Well… so much to say. Sorry for the absence, but I was in prison. Imprisoned I mean. And thanks to the episode of limited, rather no, freedom, I now understand a great deal more about the various beliefs and approaches of hospital staff, from midwife to top level consultant, and their hugely differing interpretations of test results and hospital protocol.
If I were to believe every word uttered from the mouth of every caregiver I’d believe I was critically ill one day and perfectly fit and healthy the next.
Take Dr Sour for example, who left his bedside manner in the car park a few weeks ago. Seems I had him all wrong. Completely - and I’m not saying that just because he was the only one that approved of my going home (albeit blood pressure dependent, but that’s OK, I cracked it – deep breaths and think of lavender – works a treat).
Why he’s now Dr Cool
He seems to be the only one that doesn’t indulge in hysteria or over react. I approve of that. Like I said, not ill, pregnant. PREG – NANT. See? There are certain symptoms associated with pregnancy that don’t necessarily need drugs, bed rest or imprisonment. I guess when I marched in the other week insisting I needed an ECG, he did the same – didn’t freak out, took my pulse, told me it wasn’t necessary. When I finally persuaded one of the hystericals to order me one, the result was normal. At that time, I wanted to be taken notice of – but get too much attention, suddenly all you want is to be left alone.
So Mr Sour, (and it seems you are ‘Mr’ not ‘Dr’, my mistake) you are now Mr Cool, and welcome at my bedside anytime, manner or no manner, it’s all the same to me…