So how did you end up in critical care?
These are my recollections of the events
leading up to and during my stay at Hitchingbrooke
Hospital from 25th August until 25th September 2017. I
was in critical care from 30th August until 19th
September. I then spent a week on the ward to check my recovery and to wean me
off oxygen. As I am writing this nearly 10 months later perhaps the memory is
not so vivid. Then again, because the period was so horrendous during those
first few days the lucid dreaming has run through my mind hundreds of times
since.
I assumed that I was an intelligent person.
After all I did get a degree in mathematics and have studied science, biology
and physics from primary school though university. So how was it that I got
myself into the situation of needing critical care for 19 days?
Yasmin contracted sepsis and I visited her
in Bedford Hospital on 9th August. She was lucky in that her absence
at morning breakfast was noted and an angry supervisor knocked on her door to
waken a sleeping intern only to find that she was too ill to move. Eventually
an ambulance came and I was called. Was this part of the cause for my
infection? Colds and flu have always knocked me badly. Travelling on the tube
in London was a sure way to get several strains each year and months of runny
nose. At one place I got the nor virus. The projectile
vomiting was impressive even if very painful as the acid burnt my mouth. Away
from daily commuting and any office and not meeting people in general I had
been relatively free of infections for several years.
In mid August I visited my GP and among the
usual issues of swollen legs, pains along my forearms, pins and needles and the
lack of control of bladder and bowel that inconvenient urgencies brings on I
pointed out my cough. The cough had already been bothering me for a month
before Yasmin was in hospital. It was not unusual for me to cough when the cold
morning air hit me in the bathroom. Largely a winter problem;
not so much a summer time one. But this was August. Already well into
strawberry picking time and I still had the last three rows of potatoes to dig
up.
On my fortnightly visit to the Jobcentre I
was coughing more and expressed concern that it might be contagious – like a summer flu. On 15th August I had a new polycarbonate roof put on the conservatory. I stayed away
from the fitter so that if my cough was contagious he would not pass it onto
his baby daughter.
This cough didn't seem to concern the
doctor at all. Probably nothing too much to worry about; or so I assumed. A
little bed rest and I would be okay again just like other times.
Next week I became weaker. It was hard to
get up, to move around. This got worse and more rapidly that I even felt at the
time. I also developed diarrhoea. Not feeling like eating much and knowing not
to get dehydrated I went to Tesco in March on 21st to stock up on
orange juice, orange drinks, concentrated orange juice - lots of vitamin C and
fluid. The effort to shop was sufficiently taxing that I had to take a rest by
sitting on a pallet of bottles. I had to abandon further shopping and paid for
just the bottles of juices and the milk.
The diarrhoea got worse. My weight dropped from 122kg to 116kg over that
week-end. As this was fluid loss it was not a good thing. It became so bad that
I lost control as I rose to get up and the floor of my bedroom, corridor and
toilet became covered in faeces.
I attempted to clean up and found that my
steam mop didn't work. I went on line on the afternoon of Monday 21st August
and ordered a new one from Argos to collect from March. When I went to collect
it took me 15 minutes to summon up the strength to get out of the car and walk
the 10 paces into the store. In fact this purchase was never used and was not
even needed as the poor state of my thinking had failed to notice a switch on my
existing mop had been flipped to the off position.
I had the need of frequent showers that week. On one occasion I felt dizzy, so
decided to sit down in the shower before getting dry. Several hours later I
managed to summon enough strength to get out and craw into bed.
Long before this stage I should have gone to the surgery or called the GP. But
getting up to queue at 8am with a dash to the loo every 15 minutes put me off.
Anyway, it is just like a cold - a couple of days sleeping it off and I would be
okay again.
Except, this time it was not. I got worse
and far weaker. It seemed like a long time but was only a couple of days later
on Friday 25th August that my neighbours got together to investigate why they
had not seen me about. There had been a ring at my door, but I was too weak to
get up to answer. Anyway it was possibly a cold call as no one ever knocks, not
even the postman.
The Clarks may have given up at getting no
answer, just as my visitors had the previous night. Even with the car outside they didn't try the door. It was Vi
who opened the door and called in. I responded that "I wasn't
coping." That was an understatement. Someone called 111 and they decided
to send an ambulance.
When the paramedics arrived they wanted to get details of my next of kin. I
don't know Yasmin's number and in my semiconscious
state had difficulty stringing words together. They did manage to get to my
phone, but couldn't get it working. The battery had gone flat and someone
trying something ripped the phone case apart. The computer was on - it is
always on. I put on a dressing gown and went into the room and switched the
monitor on. Opened Outlook and put up Yasmin's
details on the screen.
