So turns out purple stripes are my colour…which is pretty lucky because, as far as I know, arseless wrap over gowns only come in the 1 shade!

Unceremonious wheel back to the ward was slightly bizarre thanks to being dosed upto my eyeballs in opiate drugs. Nothing quite like the feeling of closing your eyes and waking up 3hrs later with a titanium leg plate, a giant plaster cast and a gurn that wouldn’t look out of place at the Aracdia stage at Glasto. Not forgetting the general feeling of unease about what hospital ward life had in store.

Lucky for me (and thanks to the over spill from the 18 other wards I should have been on before I ended up there…) I got put in ward 239, also known as Chez Motley Crew (we just totally made that up…cos we were all about the “top hospital bants” innit)

As for my “roomates” talk about jackpot. What an unbelievably great gang of women greeted me, as I shyly lifted an eyelid through well let’s face it a haze of stoned, morphine based delirium!

Bed 1: Sheila, 83, broken hip, replaced and 4 days in.

Bed 2: Margaret, 85 and her diverticulitis, admitted a week ago.

Bed 3: Debbie, 46 and in for an emergency digestive resection the day before.

Debs was alongside me and so for the first 12hrs tucked behind a curtain, just a kindly voice in the darkness like wilson from Home Improvement!

We exchanged initial pleasantries, as I waved bye to my fam, who had been temporarily snuck into the ward to confirm I was awake and still had 2 legs post surgery and settled in for the night.

It didnt take more than 10 minutes of being alone with my new “galdem” to realise I was actually amongst the coolest, loveliest sleepover gang anyone could possibly ask for! Just what I needed to feel safe and calm after an absolute shitter of a last month, and the veritable crapness of post surgery, pain induced wallowing!!

Isnt it amazing how strangers can help you cope with some really difficult situations?! How sometimes people can be so far removed from your own life yet completely and utterly understand what you’re going through.

We talked a lot about life, loves, what lies ahead, how to cope with our pain, who was important in our lives. Existential questions. Moaned a lot about how understaffed the poor wonderful nurses of the NHS are. Put the world to rights.

Margaret was on hand for stories about growing up in Walthamstow in the war, coming to sit by my bed and hold my hand and talk through the names of the sheep on her father’s farm until I drifted to sleep. Sheila was an ex ballet dancer and had amazing tales of living the glitz and glamour of dancing life and her grandaughter auditioning to become the next West send sensation. Debs was an absolute super woman, in spite of everything she had been through, still facing bowel removal surgery like an absolute pro, coming back from the brink of death to absolute 360 turnaround. (We were told whilst we were there that less than 5% of people survive what she had been through and had she been found by her wonderful husband 10 minutes later she would have died) All of us finding ways to find the comedy amidst the tragedy.

We laughed with visitors who came to see us, and cried over difficult moments. We got angry over the state of the world and the size of the tomatoes in the salads at lunchtime. We supported each other in coming to terms with what the results of surgery would mean for each of us and the frustrations which might lie ahead. I knew it then, but all the more since leaving the ward do I realise how lucky I was to be in Bay 239 with some wonderful women I have genuinely learned a lot from.

Of course, amongst the life lessons there where the oh so evident real personal lows:

1) Hairy legs…..

Literally NO excuse for the state of my right one…whilst I have been washing like a pigeon in a birdbath with my flannel over the sink…I can quite easily still have shaved the other (un plaster casted) one for presentation reasons….think It means I scuppered any potential chances with hot new Ortho doctor….who was obvs over 6ft and painfully charming. Me and my sandpaper legs and flannel baths are available….soooo something to think about. Wink wink…nudge nudge….

2) Hospital “facilities”

The best example is night 1, I need a wee in the night, only for the nurse to advise that due to my surgery (and having not yet been reviewed by the physio) they cannot allow me to leave my bed. She instead returned with what I really hoped was a cardboard cowboy hat to cheer me up, but quickly realised was in fact a bed pan. I whole heartedly defy any woman to feel at ease pissing whilst lying in their own bed surrounded by 4 new people they had met just an hour before…

Stage fright got the better of me and nurse returns with option 2… a bloody kemode. Like in actual Tudor Times!!! What the sodding hell?!?! Pissing into a carboard tray whilst sat on a chair with a hole in it was hardly on my 30 before 30 list….

I spent the next half hour contemplating drafting a really wanky “30 before 30 list” but realised after a while only practical and achievable (!) item for it was to hopefully get the cast off and walk again!!!

Somehow, finally managed to pee (whilst humming the chorus of TLC Waterfalls) only for comedy of errors events to continue as nurse came to collect said kermode, tripped on way out and knocked over the cardboard pan and my pee ALL over the floor!!!!!!! Nightmare, disaster, no even actual words….

I toyed with idea of putting using kemode in front of several strangers on the 30 list just to be able to cross something off and decided that was enough journaling for today.

3) Side effects

Mash up of random pain killers and cue…SWEATING PROFUSELY (shout out to the SULA back with avengance….). Sweaty tash, eyes rolling, hairy legs and not forgetting the gurning (!!!) really making for an attractive package!! Tried to forget about it instead hoping to get some sleep before the morphine wears off.

No spoony dreams or hallucinations so doing well to keep mind under control. Nurses told stories of being alerted by buzzer to patients with concerns there were horses and knights in armour roaming free in the corridors last week by some guy yanked up on morphine post op….so least I managed to avoid the “medieval regression” side effect!!!!

Highs

Above and beyond those amazing women, there is 1 other thing I will take away from my stay and that is the amazing nurses.

Irene was our ward nurse, 29, like a Philippino Miss World and just wonderful. On hand to help you feel better, keep us fed, watered, looked after and plyed with drugs (!) alievating pain and keeping spirits up every hour of the day. Andrea, our ward sister, worked almost nonstop for 3 days always there, run ragged but devoted. Chris was a wonderful nurse who kept us topped up overnight, checking tablets and blood pressure and general well being with sensitivity, kindness and a smile.

My experience of the NHS and orthopedic surgery had been appalling, for so many reasons from 2 weeks of delays and cancellations to surgery, to treatment from superior consultants and senior managers who made me cry.

All of which sought to highlight even more so, the phenomenal nurses who are left behind, the backbone of the entire place and holding the broken pieces together with desperate efforts.

…the nurses of Surgical Ward 4 are the memory I will take of the true NHS. A perfect illustration of the staff who tirelessly devote their lives to endless and selfless care of their patients in their wards.

Post operate life seems likely to be full of the same trials, frustrations and tribulations. Will do my best to spot the comedy where I can… Xx