Hospital Capers

10 June 2025. Quite a sad day for me. As described in my previous post, one of the few people in the ward I could talk to died in the wee small hours during last night. It's quite something though how discreetly they deal with a death in here.

And I should say right away that whilst I saw on a daily basis people either go home or transfer to a respite home for a short stay before going home, this was the only death that I saw, though one other chap came quite close and it was the chap in the bed opposite me. Again he had breathing difficulties and I became concerned enough to press my button to summon a nurse.

Anyway by the the time the ward was waking up he had been taken out and the bed was soon occupied by another, who was to have his own quirks to entertain the ward... Meanwhile the Shouter in the bed next to me who had ripped out his catheter the other night, did it again during the day and then protested vigourously that it "wasn't me!"

In one of the side rooms apparently a dish of porridge has mysteriously disappeared. The patient swears he hasn't eaten it and the nurses are all adamant that none of them has fed him. This gets referred to for a good 24 hours without the culprit being found slumped with distended stomach and traces of porridge on his chin...

11 June 2025. So yesterday afternoon I was hoisted into a chair for the day. All good until they hoisted me off to get back in bed and both legs started bleeding. But a step forward. I am in the chair again now. Going to have a scan of the veins in my legs as they are sticking out, looking like a map of the blood system like you see in Doctor' surgeries. I had been told I'd have to stand up which frankly petrified me. Now they have said they can do it on the bed. It's only an ultrasound so even so they will have to put jelly and then pressure with the reader so not really looking forward to it.

Today we have another new chap in the ward who arrived this morning. He tries to shout at The Shouter, who was screaming at being given a wash - "Shut up you silly man!" Well we all may think it but it doesn't do any good to say it. Meanwhile no word on the missing porridge...

12 June 2025. Yesterday tea time the chap opposite, just about the only one I could talk to transferred to a respite care home. It was his birthday and his family brought the most beautiful cake in to share. Anyway they moved my bed into his space so I now have a TV!

I went for the ultrasound on my legs today. This was originally supposed to be done with me standing and would take 30 minutes. Given that even sitting on the edge of the bed causes agonising pain and bleeding I was somewhat worried/petrified at the thought... the Physio team said it wasn't practical but the scanning team insisted and there was blood and my expression gave away the pain, so they eventually did it with my legs resting on the bed. A doc came round a bit ago to say there was nothing wrong with blood or veins and that no more tests or scans would be done on them. They now agree with what I've said all along, that it's the loss of flesh on the backs of my calves that is the cause. Not easy to cure whilst I'm lying on them in bed. They are going to formulate a plan. I hope it's a cunning plan!

The weather outside looks excellent but in the ward it is unbelievably hot. By early evening I suddenly felt sick, very hot and light-headed. The nurse on duty was the one I think of as a bull in a china shop, always a knee jerk reaction and then wants to be away. So I had a sick bowl given me with the all too familiar "Y'ok?" whilst already moving away. I asked for a fan and luckily he brought one and after a while I started to come round.

Meanwhile it was a quiet night for once. Except for the Shouter who this time pulled out his canula, the tube in the back of his wrist that allows a drip to be attached without need to insert another needle. He was in fine form as nursing staff had to repair whatever damage he was doing to himself, I kept hearing "Stop playing with it! Take your hands away from there!"

Another chap further down the ward was in one of those chairs with an alarm that sets off if you move too far forward. He kept nodding off though so it was going off all the time as he slumped forwards, until they could persuade him to get in bed. "It's not me setting it off - I'm not moving!" he kept insisting.

13 June 2025. A quick report on just ten minutes on the ward: the Shouter is having his mucky bits cleaned up: " AAAARGHH DON'T DO THAT!"
"We need to pull your pants up..."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The Swearer is yelling "FOFF" at anyone offering cornflakes or other cereals. Insert a space and extra text as required.

Another nurse is giving me so many pills it takes more than a full glass of water to take them, and another is peering over her shoulder asking if I want a wash.

The forecasted thunder is making us wait. It's almost unbearable in here, hot, sticky, stuck either in bed or in a chair that is even more constricting.