They thought they would have to carry me
out to the ambulance. The twist in the doors and placement of fridge would have
made it difficult. I could still walk but the effort was a strain.
Gerard said he would look after the rabbits
and fish in the pond. So I grabbed the garage remote as I left so he could get to
their food and bedding. I locked the kitchen door but did not know that I left
the conservatory door unlocked from the time the roof was done. Veronica found
that the next day. But that facilitated getting in to water the plants and
later to get my computer tablet, keyboard and mouse having to pick out the
pieces from shelves full of similar alternative tech.
I was going to pack a change of clothes but
the paramedic said I wouldn't need them as I would be in a gown. I did empty
some of my cycle handlebar bag where I kept wallet, cheque book, ear phones and
usually the Nokia N95 mobile phone. Had I more of a working mind I would have took
the tablet and grabbed a micro SD card with some music on it. Patients have
access to wi-fi!
Yasmin was contacted whilst I was been
driven to Hitchingbrook hospital 14 miles away. The paramedic
tried to get fluid into me saying I was very dehydrated. With drinking several
litres of orange over the past few days this was difficult to comprehend. I had
drunk so much orange that both the urine and diarrhoea were golden.
The journey to hospital seemed to be
consumed with getting a line into my contracted and dehydrated veins. He got
there in the end and I believe was on a second bottle of saline before we
arrived.
Special entrance for stretcher cases as
huge windowless doors parted. Wheeled past the lady on reception she asked
"and who is this lovely lady?" As I was naked with my dressing gown
opened in the transport I would have thought it was fairly clear what my sex
is! This did not inspire me with confidence as to what treatment I would expect
here.
I got put into a room on my own. A lot of equipment around including large monitors. One was
connected to the five wires stuck on my chest and the clip on my finger to read
oxygen levels. I was put into a hospital gown.
I heard someone say something about
“capping my teeth”. I didn’t want dental treatment. Why did they want to mess
about with my teeth?
By the time it was dark I was wired up with
needles stuck in me to drip in fluids, antibiotics and take blood. I needed a
shower but was too weak now to lift myself up. I needed a commode. After this I
was on my back for several days and no dignity. It seemed to go darker. Subdued lighting. I remember being attended to by a male
nurse. He said nothing. I don't recall speaking. He washed the golden marks off
my legs that had dried and stained my skin. He was rough but clearly had to be
to clean me up. I remember thinking that in all those that saw me and treated
me no one had given a thought to cleaning me up. I cried.
Yasmin visited me. She had turned up at
Chatteris to an empty house and Veronica drove her to Hitchingbrooke. This visit and a later one with her mother I
don’t recall. They then went on the planned holiday to Scotland.
The events of the next few days, before I
was admitted to the critical care unit are more than muddled. The order of
events isn't clear and even a few days later I was not sure what really
happened or in fact if any of it did as I recall.
One of the nurses, Chris, or the Hungarian doctors,
said when they first saw me they only gave me 50:50 to live. That is still hard
for me to take in. My worst time was when I was out of it. Even in quarantine I
didn’t appreciate how bad I was.
I noticed that the nurses had odd
behaviour. It was very repetitive. They seem to get confused and leave if I
spoke only to come back later to apparently mime an activity without doing
anything. The idea that these might be androids crossed my mind. Their hands
felt normal and warm to the touch. I overheard part of a conversation where
patients were referred to as "these humans" and "inferior
beings". It was also the way they were seemingly able to move my 116kg of
mass from one side of the bed to the other without effort. I could not even sit
up or move position as the bed rolled under me. It pulsed and rolled and I
would end up squashed towards the feet end unable to reposition myself without
help to lock my feet in position to push against. The nurses could push and
pull me around as if I was a child yet the doctor refused to help me sit up
when he explained what had happened to me. So we had this long conversation
with me getting a stiff neck. I couldn’t rise myself as the bed mattress would
move under me. I needed anchorage even to sit up.
I had lucid dreams.
One was about a village on an island for
which I composed a limerick. Two boys ran a business of ferrying the villagers
to the main land to go to market. They charged for this service. The villagers
didn't like it as they believed that as the fishermen had to go to market they
should travel for free. The boys knew that the villages didn't like the charges
but said nothing. The money that they collected was the spent on a equipping a
nursery where the villagers left their children when they spent the day on the
main land.
