I now understand when people say that they have suffered from Stockholm Syndrome. I have it. My SS involves hospitals.

I’ve been in and out of the damn things throughout my life, unfortunately a lot more in the last two years. As a result, there are now aspects of my visits which I have become accustomed to and in one case, even enjoy!

Before I continue, I will say that my hospital Stockholm Syndrome is yet to extend to stays as an inpatient. I still detest every second of THAT kind of hospital encounter and am only able to compare my time as an inpatient to that of a prison inmate. Not that I have ever been to prison, but I haven’t been held hostage in a Swedish bank robbery either.

One thing my frequent medical appointments have forced me to grow accustomed to are injections. It would be no exaggeration to say that I once had a needle phobia. I hated and was scared stiff of the things. However, I was once placed in a situation whereby, it was a simple case of “let me stick these sharp, pointy things into your arm, or die”.

The more jabs I received, the less scared I became – up until the stage where I now tolerate a nurse stabbing me with a needle. I do wonder that if someone was to put a bird-eating spider down my shirt, every day for a year, I may grow to love arachnids, like I do my pet rabbit. There is also a risk that I would die of a heart attack by Day 2, or murder the bastard putting the creature down my shirt… on Day 1.

I would never go as far to say I like getting injected, but who does? Jimmy Corkhill maybe – a crack addict from Brookside in the mid-1990s.

The second aspects of medical treatment I can now tolerate is x rays and scans. I would even go as far to say that these can be enjoyable.

As I write this blog post, I am in the waiting area of a fracture clinic. I will hopefully get to see a consultant soon, as it would be nice to get home, plus it smells like one or two of my fellow outpatients, in the overcrowded room, lack personal hygiene and a can of Lynx Africa.

I have recently returned from having an x ray. What bliss! What a strange to say, I know you are thinking. Whatever way you look at that statement, you would be correct to think that.

The reason I enjoyed getting my bones photographed, is because it allowed me to lie down during the procedure. After almost a full day at work, getting onto a bed (however uncomfortable) is always welcome.

I led back, head on the pillow, eyes closed, my mind and body in harmony. The relaxation was only occasionally broken, when I was required to move my limbs into a new position, for the radiographer to take a suitable image.

I was disappointed that this time, it was only a brief photoshoot, so only got a small rest. In the past I have almost had a little nap! Indeed, during one particularly lengthy MRI scan, I did fall asleep. I was awoken by my own body, inadvertently jumping for some reason – most likely because I was lying down in what can best be described as a futuristic coffin, placed in an excessively loud building site. Claire always tells me that I have a gift of being able to fall asleep easily. I guess she may have a point.

I am currently wrapping up this blog at home – some 3 hours after I started writing it in the BO Waiting Room. Somewhere between paragraphs 9 and 10, I was summoned into the consulting room to see the doctor…

The good news – following the operation in January, everything has healed well and they don’t need to see me again.

The bad news – this means no more afternoon naps in the radiology department.

It is almost exactly a year to the day (364 days ago), that I was admitted to intensive care, seriously ill. Certainly a Friday night to remember.

I had been proper poorly for ages, having been off work for 5 weeks. I lost count of the amount of times that I met clinicians and consultants in orthopaedic and pain clinics. It felt like I had spent more time with my GP than a close family member. Don’t even get me started on those MRI scans.

I am a big supporter of the NHS, so reflecting on this aspect of my illness upsets me to write about. However, there were many frightening signs, concerning my health, which were missed by clinicians.

I don’t think that I realised myself, just how bad things were. Maybe because every clinician I saw either dismissed my worries, or was unconcerned. Throughout the first half of 2018, I became gradually more and more sick. I put my symptoms down to fatigue and even questioned my mental health.

So unaware of just how bad things were, that I thought the decision to call an ambulance to admit me to A&E was crazy. It was only when the paramedics arrived and administered oxygen, that everyone realised this was serious. I was just happy to be led down and take a ride in a van with blue flashing lights. I remember thinking “Wow, I’m pretty sick. I’m just going to suck on this tube of beautiful gas and rest my eyes for a bit”.

The next thing I know, is it is hours later, I’m in hospital, there is talk of sending me to intensive care and the only person in the world that I really want to see is my wife.

I still didn’t fully realise just how bad things were. You would think that if a stay in intensive care wasn’t enough to scare me into reality, nothing would. That may be true. I don’t think that even one year on, I truly appreciate the severity of the situation.

I am told that the first 24 hours in hospital were crucial. To put it bluntly, it sounds like I could have died. Despite all of this, while I believe everything that I have been told, I still don’t appreciate how close I could have been to the end…

Thankfully things worked out ok. This is thanks, in no small part, to the wonderful hospital staff (proving how amazing the NHS really is), my family and most important of all, my wife. You all saved my life.

I now feel better than I have in over half a decade. Despite a spell in hospital this January, for an unrelated issue, I haven’t had any further health problems. I own a wonderful home, a gorgeous house rabbit and best of all, am married to the most beautiful, funny, kind and caring wife in the world.

Life is good right now and it just goes to show, a lot can happen in 365 – sorry, 364 – days.

What makes you think that I am a little bit tired?

I have escaped!

OK… I didn’t have to flee the hospital, by burrowing into the wall, evading armed guards and crawling through a sewage pipe. It was a tad more simple…

A pleasant young doctor, named Andrew, came to see me, checked that I was well, before saying that I was good to go. An Oscar winning performance.

I am still in hospital. Waiting for the discharge can take time. However, now that I know I will be leaving today, I can tolerate a few extra hours. Maybe I’ll even enjoy today’s lunch…

Victory sandwich

There was a major twist in the Hospital Acquired Infection saga, yesterday.

After talking to a respiratory doctor, it would appear that I don’t have a chest infection at all! This would certainly explain the fact that I am looking and feeling very well.

This should be great news, and in reality, it is. However, only the ward doctor can approve my release.

Doctors can be as elusive as a decisive politician at a Brexit meeting (oooh, topical!). I could, therefore be in for a bit of a wait…

Personally, I think the doctor should see me as a priority. I know that sounds incredibly selfish and even offensive. However, let me explain…

There are many patients far more unwell than me. In fact, every other patient on the ward is more poorly. They, of course, require medical attention more than someone like me, who is just suffering from boredomitis.

The reason I believe that I should be seen soon is because, if what we are lead to believe by the media, there is a national shortage of hospital beds. We are also told when the weather is cold and icy (like it is today), Emergency Departments are even busier thsn normal.

All I am doing right now, is lying down, eating biscuits, drinking coffee and blogging about the experience.

A very ill patient is far more worthy of a bed than me. The sooner the doctor says that I can be kicked out, the sooner my bed can be used by a poor soul,  possibly stuck on a trolley in a corridor.