I started this a few days ago but have had to keep putting it down due to dozing and drawing long squiggly lines down the page! Anyway I think there's only one, oh perhaps two, oh sod it: three! that I haven't managed to disguise. This is the Loch Tummel Hotel where we stayed the other year up in the Trossachs region of Scotland. Ballpoint pen in the A5 sketchbook.

14 June 2025. Very little to report this morning but that's a good thing for me at least. The heat and humidity got to everyone yesterday and last night. Nearly all the ward was asleep all afternoon and it was a quiet night. I got woken a couple of times to be turned from one side to the other.

I didn't hear it, but Miss Franny said there was one large clap of thunder during the night. It must have been the other side of Poulton perhaps. The Swearer has been moved I think. I can't see properly now I'm on the same side of the ward. I will miss him. Like a bad migraine...

The Shouter meanwhile ushered in the day with a roar of imagined pain as the nurses tried to pull his hands away from his bum, which I gathered had been in action... The bloke in the next bed has developed the habit of turning each of his frequent coughs into an attempt to spit out phlegm from his toes upwards. Not exactly the best bed neighbour!

15 June 2025. I've had a quiet night again if you ignore being woken a couple of times to have blood pressure etc monitored.

I'm sitting in my bedside chair, which involves being hoisted in a contraption with straps under you and which you feel should be on the Pleasure Beach. But the nurses are very good at maneuvering it, despite my feet having to be held to stop them dangling down and causing a rush of blood and pain and in quick order them bleeding. Happily that didn't happen and I'm sitting here sketching Loch Lomond. From a brochure for a coach firm. How nice it would be to be sitting there on the banks - I should say the bonny bonny banks - of Loch Lomond.

I am looking forward to this afternoon and a visit from family. One of my favourite nurses, I suppose I shouldn't name her but she is from the Phillipines and is just a lovely person, had a look at the sketches in my sketchbook and said, "You have talented fingers."
"Well I have," I agreed, "but better not tell the wife..."

16 June 2025. I wore my Fathers Day present- a set of Spider-Man t-shirt and shorts and it set the nurses off into a big debate about whether Spidey or Buffy the Vampire Slayer was their favourite.

Then they brought this fearsome looking contraption like a sack truck with pads and footpads. I haven't been able to stand on my feet for about 4 weeks. Anyway with some apprehension I swung the legs out of bed, feet onto the footpads and shins pressed to the other pads. It felt a bit like one of those segway things where you lean forwards on a platform with two wheels to move forward and lean back to go backwards. It looked and felt as though it would topple and I was holding on for grim death whilst the pain in my legs was growing quickly 6,7,8 out of 10. But the nurse manoeuvred the thing so my back was up to the bedside chair just as the pain reached 9 which is where I can't help yelling and I was able to sit with some relief and then feeling proud that I had managed it.

The nurses had the whole ward applaud me and that was just a bit too much. I burst into tears. So many emotions in a short length of time... well, there were some tears of joy in there so I felt as though I had achieved quite an accomplishment and a huge step forward after not being able to even let my feet touch down for so many weeks.

At the end of the day I repeated the process to get back in bed. As my legs were redressed later it was obvious that the legs had bled quite a lot but the redressing was done with very little pain. I'm on the way back. It will take another few weeks but at last I feel as though I'm moving in the right direction.

17 June 2025. Wow, legs improving daily. The large wounds are starting to break up into lots of smaller wounds. After my success in withstanding the pain of being moved from bed to chair whilst being on my feet, I'm currently waiting for transport as I'm being discharged from hospital to a respite home. Unfortunately it's a 3 bus journey for Fran to visit so hoping for a short stay there so I can get home.

18 June 2025. Well yesterday we were told I was moving to Clifton Respite Home in St Annes. It would be on Ward 1 in a private side room. Later on Fran remembers Ward 4 being mentioned. There's a scurry of activity as all my stuff is bagged and nurses coming to hug me and say how much they would miss me. Well I'm afraid one won't...and the tale goes like this...

