Hospital Plans…

My aim, for this week, is to stay out of hospital until after my vascular appointment next Monday (the 14th), which is starting to feel doable. Not planning anything beyond that as if the nurses are right, I’m likely to become an in-patient very quickly whether I develop septicaemia or not (see previous post).

My major problem, though, is with the hospital “bay system” – I simply cannot abide being so tightly closeted with a bunch of strangers in a staggeringly badly-ventilated room,** the stress back in April tipped me into a breakdown. They are also a massive source of potential  infection for me – my right leg is effectively an open wound from toes to knee and that’s a huge risk factor – not to mention that last time I had 5 hospital-acquired respiratory infections in 6 weeks. Currently treatment is quite aggressive, with daily potassium permanganate soaks which pretty much redefine “Ouchie!” for hours afterwards. Based on past experience, that’s not likely to be continued at APH – I need to be in either the vascular or dermatology unit which, I’m told, are at Clatterbridge.

**Either cold and draughty or stifling – nothing in between  and while I can tolerate high temperatures better than most, my arthritis is totally intolerant of draughts

In addition to that APH has a habit of putting dementia patients in with the general population. which means no sleep while they call for or rant at people whom only they can see  every goddamned night, with repeat performances throughout the day preventing catch-up sleep. Along with the staff night-shifts treating the place as a social club, and to hell with patient care, which also means no sleep. As do the snorers!

I WILL NOT GO INTO THE BAYS. Physically or mentally, I do not believe I would survive another extended stay. A stay of any length is an unacceptable risk. I would sooner risk dying at home because I believe that the risks would be a lot lower here. I do realise that the risks can never be zero, but they should be minimised as much as possible, and that means, for me, staying out of the bays.


I have, and I’m sure not entirely coincidentally, been sent a health assessment mailshot.

I can have – if I’m daft enough to pay – a wide variety of tests, including for heart, liver and kidney disease, gout, diabetes, “bone health”, whatever that is, and a whole bunch of other stuff. All of this would be detected – or not – via painless sensors on my arms and legs.

I’m sorry, I have to stop now  – my bullshit meter has just burst into flames!



7 thoughts on “Hospital Plans…

  1. You need intensive (or even surgical) treatment that’s so clear. However, surely any medic worth his salt would take one look at your legs and realise it would be a hazard to you AND other patients to put you in anything other than isolation. The risk of infection is just too great. Yes, I know all about the snoring/ dementia/draughts but they won’t be valid reasons for them…the risk is the key and that might get you what you need in other respects. I am just hoping you don’t have the problem and can stay out until 14th…

    • Surgical treatment’s my holy grail, as you know – let ’em take the damn leg, it’s no more use to me. Any more days like today and I’ll need the psych ward, never mind a side room.

      But yes – the fact that I’m infectious and also vulnerable to infection should get me a room, but it depends on whether they have one or not.

      Did I mention that the Staff nurse, today, said of the day I was hauled away unconscious, that she believes it was septicaemia, not pneumonia (would explain the hugely high temperature and the side room – I know for a fact you don’t get a side room with pneumonia or that high a temp, 109 degrees in old money, either), but why does the record show pneumonia in that case? Nope, I can’t see it being septicaemia.

  2. Here’s hoping you can stay out of “prison” for now. You really need to go into a ward for the vascular consultants who will know what is what with your legs. They may even agree to the amputation depending on how far the infection has gone.
    When you think of it the only way to stop this ever coming back, to stop the daily bathing, to stop the infection etc is to have it taken off! I pray that they will agree to that, or even suggest it themselves, but it really does need you to be in top form – as top of a form that you can go – so that the recovery goes well as well as the actual operation!
    Thinking of you and keeping everything crossed for you.
    Jay x

    • Infection’s now spread to my hands, Jay, so whatever happens had better happen soon.

      In absolute terms the infection doesn’t seem too bad to me – but it’s still enough to trash my life and scare the nurses. And if it scares them, it must be worse that I think it is. To be honest, it’s starting to scare me, too. Not helped, of course, by the GP and Staff Nurse working together to scare me into hospital now.


    • Thanks Bev.

      Actually, you’d be looking at Antarctic temps before it had any effect on transmission from patient A to patient B. My bed, for example, is full of particulate matter (dust made from my infected skin and puss). In a hospital this is casually shaken off the bedclothes into the air when the bed’s changed, where it can settle on other patients, on the beds, and floor, on the nursing auxiliaries themselves. I had the capacity to infect anyone with an open wound, even a shaving cut, within the closed environment of the bay. Anyone else, especially staff, could have transported the infection throughout the rest of the ward. It could even reinfect me, preventing healing.

      Even without me, and patients like me, having two rows of patients, facing each other across a small room and with no sense of hygiene (all too common these days), coughing all over each other (a cough or a sneeze can travel 40-odd feet – beds are just a few feet apart), is a recipe for constant respiratory infection and reinfection.

      Just two reasons why I won’t go back in the bays.


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