There was a maze. A
complex puzzle to be solved with hexagonal shapes and passages that blended
into the general background. It took me days to transverse this maze. Inside
was a pirate ship, no masts, suspended in the air and not going anywhere.
Besides having to work through the maze I
had another one with tasks and preparing to battle as in the changing room for
gladiators to suit up. They fought in teams. Get the right team, with the best
skills and you won. Choose badly and you died. I got close to a fight but never
in one. I moved on.
I discovered myself in a room. They were
filling large two litre brown cardboard containers with my body fluids.
Draining my blood and filling up tubes and the container. I know how much blood
there is in the human body and this volume before me would have left me dead,
yet there it was. Urine and the diarrhoea were also collected and the
containers filled and changed. How I expected them to obtain any value from
this just made no sense. On the TV they left on that someone had escaped from
being held captive where his friends had been farming him for parts to sell. Is
that happening to me?
They wanted to insert tubes, a urinary
catheter in my bladder and in my bowel. I repeatedly refused treatment. I was
put to sleep and woke with pains in my bum. This felt like a metal plate and
when I was washed hurt badly.
I got out of the maze and into a room where
Yasmin was with her mother. I embraced Yasmin and got out for a few days but
was then back into the maze. Yasmin was young, maybe 8 and I didn't consider
this at all odd even though I knew she had turned 21.
This sequence was different. I got moved
from room to room. My baggage didn't follow me. I was told it was locked up in
the ward safe, but elsewhere. The paramedics were removing the labels on the
bed sheets and anything to do with branding. All traces of DNA had to be
removed. The unit was changing hands. Then staff disappeared. I was in an arm
chair too weak to even stand up. The wires and tubes from one of the machines wrapped
over my shoulder and they went to sleep. The clock on the wall also showed room
temperature. It was down to 12 degrees Celsius. This room was near an entrance
but now it was locked shut. There was no one around. I eventually got up and
wandered the corridors and found another room. I had to get warm. One of the
automatons came over to tell me I had to get into bed. I didn't argue. This one
was nice, smiled and I was so tired. Maybe I would die here.
That was not the only event where I was
near death. I went to Norway and visited the rock pools. My ex and daughter
were around, but not exactly with me. In a pool I got stung by a puffer fish.
The spines stuck in my foot and injected poison. I didn't think the puffer was
poisonous in this way - Lion fish in the tropics. Later that day I found myself
held as hostage by a fisherman, his wife and their imbecile of a brother. They
had injected me with the venom of the same fish that had stung me. I was initially
knocked out but recovered more quickly than those around me. If the ransom was
not forthcoming the captive was dropped down to the beach far below and the
crushed body washed out to sea on the next tide. The couple got angry with
their brother so in a rage threw him to fall on the beach below. When no one
was looking I climbed down the rope, not knowing if I could get out before high
tide.
There were people trying to kill me.
One nurse who I woke up to - a shift change
- told me in no uncertain terms that she was the boss and I would do as she
told me. "I'm number one. What I say goes."
The same nurse was present when the doctor
wanted to put a tube in me. I was refusing. She kept on knotting the tube and
another one would be cut; tossing the tubes at me I was compelled to unknot
them. I wanted to leave them alone but could not stop myself from disentangling
them. The doctor asked if I was a scout but the nurse said it was her who was
knotting them. But they were already trying to kill me, just very slowly. That
is why I had to fight. I expected retaliation and they did by knocking me out
with drugs. Although I was able to recall some of this incident and punching
out the full length of my right arm. One of the nurses later told me I had
caused him a lot of trouble. I don't recall having met him until much later
when he helped me get back on my feet.
According to records I was transferred to critical
care on 30th August. I was unconscious and padded out so I could not move. Even
though I watched the clocks in the rooms I had no real idea of how many days
had passed or when the next lucid dreams began. I was on Zanamavir
along with antibacterial cover and changed to Oseltamivir
after 5 days.
30th
August 10:30
I saw slug like creatures in the room. Climbing down the wall
and into the bed. They devoured the bodily fluids that had been
collected. I tried to push them back but they were tough and my toe not strong
enough to shift them. If someone entered the room they vanished.
The red threats would grow down from the
ceiling like roots. They too would disappear when someone entered the room.
Much later I discovered that one of the tubes into my nose and down into my
stomach was fixed in place by a plaster - the type that is cloth based with a
number of loose red threads on the side of it. I also had not noticed that my
eye sight was shifting to 20/20 vision at the same time as my hearing lost all
frequencies above 4kHz. The threats were perhaps the
result of focusing on them over the bridge of my nose.