I've been a bit constipated for a couple of weeks and they've been giving me regular laxatives so approx every three days is a test of a bedpan capacity. So it was last night. The young male nurse removed the bowl, expressed his surprise and (I like to think) some admiration then as he carried it away... "AAAAGH! NO! OH NOOOooo...!" He came back later having changed into a rather vivid leaf green uniform and new shoes. "Well I will definitely remember you..." he said with a grin.

Tea came so I ate that like a good boy but after a few more hours I was wondering whether it would be that night or not. Anyway they came, I'm afraid I didn't get the time and I was pulled sideways off the bed onto a narrow trolley and wheeled outside where the transport ambulance was.

How can I explain that first lungful of clean fresh air after 5 weeks in a ward with 6 other men, one of whom took such pride in his farts that he has a collection of them recorded on his phone...

It (the fresh air) was exquisite, I breathed in as much as I could whilst the ambulance was opened, then a half hour drive on deserted roads to Clifton where they took me to Ward 4. "We are not expecting anyone, we have no empty beds!"

Onto Ward 1. Same response. The ambulance crew phoned Ward 2. Success! So here I am in a ward with eight men at least one of whom is extremely cranky and impatient and demanding to see 'the manager' when the nurses try to help him.

Meanwhile I am awake after a decent sleep and I can see greens, trees and blue skies out of the window next to me.

Family Memories: Personal Index

Hot Days, Hot Ward. June 2025

The last few entries in this blog will make more sense if you have gone through them in order from the post headed Cancer! which was uploaded on 18 November 2025.

We have now reached Sunday 8 June 2025, which finds yours truly in hospital suffering from a very painful set of leg ulcers on both legs. In the bed next to me is "The Shouter", a chap with dementia who interprets every little touch as the most painful thing and shouts and tries to push the nurses out of the way whenever they do anything such as prick a finger for a blood sugar test or attempt to give him a wash. "DON'T TOUCH ME THERE!!!"

Last night he was giving himself - and consequently the rest of us in the ward - a concert. I didn't recognise any of the songs but it didn't matter because at the end of each song he applauded himself... Mostly the songs were quietish but choruses sometimes reached a bone shattering roar. It was a little like excerpts from Puccini as played by ZZ Top...

In the meantime I grabbed a shot of each leg as they were redressed - left then right leg. Scroll quickly if squeamish...

Monday 9 June 2025. A strange day in some ways. The night before started out with the Shouter trying once more to puĺĺ his catheter out even after the considerable pain and blood loss the òther night.

After that it went quiet and I zonked until woken at 5.30 by a nurse wanting me to wee because I hadn't had one for a while... so I peed so much I started to wonder how much the bottles held and how could I swap to another one without an accident...

Then I've dozed all the day, interspersed with breakfast, blood pressure and pulse rate measured, lunch, a visit from daughter Gill with Miss Franny, a visit from the doc to discuss the bleeding and what they might do about it. Apparently it's quite rare. Well I do like to set a challenge...

Have kept falling asleep whilst writing this so will go and set someone's mind at rest about my wee capability. I can hear a nurse at the other end of the room asking somebody why are they taking their trousers off. It's just that sort of day...

Tuesday 10 June. 5.38am. We lost one of our number during the night. In a ward of 8 with me in a corner bed there are only 3 others I could easily communicate with. Next to me is the Shouter so that cuts the number to two and it was one of that number that passed in the early hours.

Miss Franny used to buy him a newspaper every day on her way in as asking the nurses was dependent on them finding time in their busy day. Also when he had asked one nurse to buy him one of the UK's more serious newspapers he was asked "What do you want if they don't have one? The Sun?" At that we locked eyes and he spread his arms in a cross between amazement and amusement. We were friends after that.

He used to struggle for breath and yesterday had been particularly hard for him, but he had a few minutes of restful breathing before he slipped away. Something woke me around 3:30am and one of the nurses was pulling the curtains around his bed. Then someone who I took for a priest came and stayed for a while. Sleep easy now, my friend.

