Back at the hospital, half expecting the car park barriers to be up, I turned into the grounds. The barriers were down! Hand brake on I thought to call the guard by the small button on the console, see if he would let me back in. Surprisingly he answered telling me to collect a ticket and then he would do something or other at some time or another. The instruction was vague. I pressed for a ticket. Only one other car now occupied the park, a freedom of spaces I would rather not be eligible for. Driving to the far end meant I was as near to the side entrance as was possible. I had a lot to carry after all.
When I had walked down the half dozen steps to the small door however, and much to my astonishment, it was locked, as were all the usual routes of entry apparently. It was after ten o'clock! The only way inside was via the accident and emergency entrance a small sign stuck to the inside of the glass instructed. I would need to make my way completely around to the other side of the building.
So there I was, forced into vacating the hospital grounds altogether, on foot and taking to the pavements of Barnsley to walk the distance to the only open access point, a rolled up Batman duvet under one arm and a multitude of plastic carrier bags in the other hand. I must have looked like a vagrant I mused, this thought bringing on a welcome chuckle. Humour! It would make Sam laugh anyway I hoped. And it did.
Walking the corridors of a hospital at night is quite a surreal experience. In the first place you know that you are only there at such a time because something horrible is taking place and negotiating these empty corridors emphasises that point even more. Ordinarily Sam and me would both be tucked up in bed, me watching a programme on my iPad, Sam reading her book. This was a far, far cry away from that comfort. Secondly, the corridors were all but deserted, unnervingly so. Except for some other unfortunate, presumably in the same position as me, and an odd member of staff wending their way from one department to another, I had the walk all to myself. It all made for a journey never to be forgotten, and to this day I still haven't.
As I passed the security guard's office the same burley man came out to greet me. What was he going to say now! I needn't have worried. "You can get your ticket now if you like," he suggested in his baritone voice.
"Oh! Okay, thanks!" Surprise was not even in it. I was astonished at his turnaround. Without any further ado he took my details through his office window, handed me a card machine and then proceeded to issue me with a weekly pass for the cost of ten pounds charge. Why he couldn't have done this in the first place was beyond my tired out reasoning at this point but I was grateful for his change of heart all the same. He didn't look the jobsworth type to be honest but maybe he had to follow protocol, make sure I had not been trying to pull a fast one the first time of asking. Who knows and who cares I thought. At that moment I had other more pressing things to deal with, and the most immediate one of them was transporting all my baggage upstairs. This time I took to the lift.
Back once again on the fifth floor landing and outside the ward I opened the door to my courtesy room and let go of the duvet and bags. They all fell onto the bare mattress. I remember thinking how Sam wouldn't like it at all, the mess, or rather she wouldn't if she was well. I'd clear it all up later. I needed to see her, that was the top of my list at the moment. If she complained about the untidiness I would have to take the criticism.
Pressing the security door's green button, someone, somewhere, with a buzz on the accompanying intercom invited me through, let me in to the ward proper. Sam was in her room. She had just taken her sleeping tablet. It hadn't kicked in yet. It wouldn't be long though she said.
Of course the first thing she wanted to do was go to the relatives room, make my bed up. Surprisingly she said nothing about the state of it as I went about fitting the sheet to the mattress. It was a poor fit but it would have to do. After that I deposited the remainder of my belongings on surfaces various, and after all of that made a cup of tea for the two of us. Sam likes her hot drinks.
"It'll help me sleep," she said, "it's like being at home isn't it?"
I almost wept again. She looked so innocent, so vulnerable, sat there on the grey comfy chair clutching both hands around her hot drink. How sweet her thoughts, to imagine that here we were on our own in this tiny room, the nearest we were going to come to any sense of normal reality, and she was taking it all in her stride. Why was she not angry? If I were in the same position I'm sure I wouldn't be so composed, so together. Later on, perhaps a couple of days or more, she told me that it was the only way she could be, the only way she could carry on, keep calm and let everything run its course.
That said however she was still overly concerned about a good night's sleep and the daunting prospect of the woman down the ward starting up again just before midnight. The topic consumed her whenever she began worrying about it, and sure enough it took her over again, eliminating all other concerns and conversation.
