and told the nurses that it was actually in my admission notes that I was having some mobility problems and might need some help.
As always, I was moving much better after a couple of hours and had to then listen to the two above nurses discussing how I’d had a ‘miraculous recovery’, at the end of my bed of all places! When I tried to explain to them the reality of living with Still’s Disease and flares, I was met with dirty looks and they promptly walked off, but I had to put up with petty, snide remarks for the remainder of their shift.
You can probably tell that this incident upset me but I’d been told that my CT Scan was booked for 2.45pm and that I could go home if it was clear, so I just kept my head down reading until that time, still thinking it best to get the scan done. Sure enough, at 2.45pm I was taken down to the scanning room, only for them to tell me that I was supposed to have a green canula fitted to inject the contrast that would show up my blood vessels. The ward knew this but nobody had even tried. The doctor there did try to insert one, but because of my bad veins she couldn’t manage and so I was sent back to the ward with the promise that someone would insert the canula there and take me back down before it closed at 5pm. Funnily enough, nobody did.
It became obvious to me that I wouldn’t be getting the scan until the next day and I couldn’t bear another morning like this one, so I made the decision to discharge myself against their advice. The ward matron was on duty by that point and wanted to know my reasons and so I told her about my experience. She did apologise and said she had a friend with Still’s Disease; I hope that at some point she stands up for this friend and myself, by educating the two ignorant nurses in question.
Anyway, I have never been so relieved to be away from a hospital. What I have accounted here is my own main experiences but I also witnessed a lot of other mistakes and mistreatment of patients that I will be including in a formal complaint to the hospital. Now, my doctors might think me clingy, but this had made me feel even more certain that I don’t want to be treated anywhere else but at my own hospital, with people that know my background; people I trust.
Oh, and I never did get the blood transfusion!