Tuesday, September 13

This should be my last day ihere in hospital. It's been three weeks and I feel I'm becoming institutionalised like a long-term prisoner. But the end is in sight. Marilyn will pick me up tomorrow morning and we'll go straight to Longford to help Madeleine celebrate here 21st birthday.

it's still early here as I write this and the hospital is srarting to come to life. It's certainly hard to sleep in, especially after the cleaners arrive. I used to think it was the Matron who ran the hospital or the Ward Sisters, but it's the cleaners. They have the right to go where they like, when they like and woe betide any patient who gets in the way of their polishing machines.

And they're so loud! Of course, some of the nurses are no better. My room-mate rang his bell at 5 this morning to get some help to go to the toilet. The nurse on duty arrives and cheerfully bellows, 'What's up, darlin'?' Well, that's my sleep over. It's great to see that young female bogans see nursing as a good career choice but maybe their training should include keepin their voice down.

Sunday, September 4

it was a special day today ... I escaped the hospital for a couple of hours to celebrate Father's Day with 3 generations of Christie women: Marilyn, Madeleine and Macie. I trundled my walker across the road to Aromas and enjoyed a very welcome lunch.

But all good things come to an end and I was soon back in the ward waiting for my carefully calorie- and taste-controlled hospital dinner to arrive. A lot of the dishes have exotic and enticing names but they all have a grey sameness about them. I must say I am impressed with the system they have for serving the food. All the meals are prepared off-site in some vast impersonal kitchen. Individual trays are brought to the hospital about an hour before meal time and put in an elaborate refrigerator. At some point a timers clicks on and half of each tray is heated up while the other half (with dessert and so on) stays cold.

Fifty minutes later a bell rings and the elves roll out the meals to the waiting patients. The system doesn't make the food taste any better but it's a clever use of technology and is probably cheaper.

August 3

Today is day 11 of my visit to hospital. On weekdays, I'm busy with Physio so time passes but today is Saturday and time drags. The fellow in the next bed has pneumonia and is really struggling. In fact, everybody here seems to be at death's door so, but if I wasn't depressed before, I'm very glum now.

The routine of four-hourly 'obs' is tedious and my fingers are sore with all the punctures of blood sugar testing. I feel like a fraud; I need to exercise my right leg and hand but I'm not sick. I can't see why I'm taking up a hospital bed which might be better utilised by some other poor soul.

Marilyn comes in every day which is great. I tell her to go home but she tells me she doesn't like the emptiness of the house. Clearly I'm good for something even if it's only to provide company. I suppose after 50 years you get used to each other.