Tales from the Hospital Ward
Episode One- Watchful Eye
Intro/Context:
Intro/Context:
I am doing a practice-based PhD. I specialise in the autoethnography research methodology, which means the researcher explores their lived experience within a wider social issue. I explore non-fiction autoethnography in relation to disability and chronic illness within my research website, www.linktr.ee/disabledphdstudent. My Substack page hosts my ‘creative writing hub’, which focuses on creative disability and chronic illness autoethnography. So, my Substack has more fiction, unconventional poetry, and stuff that doesn't fit within my other publication pages. The different autoethnography forms on various platforms help me measure the impact of different styles. Tales from The Hospital Ward is a fictional series I developed based on real-life experiences being a patient in a hospital gastroenterology ward. Gastroenterology wards usually have patients with digestive issues, which, in my case, Ulcerative Colitis, which is a digestive disease. This first ‘Tales from the Hospital Ward’ episode was developed following attending a Creative Writing Class where we were set a writing task to incorporate an ''Object of Communication'', which in this episode is a phone. The writing series helped me detail and process the traumatic experiences as a mode of personal therapeutic benefit, even though the original aim was to reach engagement/impact with others. But maybe because this accidental writing for therapeutic purposes and publishing these pieces online created more engagement with others:
(Disclaimer: lots of swearing)
Characters and scenes are fictional
Episode One Tales from The Hospital Ward:
For fucks sake, why do they always wheel new patients into this ward in the middle of the night? I know the hospital plays juggling balls with beds, but this is getting ridiculous. Patients often first go into A&E, then wait for a bed. But that bed will be in a 'temporary ward' and then transferred to the ward specialising in their condition. It took about three days for me to go from A&E to here, known as the s**t ward. Its formal name is Gastroenterology, which hosts a range of digestive diseases, hence the name s**t. I felt annoyed the other day when a friend texted, 'Well, at least you will get loads of rest being a hospital patient'. Fat chance of that. It's noisier and brighter than Blackpool Illumination Week.
2 am, staff turn on the fluorescent lights, which only means one thing for patients in this ward- a dash to the only toilet to have a s**t and then s**t yourself because another patient is having a s**t in the toilet and then all moan we never get enough sleep because the lights are turned on throughout the night. A little shrivelled-up thing underneath a blob of blankets is wheeled in on a bed. That surely can't be a person underneath? On top of the blankets lay a bright pink smartphone case. In the bed opposite, Chelsea soon shot up from her self-induced coma. Normally, Chelsea goes out for a cigarette when she wakes up. Well, I say cigarette. She meets her drug dealer outside and smokes a joint. She then orders a McDonald's on Deliveroo. But Chelsea stayed in bed and didn't moan like she usually does, eyes on the phone case. Maybe she likes pink.
The small blob appeared from underneath the blankets. Oh, it's a woman. The nursing staff started admission paperwork yes at 2 am. Vicky and Michael were assigned to her care. Well, it was Vicky who did the majority of the work as usual. Michael was agency. Michael is paid more and does less. But Vicky still annoys me. She does everything loud. At least with Sarah, the Health Care Assistant, commonly known as an HCA, cares about disrupting other patients and almost tiptoes and whispers compared to balchy Vicky.
"Sarah, will you clean that bed and take her obs?" Vicky shouted to Sarah. I quickly learned that the HCAs do most of the basic care. The nurses are extremely busy doing medication rounds. Sarah writes the little old lady's name on the wall behind her, 'Edna' in felt tip.
"I want to see Phillip,'’ Edna attempted to get up half-dressed.
"Phillip is dead, Edna. You're in hospital,' Vicky said to Edna in her usual diplomatic self.
Oh, bloody hell, we have another dementia patient in, I thought. This is all I need; I've had hardly any sleep with the comings and goings, and I'm forever watching my stuff in case Chelsea takes an interest. She’s going to make it worse.
The problem with wards these days is that staff can't see what happens. I remember my dad telling me of the time he had a burst appendix in the early 1960s. He described the ward as one big room with loads of beds and a matron at the front overseeing everyone and keeping ‘a tight ship’. With progression, I wonder if we are somehow going backwards. This s**t…. sorry gastroenterology ward, you come through the front door greeted by the desk with miserable faces and a list of patients on the whiteboard. You then turn right down a corridor. There are six bays on the left, three male and three female. Each bay has four beds and a bathroom. Then, on the right, you have the private rooms in high demand for patients with infections that can spread. So, the staff on the desk can’t see into any of the bays or rooms, but they can see down a long empty corridor with posters on the walls about how to spot sepsis and The Quality Care Commission.