"If this lady does it again tonight," I told her, hoping to quickly calm her down, "then you can stay in here with me."
She did anyway, to begin with, come in with me. The tablets now beginning to act we took to the pull out bed and tried to broker for sleep. There were more than a few hiccups!
Firstly, the clock on the wall was ticking. I clambered out of bed, took it down, removed the battery, put it back on the wall and then climbed back in. Next the fridge was buzzing. I wriggled out of bed again, fumbled about in the dark for the correct plug, removed it then wriggled back in. Then came the distraction of a source of light coming in below the locked door and slightly illuminating the room. I pushed some spare pillows up to it and returned to bed yet again. I didn't make any complaint at any of this, anything to settle Sam down, get her some rest. That was my only objective at the moment, get her rested and asleep. There would have been a time when I might have found it all a little frustrating to say the least but now, well anything to make Sam happy was my only concern. At last all seemed to be okay, hot but okay.
The room had no window, and now was very dark, no light coming from anywhere whatsoever, but with no light came no fresh air either. I wondered if we would last the night in here, I would last the night in here. Sam was enjoying a back tickle and fidgeting a bit, always a sign she was about to drop off to sleep. It was quiet of sorts too, certainly quieter than the ward at any rate, but every now and then a rumbling of a train which must be passing on the railway outside disturbed me if not Sam. She was soon away from it all, fast asleep courtesy of the tablet. I shuffled about the bed. It wasn't a king size one by any stretch of the imagination and because I needed Sam to be comfortable I had given up two thirds of it to her anyway. As I turned first this way and then that I tried desperately not to disturb her. Another train! And five minutes later another. After four or five of them I finally realised! The noise wasn't trains at all. This room was opposite the lifts. It was the lifts going up and down which were making the noise! Presumably they would cease in a little while once the hospital went to sleep. I hoped so anyway.
Laid next to my wife there was nothing now to distract me away from agonising, worrying over what the next few months were going to hold. Our lives were never going to be the same again. How could they? Sam was only fifty six. How could life be so cruel, why had we been visited by this calamity, what would be the outcome?
Do you remember when as a child some notion or other frightened you? A story you had been told perhaps, a fable or rhyme, some part of it misinterpreted, over imagined, worried over. A fireplace perhaps, a fireplace in the bedroom you had, the possibility of someone or something being able to come down the chimney, land in the grate, get into your room, and then! Fright, anxiety, stress. There it was, the gaping hole not able to be blocked, how could it, needed as it was for the fire when lit. There could never ever be any possibility of blocking it up, never ever, it would always be open, accessible. Fright! Yes that's what fright is. The inadequacy of being able to rationalise, put into perspective, come to terms. I couldn't sleep, and another turn in the bed woke Sam up.
In a sleepy tone she spoke softly to me. "That was so nice, thanks. I'm going back to my room now, I think I'll be able to sleep now."
Quickly I put on my clothes and watched her out the door to make sure she was allowed access to the ward and her own room. Then I deposited myself back under our Grandson's Batman duvet and hoped for my own deliverance.
A text came through from Jill. Her and Elsie were staying overnight in paediatrics. The doctors had given Elsie something for her sickness but they wanted to keep an eye on her.
'Good news,' I replied. 'Your in the right place if she gets any worse.' Strangely it felt somewhat comforting, Jill and Elsie being only a few blocks away, and although I wouldn't have wished either of them poorly their proximity did ease my anxiety. Not my ability to sleep though!
One o'clock, two, three o'clock then four, the hours ticked by. No sleep! Writhing this way then that, under the duvet then on top of it I lay there alone and bewildered. My mind was a whirligig, turned upside down and inside out, unable to make sense of what the future was about. Three days ago we were grandparents enjoying our mid fifties, now everything, and I mean everything had changed, and not for the better.
Granted Sam had suffered with M.E. for some years now and would spend days in bed on many a week with her chronic fatigue, not able to muster up the strength to speak some times the exhaustion was so overwhelming. Could this be another manifestation of that condition I wondered? More straws! Perhaps it wasn't a tumour at all. She wasn't losing weight. Her appetite was good. The positives kept coming back to repeat themselves and still the lifts kept arriving. Five o'clock then six. Still no sleep.
