peter's prang

day 25: january 21 - back to the doctors'

Drove home yesterday but we won't be up to speed with everything for a while yet - went to doctors' this morning and Peter needs more emergency chest xrays and shoulderblade too, which may be broken, maybe he has another pneumothorax, maybe problems from painkillers affecting his kidneys and possible torn muscles - so we are off to our local hospital this afternoon. He's going to take a while to mend, poor thing.

Update at 5pm:

Phew, it isn't another pneumothorax. And the swelling near his shoulderblade is because one of the broken ribs has moved. So he doesn't need to be admitted to hospital. We can wait for blood tests etc until the beginning of next week.

day 4: friday 31 december - we get him out, but it takes time

Day 4: Friday 31 December: Peter phones in the morning to say he is being discharged. Kathy and I go shopping for clothes in the new Sainsbury's (underwear, socks, teeshirts for us both and a fleece top for Peter) as, apart from the things we stand up (or lie down) in, all our belongings are still in the Shogun on the locked reclamation garage in Braintree. I also buy 2 fleece throws - these are going to come in more handy than I realise.  I'm concerned that we are going to be late to collect him but waiting for drain removal and stitching, prescriptions, assessment by the houseman and further prescriptions, which take an age to arrive from the pharmacy, we don't manage to leave until after 6. Long sitting and waiting in limbo. Finally, a careful, but painful, drive back to Mersea.

Dougal makes a dish for tomorrow's family visitors - a goulash or something similar, I think. Kathy and Dougal don their glad rags and go next door for a New Year's Eve party. We are invited, which is kind, but rather out of the question so we decline. Tuck Peter up in Kathy's office and stay up to console Monty, the terrier, who is terrified of the fireworks.  Dougal and Kathy come home before midnight, realising that Monty would be in a state, and we watch in the New Year with Jools Holland.

on days 2 and 3: getting up and shuffling

On Day 2 the physiotherapist had made Peter stand and walk. Just a few steps towards the door and Peter was vomitting. They're checking as to how soon to discharge him - don't let you hang about as they need these acute beds. By Day 3 he could get just past the nurses' station.

day 3, 30/12/10

Wake and phone Peter, then take a long shower. There's a bar of soap!This seems like a great treasure.

Breakfast of another sandwhich and two cups of coffee. Phone Kathy who is coming over late morning.

Spend the morning on the phone - fortunately there's an o2 mobile signal.

Spend over an hour talking to the insurance company as there are two forms to be filled in (as we were hit twice, there are two claims). But Peter will have to authorise me to act on his behalf as the policy is in his name. Like everybody I talk to (apart from last night's ward manager...and the consultant) there is so much kindness and concern at our predicament.

Contact the vehicle reclamation company. A description of our car plus time and place of accident are not enough for them to confirm which of their branches the car is at. Have to phone the police to find out the registration number of the car - it's the one Peter normally drives. I don't know the number. I have called Peter and he doesn't remember either. This is not surprising as he's in shock as well as pain and was hit on the head (Hair plaited to close the wound - the alternative would have been superglue!). Call reclamation people again. Yes the car is  in Braintree. No, I can't go to collect our belongings unless I can prove I am the legal owner of the car. I can't. The log book is in a filing cabinet in Newcastle. Hmmm....

Kathy arrives. I should have checked out of the room. Rebecca, the kindly receptionist, lets us back in and furnishes us with more coffee and milk.

We set off to the hospital and visit Peter. He's looking a little, just a little, improved. He's managed to wash himself. He's still pale and looking old but his colour is a bit better. Less green. He wants to eat banana and nothing else.

Kathy and I walk to the old part of the hospital to find a meal and come back to the ward with yoghurt, rice pudding, smoothies and other things to tempt Peter to eat.

He's more unright and blood is draining into the container by the bed from his chest drain. I have told the physio, who doesn't seem concerned. However the housemen are, when they come round, and ask the registrar to take a look.

Eventually it's time to leave and Kathy drives us through the country lanes to Mersea. I am slightly less worried about leaving Peter than I was the night before.

It feels like a haven to reach Kathy's in Mersea.

day 2, 29/12/10

To say that we wake to the new day would be imply that we have slept. We haven't.

Peter continues to be monitored regularly. As through the night, he is on hourly liquid morphine if he needs it. He does. He is, and continues to be, a greyish green in the face. He doesn't want to eat. I'm grateful to have tea and cereal. I'm happy to drink many cups of  hsopital tea of a strength that I wouldn't normally contemplate.