As soon as Vicky, Michael and Sarah left our bay, Chelsea went over to Edna's bed quicker than a vulture to pray. Chelsea thought I wasn't looking as I had the blue paper curtains drawn around. But I have a gap, and they are so transparently thin that you can see everything anyway. Like a magician, she played a disappearing trick with Edna's phone. What do I do? I must share a bay with Chelsea, which puts me in a vulnerable position if I confront her, but I can’t stand lying in the next bed with this thief. I don't feel safe at all.
I wait until Chelsea goes for her habitual cigarette and then go to the nurse's desk. About five staff are behind the nurse's desk discussing a recent holiday.
"Vicky, can I have a word?" I try and get her attention over the desk, which feels as high as the ceiling.
Vicky looked up with her eyes but not body, ‘’Yes, but it will have to be quick; I’ve got notes to write up.’’
I was tempted to say, 'Oh, that's strange, you were just talking about your holiday'. But I reigned myself in, as I have got to be treated on this ward. I don’t want to make my hospital stay more difficult. After all, they are entitled to talk, which can help their morale, so who am I to judge?
‘’Well……. I saw Chelsea take Edna's phone." I whispered so other patients like me couldn’t hear.
‘’You what?’’, Vicky responds.
So, I have to repeat louder, ‘’Chelsea nicked Edna’s phone’’. The guys from Bay 1 heard. I hope no one is friendly with Chelsea and says anything to her during their cig breaks outside.
"What did it look like?" Vicky said as she was still looking at her paperwork.
"A smartphone in a pink phone case. You might have seen it during admission,’’ I say enthusiastically and quickly before Chelsea comes back.
Vicky laughs, saying "I doubt Edna would have a smartphone very much. She's 86 with Dementia.’’
"I saw C-h-elsea t-ake it". I started stuttering because Vicky wasn't listening and sounded put out, not making eye contact.
"Didn't you challenge her at the time?" Vicky said as she continued writing her notes on the P.C. before her.
"Well, no, I didn't know what she would do if she knew that I knew, so I’m telling you now," I said, disheartened.
Vicky sighed and, in the next breath "Well, there's nothing we can do then, as you didn't approach her. Nothing on Edna's records indicates she had a phone with her. ‘’ In the next breath, before finishing the sentence, Vicky got up enough to say the end of the conversation and entered the staff room.
I see Chelsea coming through the door. Shit. I had to think on the spot, as I didn't want Chelsea to believe I was snitching on her. I see Sarah come out of the staff room to the front desk.
"Sarah, I was wondering if you could get me some painkillers," I say, almost rubbing the sweat off my forehead.
‘’I'll have to get Vicky to sign off, and she's just gone for her break. I'll leave a note for her when she returns". Even though HCA can’t prescribe, Sarah always tries to be helpful.
"Thanks, Sarah, " I zoom back to the bay before Chelsea has a chance to nick stuff or, even worse, question why I was at the staff desk.
The morning staff start their shift, and we sure know it. First, the cleaner turns on all the lights and makes a racket. ‘Then, the nurse was on her morning round with her trolley. The trolleys are all electronic now with computers and iPads. The housekeeper comes around asking what you want for breakfast. Lids on top of the dishes served on your bed table on wheels. It's kind of like the Ritz, except cold with less fuss. No piano player, though, like the Ritz. I know the Ritz has a piano player as I took Mum there for a special birthday, a nice place. Or is it the Blitz I'm getting mixed up with?
Our bay is lucky to have a TV, even if someone nicked off with the remote control, so we can’t change the channel. It's kind of like a hotel feel, so maybe not the blitz.
Then the pack of doctors came. They don't wear white coats anymore. Ten student medics followed one consultant with a crumpled-up paper file and a matching shirt.
The consultant pulls the paper-thin curtains around Edna's bed. I've always wondered why they do that for confidentiality and privacy when you can still hear and just about see everything they say. The ten medical students squash up around the consultant. You wouldn't think it was Covid. Yet no doctor wants to examine any patient but is willing to breathe down their colleague's neck.
