They're Fantastic!

I often moan that, in this well-structured, retired life of mine, there is little of excitement to write about in these weekly jottings.  This cannot be said of the past few days, however.  I woke up on Tuesday morning feeling quite chipper.  I'd beaten the alarm by a couple of minutes, which was useful since I knew I had to clear away the washing that had been drying overnight, before I could begin my normal morning routines.

I was at work on time or a minute or two early, and quickly established what had been left for me by my friend who does the Monday shift.  The working day began well until, a little more than hour in, I walked over to guide a new colleague through a task he hadn't done before.  As I peered over his shoulder I was aware that I couldn't see his computer screen clearly.  My first thought was simply that this was due to the fact that I'd removed my specs when I put my mask on (I still haven't found a way of coping with the combination of beard, mask and specs without misting up).  But, almost immediately, I realised that, in addition to that anticipated problem, I was seeing two misaligned images of what I was looking at.

I went and sat down again and asked someone to get me a drink of water: past experiences of 'dazzled vision' had told me that a drink and closing of the eyes for a few minutes would clear the problem.  This time, though, the symptoms were much stronger and a mere drink was too little, too late.  Before long, although safely seated, I began to feel dizzy, the room was swimming before my eyes and I started retching.  Considerate co-workers quickly took control as, stage by embarrassing stage, my breakfast was transferred to a strategically placed and lined waste bin.  I heard instructions being issued: have you got gloves on? go and get an apron! no, don't call him, his partner is shielding!  My young colleague efficiently closed down the computers and, after being assured that there was nothing more he could do, left for home.  Someone called for an ambulance, and someone else gently wiped my beard ... time after time!

Before long, the paramedics arrived and took control.  A canula was inserted in my forearm.  There were all sorts of questions, to which I knew the answers, but couldn't provide them for the muscular effort of being sick.  Eventually things calmed down; I was transferred to the ambulance and dozed under the influence of a quick-acting anti-vomit drug and against the background of the rattling of the vehicle as it sped to the local hospital.  By the time we were parked outside A&E awaiting a cubicle within, I was feeling quite a bit better.

Once control had been handed over to hospital staff and the paramedics had left for their next call, I found myself in a cubicle with glazed doors that gave me a near perfect view of the nursing station.  I could see for myself the efficient operation of the department.  Nurses came and went, each one carefully and conscientiously announcing her name and what she was going to do to or for me.  Blood samples were taken, and an ECG trace obtained, and temperature and blood pressure noted regularly.  Finally, I was attended - with the same courtesies - by the doctor, American by voice but oriental in appearance.  She was swift and thorough in what she had gleaned from all the data collected.  She announced that I would be given fluids and, in answer to my request to use a toilet, directed me to 'the bathroom, right over there!'

By now, it was mid-afternoon.  I had a drip feeding into my arm and alternated my interest between the ongoing operations beyond the glass and the sudoku I was playing on my mobile phone.  Every now and then one or other nurse would catch my eye as she passed by to the cubicles on either side, and most exchanged a smile.  About the point when the half-litre of fluid I was being given had finished, the doctor returned.  After applying all the standard checks to make sure that I hadn't suffered a stroke, she explained that my unfortunate experience had been caused, in her opinion, by a combination of dehydration (I hadn't been drinking sufficiently on a daily basis for quite some while) and a slow heart rate which, in some ways is not a bad thing, but in other ways causes problems, such as in this instance, when it doesn't get enough of what fluid is there around the body so effectively as is required.

All that remained was to be taken to the 'discharge lounge' (sounds like an airport, I know, but it wasn't so luxurious!) to await transport home.  After an early night, the next day I felt virtually normal, and yesterday morning I was back at work as usual, and with the unexpected delight of having a new volunteer to train, hopefully to fill the remaining slot in our present schedule.  Medically, I've changed and enhanced my drinking habits, and am in contact with my GP to investigate further the overall problems of circulation and heartbeat.

Don't listen to anyone who dares to deride any aspect of our NHS - from personal experience, now, I can say ... "THEY'RE FANTASTIC!"