I'm offered a towel and go to the loo cum wetroom for a shower...using the antiseptic handwash liquid as shampoo and shower gel. On with the vest again, but I have no other clothes.

Thee day passes...time has no meaning. Nurses and doctors come and go. Peter is reclining on his pillows and we alter the angle by using the raising and lowering controls on the side of the bed. (A husband one can contol by pressing buttons! - excellent!)

By mid afternoon I go in search of more food, and track down some sandwiches. Peter eats some bananas through the day. He can't fancy anything more substantial. Otherpeople are moved on from the ward to wards where they will be staying for longer. It's obvious that you don't get to hang around here.

We set up the over the bed telephone service - no mobile signal in the hospital - and I can talk to members of the family. Peter doesn't feel up to it. He looks very poorly and is in a lot of pain.

Visiting time in the afternoon and then in the evening. I'm hoping to stay another night by Peter's side. But there's a change of shift and a change of attitude. 9pm and I'm told I have to go. Peter is upset but, apparently, 'rules is rules'. I can't come back until visiting hour the following afternoon.

I don't know where I am and feel mentally very confused. I'm still in shock. A male nurse takes pity on me and suggests various hotels. He goes further along the corridor and turns on a computer to search for minicab firms. Would I like him to order one? Yes, please? He does, tells the taxi where I'm going and then tells me where the taxi will come to.

I've stashed most of our belongings into Peter's locker and set off through the deserted hospital to the car park. The taxi arrives and takes me to a Travelodge, where I take a room. I can't operate the card key - I've never stayed in a Travelodge before, so down I go to Reception again. The girl activates another key. It doesn't work so I have to take the lift down yet again. I feel desperate to be in a room...so tired. She comes with me this time. Ah, you have to put the card in and then take it out again before the door will open!

A basic (if expensive) room but it has all I need. I unwrap another sandwich, make some decaf coffee and spend a little time playing Bejewelled to take my mind off things before I fall asleep.

the evening of day 1, 28/12/10, continued: the ambulance to the bed

Eventually I'm allowed into the ambulance. The young ambulance driver is wearing a fawn hat with ears on the top - yes, she says, it's a Christmas present from her Mum. The paramedic who travels inside the ambulance, wiring Peter up and balancing constant checking of his stats with cheery banter, is the image of a young Ben Elton. We arrive some 15 minutes later at Broomfield Hospital.

I'm shown the door to the waiting room while Peter is wheeled in another door. I'm told that they'll fetch me when I can see Peter again. I sit there surrounded by misery...ill children, a wandering elderly lady, a woman moaning and keening in a wheelchair while her husband looks into thin air past her.

Time is starting to lose meaning. In hopital you have to surrender...you have no control as to what is going to happen or when.

Quite a bit later - 30, 40 minutes, maybe more - I'm ushered through the one way doors and taken to Peter who is in a cubicle. People come and go. Peter has to have a monor op so he is wheeled away. Off I go into the 'real world' to find a phone signal and contact some of the family to break the news or update them.

Peter has moved - now he's in the Resuscitation Unit. We are in the new, only open a month, wing of the Broomfiled and everything is sparkling and high tech. Doctor Aziz explains that Peter has a pneumothorax.  He has had a drain inserted to remove the air which is in the wrong part of his chest ie outside the left lung. His stats are monitored what seems like every quarter of an hour. His BP varies enormously from somewhat too high to well below 'normal'. He's very uncomfortable and keeps asking for a bed. But finding a bed in a ward and transfering him there will take some time. Besides, it's best that his condition becomes more stable first. I find a seat in another bay and settle in for a long wait.

Now we are on the move. It's 1:30 am, about 5 hours after the impact. Through deserted corridors with me following the bed, holding doors, trying not to get squashed in lifts.

Thw ward is pristine, with amazing beds that look as though they cost a fortune. We are in a little unit with four beds. Peter's settled in and his muddy clothes are removed. The force of his hitting the central reservation has pushed mud through jacket, fleece, jumper, shirt and through to his vest, which is speckled with tiny brown dots.

He's going to be monitored regularly throughout the night. By now it's 2:30 am. I'm offered a bed in another room but I want to stay close to Peter, Yes, I can stay beside him. I make myself a bed beside the wall...I borrow Peter's muddy and bloody - from the large grazes on the back of his hips - vest as I'm baking hot in a cashmere jumper. I fold the jumper and put it onto my knitting bag to make a pillow. I lie on my fluffy jacket and put my new shirt jacket over me. The floor feels very hard but I'm not going anywhere. We both doze, more off than on, through the night.