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INCHIES TWO HOSPITALS VISITATIONS ON THE SAME DAY ODE

06:05hrs: After a night of multiple wake-ups requiring a wee-wee, I stirred. Got up with relative ease for me; catching the balance took a bit longer than usual, but I felt fine.
I could smell the wee-wee from the bucket from where I stood. I thought I’d got to use it and thought I’d better get it cleaned and disinfected before any carers came, straight after the peeing – which didn’t take place… the biggest shock in a while hit me as I looked down at the bucket! But I did notice how full the container was, compared to the average night/morning
I got my glasses on, and that is when it hit me – the amount of blood in the urine shook me.
Also, when I took my leak, the contents of the NWWB (Nocturnal-Wee-Wee-Bucket) started bubbling as I pickled into it!  The camera was in the dressing gown pocket, so I took a shot of this.
I needed to use the .
Which I also pictured after taking a no-content evacuation. All that came out was blood and wind! Now, I was worried!  I checked the back passage as I papered it; there was no blood on it at all?

I took another wee-wee in a cleaning pot, as I thought, surely I’m dreaming here?
But no, it was a colourful medium red.
Now, I was pretty worried! 

From this point, and for over the next two days, I have not passed any urine through Little Inchie without the catheter on. Nor any matter from department. Then again, I’ve only been given food once over the two days, and it was very welcome! Oh, no, sorry, I had two slices of cold toast Tuesday morning at the City Urology Patience 2 ward.
Arrived to the rescue yet again. The lads listened to me, a rarity with certain people, and acted immediately on seeing the blood. Richard made up a bag with a dressing gown, slippers and toothpaste and brush, PP’s included.
He waited for the paramedics to arrive and left after explaining everything needed to them.

The ambulance took me on the journey to the Queens Medical Hospital, depositing me in the A&E unit. Where I was placed on a trolley in what I think was corridor A.
My hopes rose, half an hour later, a porter came to move me into corridor H.
The same chap came along an hour or so later. This time he moved me to Corridor C or something. A wider one this time, but still only room for one line of flesh trolleys. I got the Lumix and crossword book out. But it was hard work making out the clues, and filled in answers to the wrong clubs several times, then gave up.
30 minutes later, I made it inside the A&E unit.
Cheered me up a bit, seeing only about 80 trolleys in the main hall – I was getting there!
Mostly drunks at this time in the morning. Ah, Christmas spirit, the main reason, of course!
Moved me into the side room, and they fetched me out again minutes later. Ah, progress here, I thought!
About to get the crossword book out again, and a lady told me I was going for some scans.
I was taken off of the trolley, given my stick and asked kindly, “You can walk with yer stick then? It was more of a threat than a question.

He looked a bit rough around the edges, so I readily agreed that I could manage.

They walked me into a cold side room

An eerie room; it stank of depression and vomit and had an icy coldness to it.

A largish area, an equipment stand for the BP taking, it didn’t look in good nick.
A mobile radiator (I think), a roll of carpeting, and a single wooden table with one metal leg hanging off.
I got the crossword book out again, took these snaps, and the biff man returned with a petite but stern-faced female; “Follow us”
So I followed them into a scan room. They spent a good while scanning my privates and belly area.
Then, out into the big waiting room again.
It was a sad sight seeing so many people looking angst, agitated, and generally well pissed off.

Although a few of them seem to have the will to live.

I waited there, back on a trolley, and a lot of medics came to see me over the next two hours. Many asking the same questions… there were a lot like that at both hospitals.

The only sleep I got in 48 hours, I think about ten minutes, was rudely awakened by several nursing staff, all intent on getting rid of me ASAP. I was bundled into a corridor and awaited a lift to the Urology department.
The stockcar driver, I mean ambulance driver, gave me a roller-coaster ride to the City Hospital. Where I was wheeled to a bed and told to sit on it. I did. And was told somebody will be with you later.
I thanked the lady. Rescued my bag from a be away where the ambulanceman had left it and sat on the bed in Patience Two Ward. First floor up.
A nurse came and gave me two jugs of water, asking me to drink it all down, and ask for more when I had done so.

So I did. Various nurses, doctors and Mr Men came to see me.
The BP and temperature were taken every half-hour. A blood sample was taken for testing each hour, on the hour. No sleep again!

