Chapter 8 : Going home

The next day Lorna comes and tells me, “You are going home.”

What do I have to take with myself?  Everything I own is on the table or dresser. There is a book, a pen and some underclothes. My worldly possessions after six weeks.  I am told that I have been in hospital for six weeks.  I have no idea how long. I am leaving the security of this place. The place that looked after me, provided everything that I wanted. Which was a shower, a bed and food. There was always a clock on the wall to tell me something. The staff were always polite and always by the script. Always appear caring.  Never yelled at me. Never criticized me or my personality. They were always there. Always polite and then gone. Never rough or unexpected.

It is the end of waiting. In this ward I always waited for something. Waited quietly and patiently. I was never in control of anything.  When and where something got eventually done was completely at someone else’s whim. I would wait for them to come, or wait for them to decide they were doing it or wait for them to decide how it was going to be done. I was the passive one. The one without any control.

But we must go with the truth. I enjoyed being there. I loved the lack of power, the lack of control, the lack of deciding anything and the endless stream of sympathy. I was a patient. I was continually waited on. And the food. They always bought it to your bed and it was always nice. Now I’m going home. Tomorrow I might be treated like a normal person; an ex-patient.

And my children. What can I say about them as I go home. My life has changed. It will never be the same again.  And them as well.  My relationship with all of them has changed. Irrevocable and unavoidable. I will start this blog to try and connect with my children. Hopefully to tell them something. To tell them my view of the last few weeks.  They have to know what I have been through.

Chapter 7 :Do you want a coffee?

Stacey enters, apologizes and asks me, “Do you want a coffee?”

I nod.  Of course I want coffee. It means a trip out of this place, amongst the normal people. The non-pajama wearing people. The non-nurses.

Down into the area outside the lifts. This area outside the lifts is a tightly guarded area separating the ward from the outside. This area belongs in a film. As the area the hero has to try and cross. I imagine what sort of music would be playing as the hero attempts to cross this guarded area.

Stacey can get me across this tightly guarded area. She has a  key and a password to transport this area. Stacey deserves an Oscar. We go down the lift into a coffee shop. The chairs are all on tables. The floor is being cleaned.

I finish the coffee and immediately know we are going back. Up the lift. Through the security guarded area. Past the nurses reading screens. Back to my room, my bed, my toilet, my shower. I lie on my bed and tell Stacey, “That was good.”

Stacey goes and I lie on the bed. How much longer until tea. Can I hear any activity which tells me food is being delivered? Not that I am hungry. I just want to watch what the staff are doing.

Next day I am taken to the local gardens. Every time we approach a road Stacey comes and protects me. She holds my arm to stop me racing across the road. We stand beside the road. Her with her arm around me as she looks up and down the road. She is continually protecting me or looking after me.  She will see everything. I will look at my feet.

A nurse comes and tells me that they are coming at 11 0’clock tomorrow and I had better be here then.  The next morning I lie on my bed and three doctors arrive. They say, “hello.” The doctors are all very neat and hold clip boards. They look at their notes, add to them, look into the distance, show the clipboards to each other and nod.  They do a lot of nodding. They talk about me. They don’t ask me any questions.  I also bail out and fail to ask them any of the big questions.  They say goodbye and go.

I sit in the room motionless.  A sitter comes and sits by me. She smiles at me and says, “Do you want a shower.”

It’s the middle of the day. Not my usual time but who cares so I say, “Okay let’s do it.”

The sitter gets a towel. She turns the shower on. There is a small bottle of shampoo or soap. I take my clothes off and stand under the shower. The water feels great. I turn around and wet myself completely. Then I cover myself with soap. I keep on turning around and wetting myself. I don’t care how many people come in and watch. I’ve gone past that stage.  My body is past that stage. It only wants to enjoy itself. It doesn’t care who is watching. 

Chapter 6. Information

The nurses have spoken to my daughters (I don’t know when or where) and they have all agreed that the injection I need will be given to me each morning.  First thing in the morning a nurse enters and says, “Which side?” and then complains that it is too sticky. 

The injection is into the lower abdomen (let’s call it the stomach) and doesn’t hurt.  That is followed by a tablet and a glass of water to wash it down with. At this stage nobody has told me why I am in hospital and what the medication is for. That is not something that is relevant. They are preoccupied with other things. Such as not getting into trouble by doing the wrong thing. A chart says give this patient IM injection every morning. Now do it. It doesn’t say tell him anything.

One morning when she is injecting I behave like a mortal enemy of western civilization, the most evil nasty person imagined, and ask her “What is that for?”

“To prevent strokes.”

“I’m not going to have a stroke.”

“That’s because we are preventing them.”

“I’ve never had a stroke.”

She ignores that comment and looks at the tablet and the glass of water.

“You have to take your tablet. I’m watching you. Make sure you take it.”

She places the tablet on my tongue.

“Now swallow it.”

I make a few pretend swallowing movements and push the tablet under my tongue.  She then grabs my head and says, “Let’s see what you have done. Open your mouth.”

I open my mouth and the tablet is not visible. It is hidden under the tongue. She says good and then goes. Now I have to get rid of this tablet which is killing me. I head for the toilet.

