From hospital - Saturday

As I said yesterday, hospitals are lonely places and the novelty of visiting someone in hospital soon wears off on most people. In my case, barely anyone knows anyway so I'm not exactly doing a lot of entertaining in the first place. My husband is coming to see me each day but he seems to have a lot of things to do before he leaves the house. Admittedly some of them are things for me like putting new TV shows on a memory stick or buying me snacks, and some of them are household chores, but a hospital hour feels like a day and six days in here can quickly bring down even the cheeriest person.

I was feeling very despondent this morning when I realised that my prediction yesterday had come true - my drainage tube had become blocked by debris. It seemed to be the part inside my leg so I couldn't even fish it out with things I had lying around like I had done previously (if any of my medics are reading this, I absolutely definitely did NOT dismantle my drain and fish bits of flesh out myself).

As it's a Saturday on a bank holiday weekend, the hospital is on skeleton staff and minimal patient intake, and rounds were delayed by several hours due to priority trauma cases coming in. So I didn't see a doctor til midday and when I explained that a) my drain had become blocked and b) my nerve was flashing intense pain again he said he didn't really know what to do and would consult his senior. He and the nurse both thought maybe my leg wasn't producing fluid anymore and that's why nothing had emptied out, but I knew it wasn't true. It doesn't suddenly go from excreting 300ml of lymph to zero, and even a 20-minute walk didn't produce a drop. So I knew it was a blockage.

After a couple of hours of lying in bed waiting for the doctor to come back with a solution and feeling sorry for myself, I decided to do something about it. Based on the principle of unblocking a toilet (rapid pressure/depressure to create a suction vacuum) I applied the same to my drain tube - essentially squeezing and releasing very quickly. And...SUCCESS!

A big clump of tissue shot through, followed by about 150 ml of bright red fluid. After dancing a celebratory jig, I decided to keep it moving by going for a very long walk. I have figured previously that 4 laps of the floor is half a mile so I decided to do a full mile across three floors.

I moved from my floor, 3, to floor 2 (too purple and full of pregnant ladies) to the ground floor. And this is where I found a place called The Sanctuary. Far from being a spa like I first thought, it is a multi-faith quiet room complete with books of remembrance for babies and children.

Good lord, has it put it in perspective. It's mind-blowing to realise how many fetuses don't make it out the womb alive, and how many babies don't make it to toddlers, toddlers to children, children to teenagers. Page upon page, book upon book, some with photos of their deceased child, some just a sentence but all reflecting the heartbreak of at least one other person.

I am very lucky to be in this position, really.

(In the full sense of irony, as I was writing how lucky I am, I was moved out of my private room back into the ward next to a woman who is snoring and just broke wind very loudly. GET ME OUT OF HERE!).