Inchcock’s True Tales of Woe: Part25 Twenty feet below Prince Charles in hospital

Twenty feet below Prince Charles, in the QMC Hospital, Nottingham

Medicated

Inchcock listening to Radio 4 Extra

 I was, lying in a bed in the busy Ward E19 in the Queens Medical Centre, just after having had surgery, to repair a hernia, and treat prostate cancer. I was listening to the radio.

Tubes were extruding from various regions of body.

Particularly cumbersome was the drainage tube from my ‘Inch’, which at that time the bruising had swelled to such a degree I would have been happy to put up with if only it would have stayed that size.

For the life of me I can’t understand how they managed to get a camera and lazer down their!

Prince Charles, who had the Ward above to himself, with two nurses and a Sister in attendance 24 hours a day – with me 20 feet below in Ward E19, who couldn’t get a bed pan! Bothered, jealous… me?

On the floor directly above the ward, was the ward where that Prince Charles had to himself, and two nurses, and a Sister in attendance 24 hours a day, to have his tennis elbow looked at.

I was lying in extreme physical stress below, pressing the button for twenty minutes to get a bedpan! Then stuggle down the ward with me attachments hanging, to find that that WC was occupied! More later on that one.

The talk of the ward was the imminent arrival of Princess Diana to visit Prince Charles.

As I lay painfully awaiting another bedpan, the staff and patients were more interested in seeing ‘Lady Di’.

A student nurse arrived at my bedside and nervously informed me she had come to remove one of the drainage tubes, the tube from my little used, lesser endowed lonely lower regions.

She set about trying to release the valve to drain the air from it, she was so nervous (not her fault) the more she shook the pain increased – I was about to say something about this, when a great whoops and shouts of “Look it’s LadyPrincess Die” came from those who were looking out of the window down to the ground level outside, and there was a massive surge of staff and mobile patients to the East windows – indeed I feared the building might topple!

Inchcock – Worried, embarrassed or what?

Unfortunately, and unforgettably my student nurse was amongst those Royalists so keen to see her, and as she ran to the window to join the others, she took the tube with her, leaving me in great pain, and covered in blood and urine!

Afterwards, when she realised what she’d done, the poor thing burst into tears, and begged to be forgiven. Some ‘fully trained’ nurses appeared, and sent for a doctor, who arranged for me to have some X-rays, and I was transported to the radiology department, where I spent a good two hours in a draughty corridor waiting to be seen to.

When I was eventually returned to the ward, I’d missed the meal, and still wanted to use the bedpan!

I climbed into the bed, the nurse reminding me drink plenty of water all the time to get my bladder working.

I got my book out to read, by the time I’d read a chapter, I felt a warm wet sensation appeared between my legs. A quick peep, and the blood all over me and the bed, I pressed me red button, and eventually someone arrived – and boy did I get a rollicking off of ‘em for making a mess.

They grumpily cleaned up the bed and me, and almost threw me back into the newly cleaned bed.

Oh dear…

After a few beakers of water were imbibed, I felt the need for the WC – I hobbled painfully trying to stop any leaks, to the WC, it took ages. Unfortunately it was occupied.

I limped walking painfully cross legged to the one at the other end of the ward… it was torture really. As I got in front of the bowl, boy did me bladder release its contents. It was like a fire hose, painfully belting out and hitting the wall behind the WC, and rebounding back at me, covering me in blood, and leaving an outline of my body on the wall behind me!

Embarrassed, oh so embarrassed, I tried to clean some of it up with toilet paper, both rolls were used up in minutes.

By then, they had missed me cause it was time for me medications, and a nurse opened the door and said: “Are you in there Mr … oh good heavens!

I was again cleaned up, and lodged beck into the bed.

Inchcock was in great fear!

I thought the rollicking I got last time was fierce, but this one made me cringe.

I remember thinking at the time:

“I do so hope that Prince Charles’s tennis elbow was getting better, and he enjoyed his wife’s visit!”

3 thoughts on “Inchcock’s True Tales of Woe: Part25 Twenty feet below Prince Charles in hospital

  1. Marissa Bergen – Burbank, Ca – This blog is a semi auto-biographical view of my life, beginning as a rocker chick from Brooklyn, moving on to playing in a punk band on New York's Lower East Side, to my current lot in life as a working mother of two, now living in Los Angeles. I love writing because you can be whoever you want to be when you write. Therefore, I would never want to pigeon-hole myself too much in my blog. However, I don't think I will ever deviate too much from what is innately in my blood, that being humor and sarcasm. Recently I have been turning more and more to poetry. I like poetry because it let's you say so much more with so much less, so much more about so little, and it also distances you from the subject matter, making you much less likely to offend someone, which I would probably otherwise do on a daily basis.
    Marissa Bergen

    What a lovely story!

    • Inchcock – Nottingham. UK. – 73 years of age, pretty ugly, short, bald, pot-bellied, in ill health. Decaying physically and morally. Metal ticker, Duodenal Donald, Saccades-Sandra, Arthur Rheumatoid Itis, Hernia Henry, Hard of Hearing Hank, Bad eyesight Boris, Reflux Roger, Peripheral Neuropathy, Nerve Neurotransmitters Not-working Wendy, Bladder Cancer Chris, Stuttering Sandra, Haemorrhoid Harold, Shaking Shaun, Dizzy Dennis... there are others, but I've tired myself out, now! Hehehe! Oh, then I had a stroke! Now awaiting Cataract & Glaucoma operations. Tsk! Failures, Accifauxpas and Whoopsiedangleplops are my Forte... Hehehe! I love making folk smile when I can. TTFNski!
      Inchcock

      The memories are still pungent Marissa. Hehe, got to laugh ain’t yer?
      Pungent, was that the right word?
      TTFN

      • Marissa Bergen – Burbank, Ca – This blog is a semi auto-biographical view of my life, beginning as a rocker chick from Brooklyn, moving on to playing in a punk band on New York's Lower East Side, to my current lot in life as a working mother of two, now living in Los Angeles. I love writing because you can be whoever you want to be when you write. Therefore, I would never want to pigeon-hole myself too much in my blog. However, I don't think I will ever deviate too much from what is innately in my blood, that being humor and sarcasm. Recently I have been turning more and more to poetry. I like poetry because it let's you say so much more with so much less, so much more about so little, and it also distances you from the subject matter, making you much less likely to offend someone, which I would probably otherwise do on a daily basis.
        Marissa Bergen

        Why not?!

Leave a Reply Cancel reply