Today, I returned to hospital. Luckily not as an inpatient this time. Following my 3 week holiday, lying in a bed at my local medical institution, I was recalled to make sure I am still functioning and ticking over.
Given my ongoing leg pain, taking my mobility scooter to the hospital was not an option – primarily due to the poor state of the road and pavement at the top of my street, which would no doubt cause enough tremors to dislodge any leg fractures, should I ride over the treacherous surface (cheers, BANES).

I therefore had to order hospital transport. Apart from having to be on stanby two hours before my appointment time, getting collected by an ambulance worked well.

Upon arriving at the hospital, I was told that I was not expected. Great. Luckily, they did manage to fit me in for an appointment, but not before I visited radiology to have lots and lots of X Rays taken.

I was asked if I wanted a hoist to transfer from the hospital-provided wheelchair to the X Ray table. Did I really look that infirm? Given the fact my left leg was screaming at me, after moving from chair to chair, I said “yes”. This was a mistake. I could have made it onto the table, even if it would involve some cursing. I have never used a hoist before, and after today, don’t think that I will again. After being tied up in what I can only describe as a florescent straight jacket, I was lifted into the air. Now THAT was scary. If Alton Towers want to introduce a new frightening experience to their theme park, just buy a hoist.

I met a very helpful doctor, who explained the cause of my broken bones. However, I had to laugh at the consulting room – a cubicle, only separated from other rooms and the corridor by a curtain. As this curtain was not made of lead, it wasn’t that great at blocking sound and therefore patients’ privacy. As it was only my dodgy leg thst was being discussed and not some embarrassing STD, I didn’t mind.

The hospital visit was round off terribly, when awaiting an ambulance home. My earlier praise for transport, Arriva, was all forgotten when I was made to wait well in excess of an hour for a prebooked ride. Apparently an ambulance was on its way to collect me, but ended up going to Bristol instead. Bravo, Arriva.