The hospital was waking up, the lifts now telling of a new dawn. I felt dreadful but that was of no consequence. How had Sam fared since I last saw her. I dressed and put the kettle to the boil. Cup of coffee in hand I sat in the chair to wait. It wasn't too long a time until a knock came on the door.
On opening it I asked eagerly, hoping for a positive answer. "What sort of night you had?"
Sam looked refreshed, quite well in fact, but that could just be the steroids again. "Not too bad," she replied. "I had to go to the toilet several times but I went back to sleep in the end. It's very noisy. Not like home."
Raising a smile I was forced to agree, admitting I hadn't been to sleep for even one minute. But that didn't matter I insisted, I was happy she had slept a little. She was still very much in control if the truth be known, or at least that was the emotion being portrayed, a reasonable nights rest having paid her its dividend. I had feared a bad night might have rendered her down to an anxious state of mind but no, here she was ready to start the day.
We sat in her bedroom until breakfast arrived. This small fifth floor room, its window on the world was now my wife's place of sanctuary, a place she could call her own, be away from the repeated beeping of monitors and what seemed like an incessant chiming of the door bell into the ward. The window could be opened, but only slightly, and the fresh air it allowed to waft on a breeze occasionally brushed passed us. It was very welcome and refreshing. Most probably for one hour we sat, sixty or so minutes, me in one corner on the hard plastic chair, Sam on the bed sorting her tablets, then brushing her teeth at the basin, then sorting her bags out. She couldn't keep still bless her.
"You need to go home Brad, get some sleep," she insisted when her breakfast arrived.
I looked concerned.
"I'll be okay," she added, "besides there's nothing I can do except wait it out. We can't do anything 'til Wednesday can we?"
Forced to agree I gave her a massive hug and a kiss then reluctantly left her to it and ventured home. Well actually I went to my Mother's again. It would be quieter there. Or so I thought!
My sister was visiting. Mum had not had the opportunity to speak to her as yet. I broke down in the first flood of tears of the day as I told her.
Now it has to be said that I've been in the same position before, of consoling someone on them telling me of my type of bad news, been in that position but never realised how useless, if well meant, the words spoken actually are. There is absolutely nothing, and I will repeat this fact, absolutely nothing that can be uttered at a time such as this to make anyone feel better, stronger, more able to cope, more able to rationalise. No, nothing at all can be said to help and in future I shall remember that and be more circumspect with my support. My sister's words fell on deaf ears, and as well meant and sincere as I'm sure they were they made little impact on me. A cuddle does help though and Jill, my sister did just that, put her arms around me and held me tight, trying to calm my sobbing body. Her concern produced even more tears and I had to retire upstairs to the spare room to try and rest, sleep even.
Outside it was a glorious day. I laid on top of the bed covers with the warmth of the sun on my back.
I love warm days, always have. Under any other circumstances I would be out soaking up Mother Nature's goodness but today was different, so very different. What if those relaxing sunny days were never to be there again, what if we could never be at one with that world again, relax and sit back, enjoy a sun drenched morning's offering of tranquility and calm, in harmony with nature and life itself! What if things were never ever going to be the same again? I wept more tears. My poor Sam, what were we going to do!
After ten minutes of absolute loneliness I turned over and on to my front. Mum and Jill were talking downstairs, not loud but I could hear them. They were preparing to go shopping, and taking an age, or so it seemed. Not knowing how noisy they were, and probably they weren't, noisy at all, I was glad when they finally shut the door behind them.
Our daughter Jill sent me a text to say the two of them were on their way home. Elsie was much better and had been given some medicine for her sickness. I was at my Mum's I replied. We exchanged a few comments on tiredness and hospitals, I told her that Mum had enjoyed a better night and we agreed to meet up later, for the time being we all needed some rest.
Rest yes, but still no sleep, even with the quiet.
There was a lamp lit at the British Legion club house, just visible through the garden trees, and it was shining in my eyes. Even through the window it was in my eyes and I didn't want to close the curtains, shut out the sun. How stupid that seems now looking back on it, but that was the mindset I was in, confusion reigning supreme and tiredness preventing any hope of rationality, or sleep for that matter. By the time an hour had passed and Mum was back home I hadn't gone down for even one minute. Noise once more within the house suggested I get up. At least I should crash out tonight! Lifts or no lifts sleep would hopefully come tonight in that small spare room of a relative's quarter no matter how aggravating the hospital machinery was.
