One Split Second

by Gillian Crook

  I want to get some answers in writing… why do they keep mixing up the dates, and how many operations are involved before this pressure sore is healed, and how did a bug manage to get into my arse… well, not inside there, inside the wound? Was it because of a urine infection, was it because I left my bag too long before it was emptied, or was it because the vac had got infected when it has slipped out on a few occasions??? WHY WHY WHY!? I WANT ANSWERS!

  I was waiting until I calmed down a bit, then I sent a couple of txts to Casey to let her know that I was thinking of her whilst her exams were going on. Then, Rhona came through and I got onto the prone trolley. I was talking to her about what Dunne had said and she suggested to, perhaps get Mr Templar to confirm the points. I decided that would be my next step.

  When I was on the prone, I went through the dining room, and there were a couple of the younger boys there. David, the one in the bed, has a T5 injury, paralysed from the waist down, as it was the result of a car accident. The work van involved had been found to have faulty brakes, so because of that he was receiving a huge compensation pay-out that could be as much as 1 million pounds (according to him)! Good luck to any woman that he is going to ‘choose’ OR maybe I should say ‘pay’, to share his compensation with, (his words). He is such a SLOB, and I stress that, because he really is; he’s large, unshaven, got blubber hanging out, he’s confined to his bed as well, so everyday, he has his bed wheeled into the dining room, so that he can smoke, and (according to Brian, Patient) wacky-backy sometimes, next to the windows, and his confidence sometimes comes across as very ‘cocky’ probably due to his pending ‘millionaire status’. He talks about ‘how much he misses sex and that he will make sure it works, otherwise, there will be a massive outcry for extra compensation, (eeh yikes!). He just likes to boast, and God strike me down, nobody deserves to be paralysed, especially when it has been someone or something else to blame, but, he really is disgusting, and even Brian, who is about 19, good looking and has the same injury as me T7, paralysed from ribs down, looks at me in disbelief, when David starts to go on about women and sex!! YUK!

  Brian made a strange comment, that he would bring me in something for Christmas—and he had a smile on his face? Wonder what that could be? Anyway, I said goodbye and continued on my travels to the gym, on a relentless journey to find John or Mr Templar to explain a bit more about this BUG. I got to the gym, and John was there, so when I eventually got his attention and asked him if he had any idea of what the ‘bug’ could be, he said that he had no idea, but that the best person to speak to would be, the man himself, Mr Templar. He pointed out where his office was and suggested I go round and ask him. I hadn’t realised his office was just by the dayroom near the entrance, so I left to try and find it.

  It was a strange feeling, but I felt very alone… I think it was just that feeling of vulnerability and not being able to do things for myself anymore and running around in a bloody skateboard with large wheels trying to get answers about something as serious as my pressure sore! it’s really not a good state of affairs! No one understands how I feel. I went round to where John had directed me to get to Mr Templars office, and I actually found it. I pulled myself up and knocked at the door. A woman answered, and it was his secretary. Mr Templar wasn’t there, he had been away for the morning, but she was expecting him in later, and she would give him the message that I was looking for him. She was nice enough, so let’s just hope she efficient as well. So, eventually, I decided that I couldn’t do any more, and went back to the ward to do some press-ups at my bedside.

  On my way round I saw Hose, and gestured a look of exhaustion from being on the prone trolley and he smiled back in agreement. When I got to the room, Duncan was there, he obviously wasn’t well enough to go to the gym. Sometimes he gets a bit breathless with his severe spasms (it really worries me a bit, for him).