"We will have to get her Crohn's under control, then transfer her to a dementia ward, " the consultant instructed his assistants, scratching his unshaven chin. The students all nodded in synchronisation. Then, the pack of doctors energetically opened the curtains, sounding like a zip wire at a theme park and paced to their next victim……patient. It always sounds as though a pack of elephants rather than wolves are going down the corridor floor in the distance.
Later that day, Sarah came into our bay with Edna's crumpled-up file.
"You look confused, Sarah," I say as I look over from my bed.
"Well, there's nothing in the notes to say Edna has a history of dementia. I've checked everything".
And knowing Sarah, she is very thorough. I said to her last week that she should be a nurse. Sarah laughed and said that isn't her- being a ''trolley dolly,'' as she puts it, just giving out medication. The medication trolley with wheels even comes to your bed now with a computer screen attached and locked drawers with nothing in them. Sarah said she likes to treat patients like her relatives would like to be treated with care and compassion, so that’s why she's staying at HCA. Sarah wasn't supposed to divulge that anecdote, but it was almost like she needed to sound out, and she didn't have that support from her team.
Later, a hospital on-call doctor came around after Sarah raised the question with him. Sarah purposefully waited until the day staff went home to do it; otherwise, she knew it wouldn't have been taken seriously. A tall, thin, young Asian doctor came into the bay, asked Edna some questions, and took some blood. I thought, bloody heck, these doctors get younger, or am I getting older? I felt a maternal streak towards the doctor, wanting to feed him up and care for him so he could care for others.
A few hours later, Vicky wheeled a drip to Edna's bed area. Everything in this place is on wheels. Vicky sounded put out because it took her two hours to search for one.
"What does that on-call doctor know? Edna’s obviously got Dementia,’’ Vicky said to Michael. Michael, as always, didn't say anything.
Vicky put two antibiotics in Edna, one in a cannula and one via a drip.
The next morning, I opened my curtain to see a bright, bushy-tailed Edna eating her toast. She smiles at me and says, ''Hello, my name's Edna. How are you?''
It was almost like Edna was a different person from the little confused blob the day before. As the morning progressed, so did our conversations. I learned how Edna has three children and four grandchildren. Edna was a nurse in the ''good old days'', whatever the good old days meant.
"Sarah says I had a water infection, making me delirious. But I still must be confused as I don't know where my phone is, ‘’ Edna said whilst she kept looking around her as though the phone would magically appear.
I see a bit of bright pink coming through the corner of Chelsea's mattress. Chelsea is out at Morrisons. We know as she booked a taxi there. Someone did tell the nursing staff, but off she still went.
I went over to Chelsea's mattress and grabbed the phone. "Here it is," I said as I handed it to Edna.
"Oh my God, what was it doing over there?’’ Edna gratefully said.
"I think Chelsea was keeping it safe for you, Edna". I didn’t know what else to say.
"That's awfully kind of her, " Edna smiled.
Edna entered her passcode on the phone and asked, "What's the WIFI password in here?"
"I'm not sure; I'm not as good with technology as you, Edna!" I smiled back at Edna.
Chelsea strolled in back from Morrisons like one of those sloths I saw on TV once.
Doctor Smith follows about one minute later. No one messes with Doctor Smith. I didn't think she was working on our ward today.
"Chelsea, I hear you booked a taxi to Morrisons." Dr Smith poshly but firmly enquiries whilst knowing the answer.
Chelsea said, "Yes, AND?"
"Well, then, you are well enough to go home. Nothing is coming up in your blood results that indicate you are unwell. We will discharge you". Dr Smith was firm but fair.
"How will I get home? Can you pay for a taxi?" Chelsea said as she was trying to find something underneath her mattress.
’’No,’’ Dr Smith said as she looked sternly towards Chelsea, which reminded me of a headteacher to a naughty child who was pushing their luck.
Chelsea rang her drug dealer, sorry, boyfriend and said, "They bloody piss takers. How do they expect me to get home? I live 3 miles away."
"Maybe you could book that same taxi you had to Morrisons," Sarah said, wheeling another contraption into the bay to check Edna's observations.
"Oh, by the way, thanks for looking after my phone, Chelsea," Edna added.
For once, Chelsea didn't know what to say.
The End of Episode One. Like and follow if you want more Episodes of Tales from the Hospital Ward.
The End of Episode One. Like and follow if you want more Episodes of Tales from the Hospital Ward
Thanks for taking a ride with me during this story. Here is my full work-in-progress research page www.linktr.ee/disabledphdstudent
Lots of drama. A funny and interesting read!