By three fifteen I was on my way back to be with Sam. In the intervening few hours I had done a touch of gardening, tending the greenhouse, planted some seeds. I had also gone to our home and picked up a few odds and ends to see the coming night through. While at home I had also downloaded a version of solitaire onto my handset, a game I had used in the past to while away the hours when under the care of my own black dog. Playing the card game somehow has a therapeutic effect on my mood, taking me away from worries of my own and helping me to relax and sleep when otherwise I would be wide awake.
Jill sent me another message. 'Elsie was almost back to her normal self.' The incident had been put down to her reflux condition. 'How was Mum?'
I replied on how she looked well this morning, I hadn't seen her this afternoon as yet. She had not said much more than that, seemingly unbothered I told Jill, though looks are deceptive aren't they I added. It was all a bit of a blur I confessed, but I do remember deciding not to dare ask what Sam was actually thinking for fear of spoiling her good mood.
When I reached the ward, sat in the room with mum was our son David, his partner Carol and their beautiful daughter, our first born granddaughter April. Nearly five years old now April was looking quite grown up and sporting a new set of glasses just prescribed by the optician. It was to correct a slight visual problem Carol was explaining as I closed the door behind me, shut out the ever present background noise of hospital machinery, try somehow to instil a little of normality into this island of family life.
April stood at the side of the bed, looking a little bewildered at seeing her Nanny sat in an easy chair in such unfamiliar surroundings and dressed in her nightwear of all things. They had only just arrived David explained. Sam was telling of her condition to David and Carol. I took April to one side and asked her about her new glasses. She seemed pleased to have them and told me all about her experience in picking them. Her enthusiasm buoyed me up immensely.
If the truth be known, and I am embarrassed to admit it, Sam was actually in a better frame of mind than I was. 'What was the point in worrying' she kept reiterating, now to David as she had done to me earlier in the day, 'there's nothing can be done to change what has happened so we can only let matters take their own course.' I use the plural for the sake of this narrative but in actual fact Sam always referred to this in the singular, her singular. And what she meant was that she was not going to worry but just pray that everything would turn out alright. This again I know because Sam said as much on many an occasion. What was happening to her was happening, there was no point in anguishing over it, what was going to happen was going to happen and all she could do was hope and pray for a positive outcome.
Family need to visit relatives in hospital, it's a well practised necessity, and especially so with the circumstances as had been laid at this families doorstep, making the seeking of information and the confirmation of love and solidarity even more a matter of urgency.
The three of them stayed a good hour, had the time they needed to come to terms with it all, then left to take April for a meal. As they went Sam captured a huge cuddle from each in turn, telling them again not to be concerned and to get on with their own lives. There were times I must admit when I didn't like the tone of her conversation and kept pulling her up on it, each time telling everyone that it was going to be alright and none of us should worry.
This approach did land me in trouble once with our daughter Jill, she never one to hold back on her emotions or advice, reprimanded me for being too over protective of Mum and telling me that I should give her space to be able to handle what was going on. I have to admit I always take on board what Jill says, there have been occasions when she sort of kept me on a more sensible path, bringing me down to earth so to speak, and not always with a smooth landing.
Anyhow not long after David had gone than Jill arrived, her partner Rob with James and Elsie too. Again it was just the tonic Sam needed. She took more huge hugs from each of them, drinking them up as if her life depended on it. Again she told them not to worry and that everything was going to be alright. It was as if she was gaining strength from each embrace, imagining it making her stronger with every one she took, well that is how it looked. Later on the next day Sam did tell me the cuddles had given her comfort, had strengthened her resolve to get better, she needed at least one from every family member she admitted and as the days went on did just that.
Jill, Rob and Sam talked for a while, of diagnosis and treatments and the like, what else was there to talk about for it could not be ignored. Like a white elephant in this small room it was better to acknowledge the obvious than attempt to ignore it. Everything was going to be alright Sam told us all again as we sat with her awaiting dinner time coming around. She had eaten a good lunch she told us and was looking forward to the evening offering.