I am moving very slowly.  Whenever I rise or move or try to move my thinking is very slow. This afternoon there will be another tablet. I can see it coming and it’s going to kill me. It slows you down so much your life is not worth living.

Since I have been here I have never seen a doctor. It’s only the nurses. No doctor has ever told me what tablet I need and why. I am beginning to think doctors don’t exist. They are just a rumor created to try and frighten people.  Instead we have nurses who inject me with stuff that is destroying me. Stuff they will not talk about. The last time I asked a question I was told. “You are always fixated about the same old thing. These tablets are preventing strokes. Get used to it. We are trying to help you. Do you really think we go to all the trouble of giving you something that is bad for you? Are we that type of person? We are here to help you. Okay.”

Alan: please note that I am not anti-medication. I am not telling anybody to stop taking their medication. What I am saying is you should be told what you are taking and why. You should be informed.

Chapter 5: More chatting with Stacey

I ask Stacey, “How long have I been here?”

She says, “Two to three weeks. Including downstairs and now up in this ward.”

I can’t tell Stacey I don’t remember anything about the last few weeks.  I have to say something.  I can put the question back to Stacey,” Well what have I been doing for the last few weeks.”

She asks me, “What do you remember?”

The truth is I remember nothing but I can tell she hates the topic as much as I do.  I can’t go with this. Instead I ask her about her work. She likes the question so I continue by asking her, “How is your favorite family going today?”

She also likes this question and I lie back as she talks about her kids. She is happy which makes me happy. I love her stories and I try and prolong them by asking about her children and husband.  Why did she have to wreck everything by asking me about the last few weeks? For the last few weeks I’ve been out cold not responding to anything or anybody.  I have been lying on my back being feed through a tube.  That’s what I have been doing for the last few weeks.  Don’t ask about it.

Chapter 4: Stacey sits next to my bed

Stacey sits next to my bed and I ask her, “What else have you been doing today.  How’s your work going?”

She talks about her work and it sounds very exciting.  To be able to work. Does she know how lucky she is? Her enthusiasm for her work is exciting. She talks without pause about her work. She is doing something she really loves. I’m curious about the issues she is having at work. About problems that I can help with. How can I help my kids? Like I used to. What can I do now? And I lie on my bed and I know that those days have gone.

I turn around and Stacey is also gone.  I’m all alone again. I look at the toilet. I reckon I know the way to use it. I can sit here and I reckon this handle flushes it. There is a collection of soap containers in front of the shower. Can I use this soap? I reckon if I push this lever soap will come out. Does it belong to the guy sleeping in the other bed? I play with the taps over the shower. One must be hot. One must be cold. I try and get the hang of them. Then back to bed.

Back in my bed I wake from my slumber and she is back right in front of me again. Stacey. If she is back it could be another day. Or perhaps it is later the same day. She leans towards me and says quietly, “Do you want a cup of coffee?” 

I immediately realize what she is talking about. She is not talking about something to drink. She is talking about an exciting adventure.  A trip where you buy things. A trip where you tell a barista exactly what you want. She is not talking about the coffee in the room up the corridor.

I nod my head yes. Of course I want to go. Of course I want to get out of this place. We go back down the corridor to the area in front of the lifts. I wait while Stacey fiddles on a few security keyboards and we are out.  Into the lift, down the lift and then out of the lift. Down a busy passageway passing normal people.  In my bedclothes I shuffle looking at my every footstep.  Worried about where to put each foot. The normal people glide past me dancing and floating with speed not looking at their feet. I am in their world. Who am I kidding? They know I am not one of them.

The coffee shop is proud, noisy and announces itself before we arrive. The barista is patrolling the area behind the cakes. He is in complete control of all the cakes. We get a lot of pleasure out of asking about each cake and then telling him what we prefer.  He gets pleasure out of making exactly the drink that we ask for. I watch the froth in the cup, the foam and the streaks of chocolate on top.

We drink the coffee and agree that it was nice. We then stand up and leave our empty cups and saucer covered in crumbs and go. We then head back to the lift area and rise up to our floor.  I wait while Stacey does all the official stuff.  Now I am officially in. Now down the corridor. Past the central nurses’ area full of nurses looking at screens. I shuffle back to my room and lie on my bed.

Chapter 3: Beautiful music

She nods and I ask, “What floor is the chapel on?”

She has risen and waits for me to shuffle out of bed through the door. We hobble down the main corridor towards the area outside the lift. It is a security area. Stacey goes off to speak to a member of staff and I wait. She returns then enters my name into a keyboard. We then wait for a lift to come up. The lift eventually comes. It is very wide enough for a couple of stretchers. The lift is empty and Stacey presses the button to the fourth floor.

On the fourth floor the direction to the chapel is obvious. The chapel is a collection of chairs arranged in rows and facing a pulpit. On one side is an organ with some music on top. I grab a seat near the organ and motion to Stacey, “Okay sit down.”

She sits down in front of the organ and starts riffling through the music.  Stacey finds a piece and tentatively opens it and starts to play. I sit motionless with eyes closed, listening to the music. Nothing else matters as I listen to the notes move up and down. She finishes and I say, “Very good. That was very good.”