The rest of the ward starts to function each day at this time of morning. One of the nurses has been round to check blood sugar counts. This involves a quick stab in the end of a finger, just enough to cause a tiny drop of blood to appear. The Shouter screams the place down on this attack and today he, aged 93, shouted threateningly "I'll tell my Mum!"

Family Memories - Personal Index

Summer in Hospital, 2025

5 June 2025. Woke up last night with what sounded like furniture falling over in the adjoining ward. Then a lot of shouting. At first I thought someone had either fallen out of bed or had knocked something over but then someone stormed down the corridor and our night nurses ran to the door of our ward shouting, "Don't let him in here!"

I was told later that a patient had gone berserk and had flung one of those over-the-bed tables, hitting another patient. Whilst security and male nurses had tried to restrain him, he was military trained and it got a bit dicey for a while.

So I spent much of this morning asleep and spent the afternoon doing this. After tea my legs were redressed. The change is amazing. Yes I've lost a lot of flesh - veins standing out but far fewer wounds. Unfortunately one on each leg keeps pain levels up. Meanwhile Miss Franny collected my new glasses and brought them in.

6 June 2025. Last night's tale of mayhem... Just after lights out the same chap in the next ward kicked off. Shouting, banging, security racing up the corridor. Then after it had quietened down again the chap in the next bed ripped out his catheter at 4.30. Took them until 6.00 to deal with it, blood everywhere and of course this is the chap that shouts a lot if touched... so an hour and half of shouting and screaming and not letting the nurses help him.

By the time he went quiet they were doing the morning pill run so that was that. We were all up having to listen to The Swearer telling the nursing staff to f... off. And they tell me he knows what he is doing, he doesn't have any dementia. Just a horrible horrible man.

The Physio team and someone from the Delicate Tissue Team came in the afternoon to try getting me out of bed again. I lasted longer sitting on the side of the bed this time but then as in previous tries the pain hit and my legs just started bleeding.

The back of my calves look like one of those maps of the arterial and veinous systems that you might see on the wall in a doctor's consulting room. The flesh has withered so much the veins stand proud. They said they would come up with a plan to help the tissue of my legs to grow back but agreed that until that happened I would have to stay in hospital. I asked how long this would take. "One year give or take a month or two... So shock hit immediately. The nurses who were with her both stared at her in shock, never mind me. It took me a while to even process that. I am determined to beat this thing but being told that out of the blue and then wondering how to tell family etc was a blow.

Some hours later came a bit of light relief. I had had my left leg redressed. Half an hour later my lovely staff nurse from the Phillipines came round searching for a lost key. Lifting my bedcovers at the feet end she stared diligently between my legs. "Searching for treasure?" I asked. And she found it!

8 June 2025. Ok, so after all the trauma I caused yesterday - 71 messages of support came at me on Facebook, people are wonderful - it seems as though she may have meant something else. Though the two physios and a couple of nurses also thought exactly the same as I did. We now think she meant that's how long it will take the ulcers to heal. From when they started which was over a few weeks from last August. So that is a much less stressful thing to contemplate.

Having seen them and comparing the pain over the past few days that would seem to be a realistic target and not one that would require a full year in hospital. It's driving me daft already and it's been just about one month.

The main problem now is to regain lost flesh on the back of my calves. Veins etc standing out and rupturing if lower legs go vertical, ruling out standing, or sitting as yet. Not to mention the pain that goes through the roof. And I'm no wimp. The nurse redressing them yesterday said she couldn't understand how I bore her cleaning and placing fresh dressings without any shouting or screaming.

So relief on the possible length of stay. It may still be measured in months but that's better than being told a year and seeing the same shock on the faces of everyone else. I had accepted it as having no real choice anyway. I'll beat this no matter how long it takes, with the support of family and all my awesomely wonderful army of friends on Facebook. You matter and you do without fail raise my spirits. So thank you and sorry for yesterday's shock.

Family Memories : Personal Index

My Time in Hospital Reaches June 2025

Saturday, 31 May 2025. Having moved back into the ward from my nice individual side room yesterday, I am forced to eat someone else's choice of food for the day. By which I mean lunch and the evening meal. The food is really good when it's something that you like, but let's just say that whoever was in this bed yesterday, their taste either didn't match mine or they had a really evil sense of humour...