"It's like being in a hotel," she said jokingly. "Lovely meals, lovely puddings and someone to do the washing up!"
James and Elsie stood with their mum and dad, not sure what to make of it all, each wanting, holding, grasping an older hand for reassurance. Two more wonderful grandchildren wrenched from their comfort and thrust into a world unknown. Nanny kept them entertained with wonders of hospital life. No cleaning, no dusting, a lovely view of the grounds and people to look after her. We were all forced to laugh at her strength of mind.
And yet again I marvelled at her courage, my lovely wife, removed from our cosy existence and catapulted into this bizarre scenario of noisy hospital care and magnolia institutionalisation. I remember thinking on how well she looked, that was the irony of it all. Glowing red cheeks and full figure, if it wasn't for her bedclothes and slippers she could almost have been out sunbathing and caught the beginnings of a tan.
As if on cue the familiar clattering of the dinner trolley was as good an alarm as any bell. It was time for us to leave. No matter what else was occurring Sam could not go without her meal. She had ordered a dinner she liked very much she remembered humorously, but not its actual identity.
"Yesterday's a while ago," she admitted with another jolly laugh, looking as if trying to bring the menu to mind. "Whatever it is I'll like it anyway."
Now, the clothing I got her yesterday from the supermarket was not to her liking. I didn't think it would be when I bought it! She had told me this fact when I first arrived. I had chosen the wrong style of knickers, the slippers had a heel to them and the pyjama bottoms were too tight. They would all have to go back!
"Did I mind?" she repeated as we all stood to leave.
Did I mind! "Of course not," I told her. Taking a few odd items back was no problem at all.
More hugs all around saw us trot off. Sam would be okay she repeated, especially since her dinner plate was due and she was absolutely famished. Could I get her some liquorice too she asked, she was constipated! Oh and some bananas, some biscuits too. I smiled a loving smile at her and went to go about the task.
She was being so brave? I repeat this sentiment once again and make no apology for doing so for this question kept me company on more than one occasion, this time in the car while having another weep on my second expedition in as many days to the supermarket. How was she being so brave?
Again I was in pieces. God only knows what I must look like I told some reflection or another staring back at me from the rear view mirror. Long drawn features and dark rimmed eyes never suited me. No sleep, unshaven and bedraggled I looked like a member of some zombie movie cast. Still I took a few deep breaths, put a brave face on and proceeded to return the goods. The more than happy girl behind the counter smiled at my explanation of me not choosing wisely and refunded the money to my card without any trouble whatsoever and for that I was grateful. Next I bought the items Sam needed this visit, almost forgetting the liquorice.
That is something to mention, I was constantly doing it, forgetting. A mind like a sieve my mother would say. Even a minute after going to do a task I would forget what it was, especially if something else interrupted me in the mean time or I was doing several jobs at once. My mind was all over the place. To emphasise this point of forgetting, it is exactly what I did at this moment. Forget again! I was only a yard outside the store when I remembered I needed a microwave meal for myself, a chicken curry of some sort. I returned inside and purchased one. I could eat it in my room and then stay overnight to be with Sam. It was the night time she dreaded, if she could not sleep and when no other distractions were about she might be forced into thinking about her predicament. I couldn't let that happen.
Once back in the relatives room I did just as planned, cooked my meal and made a cup of tea. Then I went to eat it in Sam's room. Looking back on those days I probably got away with a little too much in retrospect. Eating this curry in the ward proper for example, moving in and out of the ward door so often as well, each time having to be let in by a member of staff, and visiting Sam whenever I wanted. At the time it is exactly how it had been invited upon us though, and after all my wife had been diagnosed with a brain tumour. I wouldn't call it taking advantage of the situation because I don't believe either of us had a grasp of reality anyway, so taking any advantage of anything was simply out of the question.
The small offering went straight to the spot, and although not my usual potion size I was satisfied. After finishing off our cups of tea we both sat in Sam's small bedroom for a while, talking about what I had been up to at home, an attempt at normal conversation. Normal conversation! Normal was a concept to be admired to be honest, and has to labelling our conversations as such, well that was impossible. Still we meandered through the motions.
Next we went for a walk, hand in hand around the ward corridors, up one way then down another, bleeping monitors and subdued television channels perforating the medical peace and quiet attempting to be introduced by the evening shift of staff.