She is happy that she managed to play it, to get through it, and then sits quietly. We are both silent until I say, “Do more. I really enjoyed that.”

She looks around at the other music and finally grabs a piece. I once again listen very quietly. Motionless I listen to every note afraid one may be played without me hearing it. I don’t listen for mistakes.  I listen for every note and try to absorb every note. I want every note to be a part of me. To listen to its pitch or sound or length and to guess what is coming next.

Back at the room I say, “I really enjoyed that.”

It’s nice to say something which is true and which I really believe. The music was so different to everything else I have heard in hospital.

Chapter 2: Stacey turns up

There’s nothing I can say about the last two weeks.  There is no question I have about the last two weeks.  The only thing I want to know is how to use the toilet correctly. How to use it without dribbling.  How to finish everything before I stand up.

I’m ready to move on. I’ve got things to do.  Jolene introduces me to a member of staff. The member is a sitter.  Later I learn what she is here for.  She is to sit with me all day to prevent me injuring myself. This bores me. Why would I injure myself? Most of the time she does nothing except watch me. Without speaking to me.

Next day I decide to survey the room.  It contains two beds.  My bed is where I spend all my time. There is a wardrobe opposite the bed.  It contains the flimsy remains of a few clothes. They look like my clothes. How did they get there? There is a sink between the two beds. There is a small door leading off to toilet and shower. I wonder how I can use the shower. The room is very neat and clean. Every surface has been scrubbed and shines. Within a few weeks I learn that the bed is the only thing that matters.  I lie on it and look out the window.

I listen to the nurses in the corridor and anticipate if they are coming in to my room. If they come in they will glance at the chart and say, “Have your bowels moved?”  Initially the question surprises me and I want to say, “Mind your own business.” This is a very bad response.  Later I learn to say, “Yes” as soon as they ask and they immediately without looking put the chart down with a very pleased look on their faces. I’ve worked out I can easily make them happy by saying yes or by saying they feel like they are about to move or they moved yesterday. So easy to make someone happy.  I can even say yes when the real answer is no and it’s just as effective.

I look around the room.  It is immaculate.  Beside the bed is a radio and reading light. How do I control them? I give up. Below them are some cupboards containing shirts, socks and underclothes.  I am pleased because they are mine. I never think about why my underpants are next to my bed. I just accept them and think about when I am going to wear them.

I notice the door to the corridor. It is unlocked. People keep on opening the door, peering in and then moving on.   Who are these people that keep on peering in. The corridor is continually busy with people moving up and down. Some of them peer in and shut the door. Some leave the door open. I prefer the ones that leave the door open. Then I can watch the people moving up and down the corridor.

A face I recognize turns up. Stacey. One minute I am staring at the cavalcade of staff patrolling the corridors the next Stacey’s face suddenly appears in front of me. She asks me, “What can I do for you?

“That’s easy. Play the piano.”

She looks slightly stunned.  I have no idea how this can be arranged but it really is what I would like her to do. To play the piano the way she used to. When she was young we would sit in the lounge room at home. She would practice for her exams and I would lie down and listen.

She says, “There is a piano in the chapel.”

“Okay let’s go there.”

Chapter 1: I open my eyes

I open my eyes and I can see things to look at. What can I see?  What is happening over there? I am in a bed. I think it’s a hospital.  That’s what it looks like. Immaculate neat beds and floor.  There is another bed in the room and a door leading off to another little room.  Looks like a toilet or a bathroom.  I’m actually dying to go to the toilet and it’s right next to me.  I move the blankets off me and swing my legs onto the floor.  

If I just walk around this other bed I will find out what is happening in this other room.  I cannot walk that freely.  I shuffle, holding on to what I can.  I finally arrive at the small door. I push It open. I immediately see strange objects.  A toilet like nothing I have ever seen before. A shower and mirror. A bench which has on it soap and I go for the toilet and sit on it. A pee would feel so good. Put me back in control.  I hear running water and lie back in bliss.  Feels so good.  Where am I? I reckon I can wash my hands and shuffle back to the bed I came from.  The other guy is still asleep. I sit back on the bed and swing my legs under the doona. 

I reckon I will shut my eyes and have a rest.

I wake again and this time Jolene is sitting next to my bed.  She is looking at me.  I sit myself up resting on the pillow and tell her, “I’ve had enough of this place.  I think I’ll go home.”

She raises her eyebrows and says,” Do you know how long you’ve been here?”

I reply with, “No, no idea.”

She says, “Two weeks in hospital. This ward and emergency. I’ve visited you”.

I say, “Two weeks. Not true.”

“Two weeks. You’ve been here for two weeks. I’ve visited you. I’ve seen you here.

I’m silent. I immediately think she’s telling me the truth. I can’t argue with her. She knows everything.  I can’t say, “I think you’re lying.” I sit quietly and imagine the last two weeks. It’s not possible. I remember nothing. Not one second of the last two weeks. It’s all gone. She’s telling the truth. I have been here for two weeks. I don't remember a second of it.