After the pain and sight of the pool of blood yesterday when I tried to stand, I was quite apprehensive of what might follow. But the doctors left me alone for the day.

Miss Franny came to visit - a steady stream of good friends, family and buses bring her each day and we are very grateful when someone volunteers to pick her up and bring her. Also to those who come to visit me when she can't come - it does break the day up and it's good seeing people many of whom have been good friends for decades.

Fran brought me my A5 sketchbook to fill the time and I did this - my first sketch using a ballpoint pen and the first to come from a mix of memory and imagination. More the latter if I'm honest, the memory cocked up some of the more important things... Anyway it was inspired shall we say, by houses seen on the Italian Riviera.

Monday, 2 June 2025. Today marks the start of my fourth week in hospital. My legs are better than they were, but just as painful due to exposed wounds following the bleeding the other day. The right leg in particular looks a bit like a joint of raw meat. It's not pleasant. Now they have to get the delicate tissue toughened up enough to let me stand and walk about. Photos of my legs - scroll past all the v pointers to get past quick if you are squeamish...

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Right leg above. Left leg below, the orange is surgical antiseptic.

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One of the household staff saw my sketch the other day and asked if I had any of Italy's Lake Como. I hadn't... but now I have! It turned out she was getting married and they had booked their honeymoon at Lake Como. She was really taken with the sketch, so I ripped the page carefully out of the sketchpad and gave it to her.

More visitors today. Most of my visitors, it has to be said, are female. It's nothing I can help... One of the young nurses though is convinced I've had a long string of conquests and each new face adds much to her amusement. She grins behind their backs and raises a quizzical and what she obviously thinks is a knowing eyebrow at me at every new face! All I can say is I'd have been an old man far earlier...

Tuesday 3 June 2025. This morning the doc came to say they were going to transfer me to a respite home pending Physiotherapists coming to see me. A few alarm bells started to ring as I haven't stood since the bleeding event a few days ago. Physios came this afternoon after I had been dosed with morphine and I got to sit on the edge of the bed. It took longer but the pain hit and blood blossomed on my bandages even before my feet touched the floor and I had to get back in bed on the verge of shouting and screaming at the level of pain. So I am not going anywhere for now. To be continued...

Family Memories: Personal Index

Leg Ulcer News From The Hospital

Friday 30 May 2025. The stay in a nice quiet side room was short lived. I am back on the ward again but in a different bay and in a corner next to the wall. From the private room I could hear someone every night shouting the place down sounding as though he were in great pain. It turns out he does this at the slightest touch, having a wash or having his pyjamas changed. The poor chap has dementia, so it's not his fault.

But now I find he's in the bed next to mine and now getting any sleep is an issue. This morning I was told they were going to get me out of bed this afternoon and into the bedside chair - a huge affair that looks like I'd need a ladder to get into it.

Anyway I didn't get as far as testing that particular scare... I swung my legs over the side of the bed and the pain started to build quickly as gravity pulled blood into weakened arteries and veins. As my feet touched the floor I was gasping with pain and then heard a nurse match my gasp and when I looked down there was already a pool of blood two feet in diameter, leaking from both legs and spreading quickly. I've never been bundled back into a bed so quickly in all my life.

Afterwards I had a visit from one of the doctors who regularly gathered around the head consultant on his daily rounds. He said something about "that must have been a very scary experience for you," and then went on to say that their top "leg man" would come to see me.

I'm not totally sure if my memory is playing tricks on me now. This really happened but I'm not sure if it was on this day or later after another "event" once I'd been moved to a respite ward in Clifton Hospital a week or so later.

The leg man turned up with a very broad Glasgow accent. He looked at the left leg. "Aye that's quite nasty!" he said, then uncovered the right leg. "And that's *verra* nasty!"

"Have you ever had a mouth ulcer on your gum or inside your cheek?" he asked. "Well that," he nodded at the left leg, "is a hundred times worse. And that..." a nod at the right leg, "...is a thousand times worse!"

I'm not coming home just yet...

Family Memories: Personal