  Rhona came round after about half an hour and I got back into bed. I wrote some of this book and then eventually I saw Mr Templar… the darling man, had got the message and came round. I explained how exasperated I was about the whole thing, and he said that a bug had got into my wound, and they couldn’t be sure how, and that it was quite common BUT unfortunate and he would investigate further. Without all the medical jargon, he calmly told me that another blood test would be taken on Thursday and if that was negative, it then has to STAY negative for 2 weeks before he can operate. So, on Thursday 4th they take another test and if that test result is negative (that it shows NO bugs) and it stays negative for 2 whole weeks, which will be Thursday 18th, then the following Wednesday 24th December, that is when he shall do the Operation. When I got upset about it being Christmas Eve, he commented that it wouldn’t matter if it fell on Christmas day, he would still operate (I’m not sure if I believe that or not but, God, I love this man and if anyone can do it it’s him… how dedicated is that to his work?) He further went on to tell me though, that there probably would need to be a second operation for closure, which could be another couple of months after. So, on reflection Dr Didn’t wasn’t far off the mark, but at least now I know exactly what he did mean! Then Mr Templar fully dressed and cleaned my wound and said that there would be a swab and blood test done on Thursday.

  Later on, I spoke to Casey and Mitch and they were fine and Casey’s exams to date had gone ok, and thank goodness neither of them were privy to the argument between me and their dad last night, unless of course, Barry was in one of his sancitimonious (the kids have the right to know everything, self righteous), moods. Well, he came on the phone just to say hello, and I was polite and never mentioned the argument. I wanted to mention something, but there’s a time and a place, and as long as I’m in here the place will never be right! I wonder if he knows just how close he came to talk of the `D` word!

  Tuesday 2nd December

  I am sore, sore, sore today, in fact, I’m sore every bloody day, and I’m actually fed up writing about it. It’s the same when I get a cold or something similar, I keep moaning about it and eventually, I get more irritated at the sound of my ‘moaney’ voice than I do of the actual cold.

  Rhona came round about 9 and asked if it would be ok for her to come round later and do some stretching exercises, whilst Hose is on the trolley and then I could use the trolley this afternoon. I said, no probs, but wasn’t sure if I would go on the trolley because I was so sore. I really need something to motivate me, and it ain’t happening.

  Once I was washed, I was so fed up I phoned Casey on her phone from mine—she was actually in school about to go into class but she said not to worry. I just mentioned to her about being fed up, and she just said to stay positive and remember that it wouldn’t be long before that operation and the three of them coming up… she was just what the doctor ordered, and she said her exams were going well… I ‘whispered’ my goodbyes and love you` and then hid my phone in the drawer. It’s so handy having my phone. About half 9 mum and Angela phoned and I was really crabby to mum and took out all my frustrations from the past few days on her! She didn’t need that, and I was really shitty about the family and Fort George… complaining about Tony and Margie, comparing them to ‘two peas in a pod’! And told her how pissed off I was with them… I didn’t use the word pissed! (I don’t swear when speaking to mum). Oh, no, I feel really bad. I’ve decided I’m gonna get something really really nice for mum to make up for her having to listen to all my moaning and bitching. To be honest, I think I need to put all my negative thoughts about the Fort on the back burner and just remember Fort George MEANS mum and Aunt Helen. I love them both so much and want to spend as much time with them as I can now, and have the kids up as often as I can as well.

  I’m gonna go now and get comfy and get all these negative vibes slept off. I must remember PMA. Nite Nite, Goodnight… . I hope it is???!!!

  Wednesday 3rd December

  Waking up today was like waking up to a nightmare… there was a problem, and the problem was… I wasn�
�t on valium! Oh My God! I was woken up by the ‘Poisoned Dwarf’!!! At least I was sure it was. Oh dear god, yes, it was her, and she recognised me too; next to her, she made GRUMPY look like COCO THE CLOWN—she is truly SCARY. She’s probably married to The Penguin out of the Batman Movies… sorry, I just had to chuckle at that thought! Thankfully, the staff nurse, Gillian, came over and said she would take over… saved… I couldn’t remember what the dwarf’s name was and she explained her name was Marleen and she wasn’t exactly known for her ‘sunny exterior’, so not to take anything she said, personally—too late for that I think, she’s started a vendetta.

  I had suppositories put in this morning, and Gillian was helping get me get ‘cleaned up’ and, once again, it looks like there is a problem with my bowels, but she said she would give me something called ‘fibogel’ to help. My bloody innards must be shot to hell… Gillian explained that in time, everything ‘in that department’ would sort itself out. I asked when, and she said, everyone was different. That is something that I do know, and I suppose we all ‘rehabilitate’ at different stages and levels, and my God, I hate being at the bottom level.