According to the patient diary the
tracheotomy was inserted on 6th September. Not sure how this was
better than being on the ventilator. I was still sedated on 8th. At
least nine days hole in my memory and perhaps eleven the sedative was being
reduced. As I woke up my instinct was to pull at the tubes and lines. It is in
the notes, but I don’t remember. The patient diary misses prompts to fill in
events I think I recall. The first day that I do recall that matches the diary was
the 11th when Estrella looked after me.
Besides the fact you don’t forget encounters with Estrella
I was fully awake and more active being hoisted into a chair. The diary stops
on 14th. After that was series of rapid progress. Tombi (spelling) got me my first meal and removed the tubes one after
the other.
14th
September 18:45
Not using my hands to wash or to eat had
allowed my nails to grow as they have never been before. Some were as sharp as
razor blades. To avoid further cuts I used the nail file on my Swiss Army knife
to smooth them down. My toe nails need trimming. The nails broke off themselves
over the next few days. They have high ridges more distinct than before and a
broken pattern of grow that looks like Braille.
Months later the nails were still easily broken and ripped easily.
Facial hair had grown and I was asked if I
could shave myself. I have never used a razor blade and with my lack of
binocular vision could only see myself bleeding – a lot. I also had a number of wire
like strands of hair in my eyebrows. I used the tweeters to remove them.
17th September
The hearing loss I thought was because of
the noise of the oxygen being pumped into my trachea. It was loud and at times
very loud. When I had control of the television I had to put the volume up very
high. The tubing and airflow had created an uneven pressure. This continued
until I was free of wires and tubes and the hole in my throat stitched up,
healed and I could pop my ears. My hearing was then restored. Before this I had
a hearing test; hence knowing the sharp cut off of hearing above 4kHz. The consultant prescribed some very strong antibiotics.
The administering nurse on the next day query them and
so did the other consultant who immediately went to her colleague to stop this
line of treatment. That was the morning I managed to pop my ears, risking
ripping open the wound in my throat under the pressure. So the antibiotics were
not necessary. Yet another consultant still wanted to give me the drugs but I
refused backed up by the nurse. I still had follow up tests later when the
chart showed a cut off from 8kHz. I don't know what a
64 year old is expected to have as hearing but they considered my first
readings as "normal". Maybe but not for me and the one thing I am
good at, as I got better, is detecting changes in my body and my senses.
The tube in my throat remained a problem.
They forcibly prevented me from pulling it out. Along with a
needle in my neck. It restricted movement, even the normal movement you
have when sleeping. I woke up unable to breathe as the tube had pulled off. It
blocked passage of air from my mouth past my larynx. I fought to get it plugged
back in and to find the buzzer to get help. This happened a few times.
I was beginning to be more alert. Unable to
form words I attempted to write down what I wanted to say. The problem with
this was that my hand coordination was terrible. My vision impaired by the bandage
across my nose and the after affects of the doses of antibiotics. They had a
sheet with the alphabet on it. But raising and holding my hand up to the
letters was difficult and I would miss as I lacked binocular vision with the
plaster over my nose.
It is no surprise that no one understood
me. I can’t read the writing although I can make out a few words. This was also
due to the hallucinations from the antibiotic treatment. The doctor later
explained this to me. They know the drugs make the patient have the most
horrific nightmares. That they become paranoid, violent and lose the ability to
reason yet they still use these drugs.
The catheter and bag of urine was no fun
either. On one occasion the tube got twisted and constricted. I discovered that
when I peed and it couldn't go anywhere. Fortunately my visitor called for
help. Unlike the others, where I had to rationalise that events may never had
happened this was a previously unimaginable pain and I was fully awake to enjoy
it.
I had a tube down my nose into my stomach
and was drip fed a cereal. Occasionally I got an infusion of fruit juice
injected in a point near my neck. This reminded me of some GI Joe in a Sci-fi
movie who pumped a bottle of fluid into his neck before going on patrol. I
thought it was from Avatar which had been shown on television although I had
not watched it then it was on when I had visitors or something else going on. I
have watched three different versions of the film and not been able to find the
incident.
At a time when
my writing was getting readable and I switched to capital letters to make it
more distinct but harder for me to maintain I wrote “To be honest if not for Beena I would still be pulling tubes out.