Then there was the thing that was supposed to make me pass water. Drink it by the gallon, which I think I did, and they took off the catheter. And the guzzling started. Five hours later, they did another scan and put the catheter back on to rid my bladder of urine. An hour later, the catheter was put back in (A  painful experience in and out!) More water guzzling. Scanned again, and the catheter was replaced painfully. (I’m sure the Doctor had a smile come over her lips each time she put it in or out?)

Back in the scanner loop again. Nobody informed me of any of the results. But they were up to the neck with patients in need. I assumed they would tell me later, but no! Mayhaps they’d got fed up with me not understanding or hearing what they were saying? I found out later they had sent all my details to Meridian Carers. Wish they had told me. Just as well, though. I may have gotten the facts and figures wrong. So, fair enough.

They took off the Catheter for the last time to try once more to force out the urine. So, back to the water-drinking marathon.
It didn’t work. A Shame!

They then suddenly arrived at the bed, mob-handed. They spoke so fast, I must have missed 50% of whatever they said; I recall rightly I believe in hearing: Sending you home… Keep the catheter on for seven days and use the night ones? Erm… Night ones? No mention of the new medications or what the unknown reason was. And they took no interest in my telling them I’ve not passed from the rear end in three days now?

They started cramming my stuff into the big BM bag I’d taken with the things Carer Richard had gathered for me on first leaving the house. This all happened at break-neck speed, and a nurse came to them, ‘The taxi’s here!’ Another well worded: Surely you can walk down to get the taxi – meek me; “Yes, no problem!” I was in the right state by the time we got in the lift, along the long corridor and out to the waiting taxi.
Then the trip home was most uncomfortable. The driver, I called him Sterling Mosseth, was not hanging around, and the springs or whatever they are called nowadays were about worn out. Every crack and pothole, speed bump, and fast-breaking en route was painful.

I was not in good condition by the time I got into the flat. But at least the lifts were working. I got in the flat and put the bag down, but I forgot to call the Meridian Care office to tell them I was home.

I got down in the lift, and after opening the door to the link corridor with Winwood Court, I met, coming the other way to my flat, Carer Kara,  Sam, or Jodie. Any names that I get wrong for Carers, I apologise; blame can be put on Non-Carer, .

We got up to the flat. The carer checked out the Catheter. We had a chinwag after she gave me the medication, and a bit of humour crept in. Hurrah!

After she’d left, I went to make a brew of tea. Glengettie… nothing but the best!

And took these two photos of the evening view. The first one I make a pig’s ear out of!.. But was almost on the verge of having a .
But remembered those I took last week that seemed fins on camera.
So, .
did the late call tonight. We got the medications done. Then Richard opened the letters etc., that the hospital staff had stuffed into my carrier bag.
Not easy learning about how you need to set these catheters up got the first time.
But Richard mastered it, all working, and the night ones fitted me.
He gave me a tip, and that was to put the Night Bag in a bowl, then it’s nice and low, and if, or as in my case, when you do have a split bag or a connection breaks, the bowl will catch it! Good idea!
He also warned me that if I come off of them, the fun will start because I’ll still think of the catheter if they are removed; I’d no doubt wee away without realising. Argh! Hahaha!

I had planned to do a bit of work on this blog and get my head down. But, things, as usual, got carried away, taking so long yet still enjoying doing the blog…
After a while, I risked going to take a break and make a Thompson’s Punjana brew.

❶ I went through to the kitchen and got the kettle on.
❷ Made the tea and realised the difficulty I faced: One cannot carry a mug of tea, a bowl with a catheter in it, and a walking stick together!
❸ My keen, alert, logical (Well, it was a year ago) mind soon sorted out the solution to the problem (I thought).
 ❹ I’d simply take the bowl and walking stick to the front room and return with the stick to collect the mug of Punjana… Mmm! I bet you can see the problem even if I didn’t at first? It’s like those training courses at work, innit?
❺ I took the bowl back to the side of the computer, turned to go back to get the mug, and realised this was not going to work when the bowl tipped over… well, it would; still being connected to the catheter!
❻ I did feel a fool! .
I honestly thought what a I was at the time!

Then yet another Whoopsidangleplop, although I’m not sure it wasn’t closer to a , or might be nearer to the point. A nasty one this time. Yet it could have been worse.
As the leg kicked out with its energetic but short-lived imitation of the Oky-Koki.

TTFNski!