The Blurred Line

Day 5 - loneliness and I get to see all my family

Sunday was not a good day for me. I waited a long time to be changed in the morning and I was the first time since Thursday that I did not have mum to hold my hand (as well as all the other bits). I had my toast and the nurse Jill was nice but they were obviously short staffed over the bank holiday weekend.

The side room had a nice picture of boats on it and I must have scrutinised every dot in my bored and lonely state. I had nothing to occupy my time and wondered if this was how old people felt when they were scurried away to care homes that didn't care for their all round needs. I had a TV but no way to switch on and I had my things in a chest of drawers I couldn't reach and me being me I didn't want to waste the nurses' precious time with trying to find bits and bobs for me. I knew that my mum would be with me at 3pm, which is when visiting hours start, so I only had to wait 6 hours for her. I want my mummy said Bill. And of course, typical me, my phone was out of charge.

I was handed a bowl to wash myself as much as I could and then the nurse came to turn me over and do my back and bum when I pressed my call button. I was very slow though as it took such a great deal of effort to do anything.

The orthopaedic surgeons came around to introduce themselves but I felt almost naked without my mum. They had a number of things they were thinking about to reconstruct my leg – maybe a cylinder frame, maybe shorten the leg and rebreak it over time, maybe use metal cylinders where there was no bone but it was the weekend so they would no more on Tuesday after the bank holiday. They also said my blood count was 65 when it should normally 120 which was probably the reason why I was so low and couldn't really think beyond being sad. They told me I would have a few transfusions later on – I ended up having two that night and one the next.

I tried sleeping off the hours but you can't necessarily sleep very well especially on morphine. It gives me very odd dreams and feelings that people, say my mum or on of the nurses, is in the room, even though I know that they can't be. Occasionally, it makes me think that there are snakes in the bed. At 11am, I couldn't bear much more and I just started crying – not sobbing fully, I don't tend to do that, but the silent uncontrollable cry of someone who is helplessly and deeply miserable.

There was an end point though – 3pm. I just kept thinking how the nurses had always been around in Inverness to help me or console me. They knew me and they knew my needs. I had never felt entirely helpless but here I did. I had an ensuite toilet I couldn't use and I couldn't even draw back my own curtains to let a bit of sunlight in.

The physiotherapist, Lucinda, came in at 2pm and I was so relieved to see a friendly smiley face. She asked if she wanted me to come back later as she could see I was clearly in distress but I said no and that even if she came back later I would be in the same state. I'd been crying for 3 hours. I said to her that there was not much point in getting physically better if I became so depressed and that I really just needed my mum to come in earlier and help me with things like washing which I found so difficult. She was ever so lovely and kind though she reckoned that I wouldn't remember her name the next day. She also asked if I was an anxious person in general and I told her that I was generally quite stoic and not like this. Before leaving me, she said that she would see if she could get special permission for my mum to come in earlier to look after me. I was so grateful that she would even ask but was doubtful she would be able to get the permission.

The nurse then hooked me up to the blood transfusion. The picture above is what I call my "Echo" like from the movie "Earth to Echo". I don't know why but it make me think of that and has been my companion since I moved to London. It forces whatever has been hooked up to me, such as iv fluids, antibiotics or blood, to go into me. Unfortunately, it means I have to have nasty cannulas sticking out of me all the time. The ones in the hand are worst as it means I can't type.

Not long after, another visitor came in to the room while I was dosing and I was so shocked to see my uncle Kevin! I was still such a state and I couldn't believe that he'd got in at 2pm when visiting hours started at 3pm. "It is 3 O'clock," he said, tears welling up in his eyes too, "they haven't put your clock back."

"I'm going to be sick," was my reply. I just about managed to be sick in a plastic tray that had been left after the transfusion. Kevin held the tray for me and held my hair back and Jill came in when I pushed the call button. I got a bit in my hair which Kevin wiped with wet wipes while Jill carefully cleaned me up. I had been so shocked, relieved and excited to see my uncle I had been sick on him!

I felt really bad for distressing him though – poor heroic Kevin! He drives train for First Great Western from Paddington so was only in for twenty minutes but changed my clock for me and gave me some magazines to read and chatted to me. Just before Kevin had to leave for work, my other uncle Jim and his daughter – my cousin, Rosie – came in. Kev luckily manged to catch them before they walked into a complete other room. Jim had been convinced that I was in G when I was in F, which is actually the bay I ended up in.

I probably patronised my 12 – going on 13 – year old cousin by saying that look my legs a bit of a mikano set and that I was a bit of a vampire with blood being pumped into me. She's at the stage of being far too cool but I thought it was a scary experience for adults let alone a kid, no matter what age. She was quite interested in my leg though I don't think I can say the same for her father.

My mum and sister turned up not too much later. My mum had been delayed because she was unfortunately being a hero to someone else – she's annoyingly far too good a person! An elderly lady had fallen over on the train and mum looked after her after pressing the emergency buzzer in the platform.

She changed me while everyone else went downstairs and got a coffee and I told her everything that had happened. I felt so much more comfortable after getting changed. My grandad came into the room while I was semi naked – obviously having not read the sign which says "please knock if the door is closed." I just saw this old man who I didn't quite recognise at first with his tongue poking out like usual. "Ah grandad! I'm getting changed! Come back in a bit!" My poor lovely grandad but it's fine, they went and got a coffee with the rest of the family.

When I was freshened up and feeling better, everyone returned. I was quite tired but it was lovely to here all their chatter, especially my grandparents. They are ever so funny and tease each other all the time. When my nan brushed my hair like she loves to do, she tried to brush my grandad's bald head – poor man!

Everybody got a coffee again and I got the opportunity to finally release my bowels. I hadn't done so since the incident and you can imagine the agony I had been in all day which had only added to my distress. On a quieter day I'll explain the ins and outs of toileting for the bed bound but let's just say I was on the pan when my grandad yet again tried to enter my room. Thankfully he didn't come in.

When everybody left me when visiting hours had finished, I was now all made up. I had my magazines and my TV had been sorted – for an extortionate fee of £55 for two weeks. I had my ipad and my wash things and something to hold my phone in so that it could stand on the table and I could text with one finger as I felt sometimes too weak to do it with more. I also worked out how to send voice messages to people so I didn't have to text which was absolutely fabulous for me.

I watched Avengers before going to sleep far more contented than the night and morning before. In fact, I felt like I had a mini abode with all my bits and bobs surrounding me. I did go to sleep with the window open as I was too warm and the nurse kept asking if I was sure that I wanted it open. I regretted saying yes in the early hours of the morning but that begins the tale of Day 6.