  I don’t think anyone that I know, family or friends, would really believe that ME, JUILLIANA, was having people clean up my shit (sorry, I know that’s crude), wash me naked, help dress me and choose my clothes, empty a bag where my pee goes, throw me around like a sack of tatties… and LET THEM!, and all because I have no friggin choice… my life and my freedom have been taken away from me. I rely on others to survive and have no choice in the matter.

  I mustn’t keep going on, because that ‘cloud of doom and gloom’, has just gone over to Duncan and now he is moaning like mad and picking on the nurses. He is saying that he is not sleeping. But believe me, he is! At the moment it’s the only time we get any peace in the ward. I am actually getting quite used to Duncan, and I know he is having a really bad time at the moment, and when he isn’t annoying me and getting a reaction, he gets really low, so I try to keep his spirits up, and we can end up having quite a good laugh.

  It is so sad, because Duncan was telling me that he has two children, a girl and a boy (can’t remember the names), anyway, his wife is Ruby and she is lovely… however, he was telling me that he was in a car accident. He is a retired fisherman, and his son followed his dad into the same trade; well one morning he was taking his son to work… the son had been out the night before and was too hungover to drive his own car into work, so Duncan said he would drive him in. They were going round a corner when they had a collision with a car that was on the wrong side of the road. It was a horrendous crash, and the police and fire engine and ambulance were all at the scene. It was a young lady that was in the other car, and she walked away with a few cuts and grazes and whiplash, the son ended up with a broken leg and Duncan’s injuries left him paralysed from the neck down!! That is so fuckin unfair!! Because of his age, he is restricted to the amount of rehabilitation he can cope with, and he suffers from terrible ‘lows’, and that’s when I try to keep him perky, even when I don’t feel like it, but he keeps me perky, when I’m down; He’s an annoying shit, but I love the old bugger. It’s horrible you know, your ‘down and low’ but not as far as ‘depressed’, so the docs won’t give you anything for it! Tomorrow I feel like asking for a huge bundle of; ANTI-DEPRESSANTS, ANTI-INFLAMMATORIES—REAL painkillers, STRONGER sleeping pills, STRONG, laxatives AND SOME WIRE FOR MY JAW!!!

  Somehow, I think they’re gonna say, DROP DEAD (I could oblige)!! Ha ha, only kidding, they will say, NO CHANCE!!

  I went on the prone trolley this afternoon, and my ribs were hurting like hell, and I have a really bad pain in my neck, where there is pressure being put on it when I am looking up. Anyway, I must remember it is really my only way of exercising.

  So, tonight I am sore to bursting point—I feel like I am soldered to the bed, and from my arse down cased in wrought iron and my legs and body are burning. The heat in the ward is tremendous tonight as well. Anyway, this place gets more like a stepping stone to the ‘morgue’. God, I hate to sound defeatist and morbid, but that’s how it feels.

  Today there was a guy come into the Phillipstoll Ward called Michael, who only looks about 30. He’s got tubes and ventilators and drips and monitors all around him. His family are with him, and they look so so worried. It’s horrible to see. He came from the admissions. To be honest, he looks like he should still be in the admissions ward, because I can’t see how they can do anything for him rehabilitation wise in here at the moment. I suppose they can’t do anymore for him in admission either, and he has to be moved on! Not so good!

  Then, we have Sam. I’m not sure how long he was in Admissions, but he just lies in his bed and so far today, he’s just lain there, eyes shut and continuously counts and counts and seems to go into his own little world… he is also on a ventilator… he must be about 65ish; his family are with him; he has 2 grown up sons who take it in turns to come in to see him. THEN, remember the man I was telling you about when I went for my shower? The man with all the drips, tubes and monitors attached to him as well? Jim, is now at the end of this ward, in the bed nearest to the nurses station, and he is also wired up to a life support and ventilator for breathing, needs fed through a tube and has suction pumps and sometimes he chokes and can’t breathe properly. The nurse told me today me that his wife comes in once every two weeks and only stays for about 2 hours—can’t say I blame the poor woman—in fact even when he does start to put words together they are, apparently, always of a disgusting sexual nature.

