Looking into holes Part Four

 “It was all go around your bed last night. It was like an episode of casualty”

“ I know, I thought I’d had it” I said

“ never seen anything like that. How are you feeling?”

I can’t pretend it didn’t give me a massive scare but on the consultant rounds that morning it was pretty much played down.

“Sorry you had to go through that” said the lead consultant. “We’ll just make sure we accompany your next platelet transfer with an anti histamine infusion, that should do the trick”

The ward overlooks a school and coppice so quite a pleasant outlook. There are four beds, one in each corner bound by a curtain rail designed to provide individual patient privacy in those more personal, stay away from the light, moments. Each bed is bound by a movable drip and a hinged tv with a built in phone swinging out from the wall. Nobody uses these because everyone has a smart phone and/or a tablet. The design is also reminiscent of how the world in 1969 saw the world in 2001.

Joe who sits across from me is leaving today but he’ll be back in next week to resume his treatment. He’s a likeable chap with a full social life. He plays rugby, goes mountain biking and I mean proper mountain biking on a £2,000 bike. He’s also estranged from his wife and has a teenage son. Running his own business lockdown annihilated his finances and that was compounded by the discovery that he had leukaemia. Money is tight and, as he explained to me things were pretty much in the balance right now especially as his landlord had decided to sell up leaving Joe and his son potentially homeless.

Joe shrugs his shoulders a lot “it is what it is. I’m fine, you just get on with it. People say they’ll help but when it comes to the crunch they have their own lives and I have to deal with mine.” it’s not easy for Joe when he lives over 20 miles  from the hospital. And without  the support of his ex wife the structures just aren’t in place to ensure he can at least get to the hospital and back. 

It was 11 in the morning when he was told he could leave. Presented with a cavernous bag of drugs which he would need to accommodate within his daily routine. The hospital does have a free taxi service but it is in big demand and they come for you when they can. By 5 Joe is noticeably irritated , pacing around in small circles, looking into the coppice and back into the ward. Boredom and frustration go hand in hand pretty much all the time but, unless you have the support mechanisms s to fill the gap outside the hospital it begins to feel almost shawshankian trying to escape the hospital confines.

Joe walked out to the nursing station, no-one there so he repeated the exercise three maybe four times. Eventually he managed to talk to someone who evinced surprise that Joe was waiting for transport because he wasn’t on the list. It was 7pm and now he was breaking. His son had just walked out on his mum and was back at Joe’s flat. 

“ Don’tt worry we’ll get you on the list now”

“How long will I need to wait?” an exasperated Joe opined.

“Well there’s a few people on the list but it shouldn’t be too long”

“Forget it” said Joe. I need to get home, my son is there on his own.”

Joe called a taxi, was quoted £35 and reluctantly agreed.  That’s the last I saw of him; a man pushed to the absolute edge, desperately trying to maintain a laddish optimism in the face of one obstacle after another. It just made me grateful for what I have with my family. 

A very old man has replaced Joe in the corner bed. He’s painfully thin and his arms are a mass of bruises.the skin on his head is compromised, red and flaky. His hair is like fine gossamer. A nurse comes to settle him in. He has a bag in his hand. “This is from your wife; she told me to tell you she loves you”