Ten minutes or so and we ended back up at the next room to Sam's. Laid on his bed was a lovely man who was not too well but nevertheless longed for conversation. Sam had met him the day before she told me and the two of them had struck up a sort of friendship. She had told him of her diagnosis, as she had in fact told anyone who had asked. There was no point in denying it she said, it wasn't going to go away. This chap was extremely poorly too, but she didn't know exactly what the problem was. I don't think he did either, or the doctors for that matter. The three of us talked together for five or so minutes, until he tired, then we took our leave and made a way over to the lounge for another half hour. After that we returned to my room.
All of these were ordinary pastimes to be attempting really, matter of fact things, talking, walking, sitting, but in a totally out of the ordinary context. Denial of a sort some might call it, desperation others. Perhaps not even denial either, for this was a label incapable of its full implementation because here, after all, was Sam, dressed in her bedclothes, at the pleasure of Barnsley Hospital health Service, awaiting an outcome we were both uncertain of. This twelve foot by nine foot room, smaller than a caravan, no windows to its design, was as whitewashed as my face and unfamiliar as my mind, but I knew we had to make the best of it, be thankful for small mercies, accept the space afforded us in both location and time.
So from my room to the television lounge to Sam's room we flitted about, sitting here then there, trying to beat the hours until bedtime, talking again over how positive we were, how Sam was going to beat it and of course the woman in the bed down the ward who talked and talked in her sleep disturbing the peace and making midnight rest an impossibility. Would Sam be allowed another sleeping tablet tonight? The question began bothering her again, and again to the exclusion of all else. She stood to her feet, distressed again, extraordinarily so, and kept repeating the need for her tablet, her sleep, her comfort. I did my thing and tracked down a nurse, explained the anxiety my wife was having and of course the auxiliary understood and walked off to fetch one. And it wasn't more than a couple of minutes until the tablet was brought either, Sam calming down again as soon as she had it in her possession. I looked tired out she said. I knew I did and agreed. I ought to go home tonight and try to sleep she suggested, she would be okay, once she had taken her sleeping tablet, now held in her hand like some precious gemstone, she would be okay she insisted, I should go home later, maybe elevenish when she had gone to sleep. Yes, get her off to sleep then I should go home.
One point to mention about the staff on the ward up to now ought to be stated. They were absolutely marvellous, caring and understanding. We had been afforded every courtesy and practice available to a husband and wife in this terrible, and having been furnished with the relatives room, and Sam having received such good nursing I must admit that my opinion on the National Health Service had been totally upended. All of this though was just about to change.
On this evening, night really, we had finished up in my room having a last cup of tea before Sam was to retire. She had taken the sleeping tablet and was drowsy. She went back to her room and I was to follow when I'd tidied away the pots. Then as agreed I would go home. Well that was the plan. When I gained entrance to the ward she met me at her door. It was about eleven o'clock. She looked worried and concerned, a total change to when she had left me minutes ago.
"They want to move me!" she began.
"What now?" I couldn't believe it. "She's just had her sleeping tablet," I complained to a nurse stood behind her. This nurse explained that they needed the room for another emergency coming up from the accident department.
"It's okay," Sam went on. "I knew the room wasn't mine for keeps."
"Where's she going?" I asked.
The nurse looked very apologetic. "Only down the ward."
It may very well have been 'only down the ward', but it would turn out to be an eternity away from where Sam wished to be, where she would feel safe, where she could hold herself together and get on with the turmoil having to be held at bay, shut away as it was in a deepest recess of her mind.
Quickly gathering up most of her belongings we were invited down the corridor, my wife shuffling along quite sleepily by now, shuffling along and into a bay of four beds, that fact not unusual in itself, except for one devastating realisation which came to Sam no sooner than she had sat on the bed in the far corner next to the window. She may have had the sleeping draft but her mind soon kicked that to one side.
"There's no way I'm sleeping here in this bed," she began with a forceful whisper of fear. In her eyes now a look of dread. I wondered what was the matter. The nurse and auxiliary looked perplexed too. "There is no way I am staying here in this ward," she repeated. Then she leant over and whispered in my ear. "That's her, the lady I was on about, the one who talks all night, there's no way I'm stopping here Brad, no way whatsoever." Quickly jumping to her feet she took hold of the nurse's arm. "Please, please can I have a word in private, outside the ward if I can."