Night after night I woke and she stood over me with a smile and a very long
explanation of what had happened and why.” All the staff where very kind and
had a cheerful smile. It really makes a difference. I don’t think I remembered
those who first treated me. One person always came in and said “you will not
remember me.” Her face I did, but did I
ever know her name? I was beginning to rationalise away the events. No memory
from the 25th could be considered fact and my thoughts could not to
be trusted. It is hard to accept a hole in your memory which you can never
really fill.
During my last days in critical care they
moved me to another room. They were admitting a patients
who needed isolation, just as I had, and the room that I was in had a door
behind me where the staff could put on gowns before entering the room. Perhaps
that was the door of one of my night mares.
I used a piece of paper to write a card to the new occupant saying that I had
spent 22 days in that room (it was not exactly) and that the staff would do
their best to look after them with the best care possible even if it didn’t
seem like that at the time. If I got through it hopefully they would too.
I do remember many more nurses and doctors.
All instrumental in keeping my spirits up and helping me make the progress that
I did. The patient diary has been filled out by several but some who were key to my recovery did not add an entry.
I watched TV with the volume up very loud but there is not a lot of interesting
stuff on day time TV. I found a channel doing several runs per day of “Bones”
and watched those, even the repeat later the same day. I had my phone with me
and a power supply but I couldn’t speak and with the tube blowing oxygen in my
lungs I could not hear anything said on the phone.
As I came around to my senses I had other
things to worry about. Getting money transferred to my account to pay the
standing orders and direct debits. Getting anything for
incapacity from the DWP which ended up taking until 9th October, so
no income for two months.
A nurse helped me contact the DWP but they
would only send forms for me to sign to my home address. Not a lot of use when
I couldn’t get out of bed and no one at home to collect the post for me. A
signature from me was also not much use as my writing was so far from normal
and totally unreadable.
Veronica got post for me, sometimes passing
to Lorna to bring in. She also got my tablet and with difficultly and help from
Gerard deliver the keyboard, mouse and cables I needed.
Alun had visited and posted a note on Facebook
for me. That way some friends found out what had happened.
Yasmin was able to Skype me from my home to
follow instructions to reboot the homeserver. I then had access to my music and film
libraries. The server had shut down for some reason as it does time to time.
The Bluetooth keyboard kept loosing contact
(seems a common problem as the same is true of a newer tablet). Lorna leant me
a full size usb keyboard. I needed reading glasses
but at least my vision was not deformed now. The tablet and its faults made me
think to try and solve. But I still lacked the flexibility to control the tiny
writing for selecting making adjustment very taxing. Alun helped fix some of
the problems.
Anwar picked up the Facebook message and
contacted Shabbir in Nottingham. Shabbir,
Zohra and Anwar came to visit. It was so nice seeing
them after such a long time. One of my former students came with his mother
from Ely. I am so grateful for ever visitor. Denise, my other neighbour,
visited me and also drove me home from hospital.
I had also applied for a job but had not
heard and could not start in September anyway. My path to
recovery still unknown. Yasmin picked up the e-mail for me. I was not
put forward – not qualified enough.
The nasigastric
tube had come out twice. During the last morning in critical care I had more
needles removed and the NG tube fell out again. I avoided having yet another
inserted even though the nutritionist wanted it to control my diet on the ward.
The first time I vomited it out. A complete reflex action
from nowhere. The second time I was working on my tablet and the
sticking plaster that held the tube against my nose came undone and slowly the
tube fell out on its own. I tried to push it back but felt resistance and had
to give up. The second tube was a little of a struggle to get in but Chris
managed it and the third was a breeze by comparison. I was still very pleased
when the tubes and needles where removed that Monday morning. I have never
believed that these were necessary and do believe that if more intervention had
taken place in the first days in hospital my condition would not have
deteriorated so rapidly.
The inserting of yet another tube meant
more X-rays to check where it lay. I wrote down that having had 10 already it
was too much.
17th
September 11:38
The tracheostomy
was removed on 17th September, two day before being transferred to
the ward. I could speak with my own
voice the first time for four weeks. The voice box that I was given just days
before gave me some speech but many words I could not form. I was not surprised
by the size of the device that had been stuck in my throat. The catheter
however was a monstrous nematode.
I now had another tube in my nose supplying
oxygen.
Sounds like the Jag at 90mph with the windows
open. So I could not hear anything.
I didn’t have any clothes and no one
suggested that I would need them or a tooth brush or soap – it was assumed that
I had them in the hospital or a relative could be phoned and drop them in that
day! Most of my wearable clothes where just washed and so either thrown over
the lounge armchair or still on the clothes dryer. So the first set of clothes
brought from the back section of the wardrobe I didn’t think would fit. My weight had come down to 107kg but much of
that was muscle mass not fat loss.
