Still in hospital . . .

Well, this is by way of a test post, using my phone, and a progress report.

Been here a day shy of two weeks so far and I can tell you that the level of care is vastly

Reply to Arrowe Park Hospital’s censorship attempt…

This is the text of my email to Arrowe Park hospital, in response to their attempt to censor my blog:-

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With reference to your letter of July 26, in which you attempt to censor my blog, I must ask you to clarify exactly what it is you think is unsuitable for publication.

From my perspective

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Arrowe Park Hospital censorship attempt…

I’ve had a letter from Arrowe Park Hospital, complaining about my blog posts of April 18, May 16, and July 14,18, and 23, and they invite me to amend or remove them, and not do it again!

But here’s the thing, they just can’t be bothered to tell me what it is they object to, so how can I possibly amend them?

I can only assume, then, that they simply object to my criticism on general principles. Might I suggest then, APH, that if entirely justified criticism irks you so much, you might want to consider putting your own house in order and not giving vulnerable and seriously ill patients any reason to be pissed off at you and your staff. Just a thought…

Arrowe Park Hospital is history – before they actually do kill me…

After 4 days taking the beta-blocker, Nebivolol, in conjunction with a calcium-channel blocker, Adizem (Diltiazem), a potentially risky combination in itself, never mind the damage wrought by Nebivolol on its own (which, I admit, started well, but rapidly got worse), I now find myself back to exactly where I was 18 months ago, with my legs and feet so swollen that if I take my socks off there’s every chance I won’t be able to get them on again. Never mind being unable to get my boots on.

And I feel so appallingly ill I can barely function, not helped by the fact that eating makes me feel very much worse. Frankly, I probably should be

My Arrowe Park Hospital Records – first impressions suck…

Right then, kiddies, I’ve just had a quick overview of my hospital records, which finally arrived yesterday. I’m not impressed. Errors right from the start, with my employment status – I’m retired, not unemployed. There’s a difference.

The records are – so far as they’re intelligible – abysmal, they connect with reality only tangentially and, I’m sure, accidentally! One early entry says “Looks comfortable at rest” I was in fuckin’ agony the whole time I was in there and for over a month after. Still am, some days!Never mind “looks comfortable” whoever you were, bloody well ask!

So here’s a tip – hospitals are no place for stoicism. If you feel ill, or in pain, make sure every bugger knows about it because clearly, if you don’t, they make reckless, and potentially dangerous, assumptions. Jesus wept! A corpse looks comfortable!!!

One note says, on Jan 21

Pointless security…

I emailed Arrowe Park Hospital’s Access to Information Office about 10 days ago, asking for all records pertaining to my stay there in January (because from what I’ve been told my records are a work of complete fiction).

After about a week, I got an email back saying that there would be no problem, but they would need a letter from me

Sleeping better – just in the wrong place…

There is one positive thing to come out of my recent medical problems – I’m sleeping better.

All my life, my respiratory problems (I’ve had the precursors of my COPD, asthma and bronchiectasis, since age two, when almost simultaneous measles and whooping cough trashed my lungs), have meant that sleeping was problematic. The change of posture would often trigger a coughing fit, and invariably, lying down made breathing difficult and caused my lungs to fill up with toxic crap overnight. Now, though, that doesn’t happen.

The reason is that I haven’t been to bed since

They’re dangerous at Arrowe Park Hospital…

By the way, I remembered, last night, about the doctor that appeared to have an urge to kill me last weekend. I’d forgotten about the bugger, I’d become so focused on getting out of there with my sanity intact – didn’t quite make it, though.

I don’t know if you know, but asthmatics should NEVER take beta-blockers. They conflict with asthma meds, especially beta-2 agonists like Ventolin (as well as dramatically worsening asthma itself), and the reaction can be extremely dangerous, even fatal.

So, Sunday morning, this

Hell is Arrowe Park Hospital…

Some of what follows looks like melodrama – I can assure you that it is not.

The perceptive among you will have seen that I’ve been in hospital recently. Arrowe Park Hospital, Wirral or, to give it its full, ticked-all-the-boxes name, Wirral University Teaching Hospital NHS Foundation Trust. Shame we don’t have a Wirral University, but there you go…

It all started in the early hours of Thursday, 20^th, when I woke up feeling as if I’d been shot in the left-hand, back ribs. Fuzzily, I put it down to a sudden cramp from sleeping awkwardly, but by morning I was in agonising pain in my left lung, which appeared to have almost no capacity at all. I was breathing very fast and very shallow – faster, in fact, than my heart was beating, just to get enough air to remain conscious, and that was touch and go.

I got up, fired up my PC and faxed the GP surgery, detailing what was wrong and pointing out that I was faxing because I couldn’t speak. So what did they do? The clueless bastards phoned me back to say I should call an ambulance! Er, hello! Can’t speak – why didn’t you fucking do it?

Anyway, I managed to phone – one word = one breath – and

Abandon all hope, ye who enter here…

That should be the legend over the door to the A&E department, Arrowe Park Hospital, Wirral.

There are many versions of that quotation. However, I feel that this one best suits Dante’s original text “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate” and it’s the one I was taught by the best English master in the world, bar none. Argumentative pedants will be ignored. So there!

Monday night, after