Somewhat at a loss the two nurses followed Sam as the three of them filed out and closed the outer door to the quiet of the sleeping ward. I stayed by the bed. With the door shut I couldn't hear what was going on but after about a minute they all trooped back in. The auxiliary nurse was just explaining, and not for the first time by the sound of her voice, that the single room was not my wife's personal space and there had always been a chance she would be moved when the room was needed.
"I'm not wanting my room back," Sam was still at some pain to repeat in a hiss of a whisper, "I just can't, won't be able to sleep in this bed with that lady next to me."
The auxiliary climbed up on her high horse. "The lady in the next bed has not made any noise at all tonight and is certainly not suffering from dementia."
"I didn't say she was," Sam now growled. "I said she kept me awake at night and it reminds me of my mother's dementia." Sam was flying high as well by now, her face pale and drawn and frightened with what was to be the outcome. "I'll sleep in the corridor if need be," she added.
"You will stay here in this bed!" the green uniformed auxiliary piped up. It now seemed like a power trip to me. She didn't like losing either.
Finally I stood to my feet. "My wife will not be sleeping anywhere she feels will not be helpful for her peace of mind and wellbeing let me tell you," I began, seething the words as forcefully as a whisper could deliver. "She can sleep in my relatives room with me or I can take her home. And I will do that believe me."
"Well there's nothing we can do now at this time of night," this same nurse went on as if that would put an end to it.
"Okay, so I'll take her to my room." I repeated.
I stood Sam to her feet. The two nurses could see I meant what I said.
My impromptu solution found the bossy one muttering she would try and find an alternative bed in that case, but it would have to be sanctioned by a doctor she complained bitterly. It was certainly not a task she wanted to do and that fact showed on her face. I could see she was attempting to keep her calm, but through her facade it was obvious just how angry she was, very angry indeed. Even so I thanked her courteously for her endeavour but received nothing in return. A sympathetic smile from the blue uniformed nurse, sister perhaps, did help a little though. I wondered what the difference was, between these two ladies. What did the green and blue uniform indicate, which branch of care belonged to which? Anyhow that thought aside we gathered up all our belongings once again and made for the room I had fortunately been given me the night before. What on Earth we would have done other than this would be anyone's guess, the ward lounge, corridor or perhaps I might just have done what I had said and taken Sam home!
After a quarter hour estranged in the relatives room I managed to instil calm once more to the night, the sleeping tablet restoring its magic. With a tickle of her back followed by my careful removal from the bed and onto the floor, laying on spare cushions Sam was fast on at last. I waited for sleep myself hoping that this second night would be a more peaceful one for me too, lifts and all. I certainly needed it. Surprisingly my metre wide bed of cushions was remarkably comfortable. If only my mind matched it then I might fall asleep.
Half an hour later though I was still nowhere near rest. Suddenly a knock sounded on the door. Not a loud one but an unwelcome one nevertheless. Who could it be? What would they want? I got up quickly before Sam woke up. Opening the door slightly there stood the same blue uniformed nurse again. I needed to sign a form to say I had taken my wife out of the ward proper. A bit petty I thought but probably protocol and the staff protecting their position on the matter. Not wanting them in trouble I signed and hoped that would be the end of it.
"This room will be needed for someone else tomorrow night," this nurse also informed me. A bit of a mean trick I thought but perhaps that was an unfair appraisal. I nodded accordingly. "We'll try and find you're wife a bed as soon as we can," she added.
Obviously Sam had been disturbed again, though not as much as before and very soon the tablet kicked in again and she was asleep. And after another half hour so was I, well nearly. Another knock on the door. The same nurse stood there when I went to look.
"We're moving you're wife tonight Mister Newton. There's a bed across the hospital in gynaecology."
"What now!" I replied questioningly, a grimace of incredulity wrapped across my face. "She's asleep again, she's had a sleeping tablet!"
"Sorry but it's been arranged, we need to move her now. There's a porter with a wheelchair waiting in the lounge if you can gather your things and make your way there.