  There should be some human rights laws that allow a person some dignity in death, to die or have a machine switched off after a certain amount of time if there is no hope of being able to breath independently, ever. Jim is being kept alive on a life support machine machine and has been like that for 5 years! That’s just not right!!

  Well, on a lighter note, I have spoken to the kiddies tonight and they are great, and Barry is away ‘working’ in Warrington. Funny, really… if he’s working as hard (s’cuse the pun) in Warrington as he was when we were together, then Shonah might get a taste of her own medicine, if history repeats itself! Meow! Sorry Shonah, but, I think you and Barry will know what I mean. Actually, on reflection, that’s probably a bit unfair… as the saying goes, ‘why would Barry settle for a hamburger when he’s got steak at home’? Yeah, Shonah is definitely bloody rare!! . . .

  Guess what? I think I am STILL mad at him because of the other night, and I didn’t even know I could harbour a grudge? It’s only fair to Barry to say that things weren’t great a home, because I had been drinking for a long time, and Barry had exhausted just about all his resources. I’m going to leave it there.

  Thursday 4th December

  Well what a great morning, NOT! I had to sleep with Sam constantly counting and counting, and Jim coughing and choking, not forgetting the noise from the machines, and if Duncan ever moans again about not sleeping I am going to personally go and sabotage his wheelchair next time I am on the prone trolley—that man could sleep through an earthquake, and if not that, I’m not surprised the noise of his own snoring doesn’t wake him up… . OK little rant over! One good thing about Duncan though, is that if it wasn’t for him I would have no one to talk to really because we have 3 other males in the ward that can be bloody noisy but they can’t hold a friggin conversation… so is it any wonder that me and Duncan annoy the crap out of each other. In fact, it’s quite sweet, we have a wonderful, love/hate relationship… which works in here, because you need as many personalities as you can to cope all with all the different emotions that transpire. Emotions that you never even knew you had, and one is resilience… that is essential. Anyway, talking of resilience, my legs are still burning, and it feels like they are keeping the wrought iron cast in place.

  Rhona came round to see if some stretching exercises may help but to be honest, when she stopped they don’t feel any better. Then she suggested that th
e bike is great for getting the circulation going, but the only problem is that they can’t get me on it (well, why fucking suggest it then)! I’m losing my patience. Have they nothing they can do for the burning? Well Rhona left to go and see if she could come up with anything inspiring! I’m not in a good mood, I have done part of this book backward, and it’s really hard to pick up where the writing starts and finishes, so the last paragraph probably didn’t make a lot of sense. But, I think we tried massaging the legs, and that helped a bit.

  Well, the Vamps (blood bankers), came round today and my vamp was telling me that there is a rumor going around the hospital that there is salmonella, so we all have to have blood taken for that. She has to test my blood for salmonella (anything’s possible with the food in here), and MRSA, and I said to be extra sure of that one, because it was the bugger from (S) in MRSA, that got into my arse, the STAFLOCOCUS, ‘StafliCOCK-UP’ bug! (more like, cause it stopped my Op).

  This morning when I was being washed by Marie and Linda in the shower, Linda was asking whereabouts the stitches were on my head and she was saying about all the various injuries WHAT IF?, then asked, What if, I had hit my head at the front instead of the back? Stupid fuckin question… DEAD?

  I was telling her about this guy Jerry that I knew in Plymouth, a real cocky cockney from the Eastend of London. Well, in Plymund, there used to be a crowd of us who went out and there were two couples, and myself and Jerry, so were kind of thrown together. I really enjoyed his company, but I didn’t fancy him (due to circumstances at the time), but I certainly was very fond of him. The more we talked the more we got on, but again, for me it was just a very close friendship (yeah, I know?) Well, it was Jerry who wanted to take it further and I said NO, and after that, every time we were saying goodbye for the night he would always ask, “Is it still no?”, and I would always say `yes` and his retort to me was, “one day you’re gonna wonder WHAT IF?” And I used to go through the same rigmarole every time we were out, and I got fed up of him saying, WHAT IF?, WHAT IF?