On
Walnut ward,
23rd September
When I went for my first shower in four
weeks I couldn’t find my penis. It had retreated so deep inside my body it felt
missing.
The last tube was the needle on the back of
my hand to take blood from me if still needed. It wasn’t and eventually I was
free off that. The last marks on my hands and wrists took a few months to
disappear. The hole in my throat from the tracheotomy and that left by the central
line in my neck remain as scars.
On the ward the nurse insisted that I take furosemide before sleeping as this had been inserted in my
drip feed. The timing didn’t matter as I had a urinary catheter fitted. Added
to this nonsense they were to monitor the urine passed. Seven very full bottles
lined up on the table over the next couple of hours.
I was still on oxygen on the ward. This was lowered, raised and lowered again
until the consultant said I could dispense with it and crossed off a range of
drugs leaving the furosemide and the dam anti-blood
clotting that was injected into my stomach.
I had started physio
in critical care. This was hard because I was still wired up. I was allowed to
sit in the chair for hours at a time after a few basic exercises. Unfortunately
they still refused to bring my stuff to me. That included the slippers that I
had forgotten I came in with. The floor conducted the heat from my painful
feet. They gave me a blanket, but the slippers would have made more sense. The physio was extended on the ward including walking up and
down the corridor. This was hard. I was weaken by
illness and the four weeks on my back with my muscles not being used. It was
nearly two months after being released home that I was able to walk without
discomfort and getting rapidly out of breathe.
3rd October
I was told at length about the after
affects of critical care and the drugs. It was at least two months before I
could eat normally. The weight loss soon packed on again. The skin itching was terrible
for weeks and weeks until it disappeared one night. I had hair loss. I could
turn the carpet white each morning. Touching my head resulted in a cloud of
hair falling to the floor. It was six months before that became normal.
My pulse is still high at 83 but my oxygen
levels are usually over 96 now. When I had to call the GP out worried about a
repeat of the conditions that put me into hospital her first thought was to
send me straight back to hospital. My oxygen level was low and other signs not good.
After learning of my recent history and the figures I gave decided that it was
okay to leave me at home. The consultant wanted my oxygen levels to be much
higher than the 89-92. Having had treatment for sleep apnoea I was aware that
my oxygen levels dropped all the time.
I was told my senses would need to recover.
Well they needed time to get back to normal but for two months I could drive
better without glasses than with. Getting back the level of vision I had at 18
was incredible. I only wish I understood how this happened – I might be able to
repeat the conditions. My hearing, as previous stated got back to normal after
I popped my ears. I do seem to get more wax of late but that is all I notice
different now. Still going back for more test though;
as a follow up. Okay, thorough. Looking for something, but no
treatment. Then again none of my other conditions have ongoing
treatment.
I still take furosemide
and then spironolactone, losartan
potassoumm, omeprazole as I
get acid reflux now. Folic acid tablets – enough for six months. One batch of antibiotics for the cough and then flucloxacillin
for the celluilitis that the GP ignored but was a
concern for the consultant at Hitchingbrooke.
Even so I had to see another GP to get the pills to help get rid of it as no
correspondences had been logged from the hospital. Continued testing seems slow
coming. This is partly down to the fact that not having got a follow up by
December I asked when I would be seen. I had been forgotten by both parties.
Possible fiboisis in the aftermath of the pneumonia
which was complicated infection with influenza A. Later scans found excessive
calcification. The fluid found in my lungs has been spotted on X-rays taken in
2015 and remain untreated even today. I now have follow ups in the diabetes and
endocrine clinic. This is a different line of referral to the diabetes
prevention programme in Peterborough that I have also been referred to.
When I was discharged I went out by way of
a visit to the critical care unit. Only one of nurses could I place and
remember. On another out patient clinic appointment I
popped in and saw more staff that I could remember and spent a little time to
thank them and update them. Even then that walk from the main entrance was
difficult and it took me more time than I anticipated.
Plans for the future? Still need to get
well. Weight is an issue and for travelling my legs. I have been invited to the
wedding of the daughter of my friend in Pune. If I
can go I hope to finally visit Amritsar, the destination I couldn’t get to when
my passport was stolen on the train to Lucknow in
1990. I might even get to visit Kerala.
21st January 2018
Gerald McMullon,
27th June 2018