It was no good arguing I realised. If they couldn't see the effect it would have on their poorly patient then what good was any further complaint of mine going to be. I would have to do my utmost and keep Sam calm, jolly her along, hold her hand and hopefully she wouldn't wake up completely. Perhaps they had to do it, perhaps me bringing her to my room had forced their hand, perhaps I'm being too kind to them, too understanding!
"What now," Sam whimpered drowsily.
I stroked at her arm and told her. "Yes love. Sorry. They want to move you to another ward now. It'll be a nice ward this one Sam, nice and quiet." I emphasised the positives, all the time hoping this would be the case.
Trying to keep everything low key I managed to dress her in her warm purple bedgown and slippers. Then gathering up the rest of her bags, I could come back for mine later I explained, when she was asleep, we made our way to the television lounge. Even in her drowsy state she had a wariness about us losing anything, her handbag, or glasses. Quickly I put her fears to bed and we found the wheelchair.
The porter was kindness itself. Carefully taking charge of his transport and patient he ferried us along several sleepy corridors, down several floors by way of the lift and then along more corridors, all the time conscious of the fact that Sam had been awoken from her slumber and didn't want too much disturbance.
As we walked, and for some inexplicable reason, the jumble of pictures adorning the corridor walls reminded me of hotel passageways, those ubiquitous prints of town centres long ago and still life drawings of flowers in vases. These corridors though were a long way away from any holiday destination, a long, long way away. How I wished that was where we were, some hotel, any hotel, on our holidays.
All in all our transfer took about ten minutes. The new ward couldn't have been further away from the stroke unit if it had been placed in the car park itself. When the nurse had said it was on the other wing she had not exaggerated in the slightest.
Anyhow that being the case we touched base in a quiet, dimly lit and peaceful new but temporary abode. With the handover from the porter complete the sister quietly introduced herself to Sam and me, immediately putting all our fears at ease. Sam could call any time she wished by using this button, Charlotte, this nurse explained, the toilets were only just outside the ward of four beds and did she want anything at the present time. Sam thanked her very much but said no, she was tired and longed for her bed.
This ward could not have been more different from the one we had just vacated. No monitors beeping for a start, and a subtle lighting overhead meant patients fast asleep, no one of them snoring or murmuring nocturnal noises.
Sam took to the bed and made herself comfy in between the freshly laundered sheets. She then thanked me for sticking up for her upstairs but insisted I now go home and rest myself. She would definitely be okay here, it felt alright, she would be able to get back to sleep. It was ten minutes to one o'clock by now.
A nod from Charlotte told me of her nursing compassion, so finally confident that I could relinquish care back to the hospital itself I now knew I could go search out my own tranquility. I gave Sam a goodnight kiss and we parted with a most welcome smile.
Weary I set about the daunting task of retracing my steps all the way back across the hospital to the relatives room. Each step was a heavy plod, a cart horse could not have put down a heavier foot. Thankfully though I did now have the geography of the building mapped and it didn't take so long. Once there, and thankfully without any hindrance or formality, I quietly retrieved the quilt and other items, and after folding, packaging and rolling I made my escape via the accident and emergency department, forced to smile as I did so by the fact that not one person on my travels even batted an eyelid at this bedraggled man carrying a Batman quilt and walking like he was not quite there. Not even the staff in the emergency department questioned me! Once outside and into the refreshing air of a Barnsley night I reversed my steps of yesterday and went back along the town pavements to find my space in the car park.
By two thirty I was home, a bowl of cereal and a cup of sweet tea settling me in somewhat as I watched some television, a weird attempt to restore some resemblance of order, try, at this unearthly hour to somehow trick my mind into imagining a kind of routine of sorts. And it worked, for after a good half hour I took to bed feeling relaxed and tired out. Hopefully tonight I would find just what I wanted.
I only hoped Sam was in a similar place of mind. Looking to the Moon through open curtains I thought on the time aged idea of Sam being looked over by this same shining orb, and even if she could not actually see it from her hospital bed the thought still gave me comfort. What a frantic intermission in her care tonight had been, an episode forever after she named as 'bed armageddon', the night they tried to force her to sleep somewhere against her will.
A few games of Solitaire later I could no longer keep my heavy eyelids apart.
