Yesterday, the Senior Medically Trained People told me that I would be discharged by 15:00hrs. A person who had yet to complete her training told me that all being well, I should be out by 11:00hrs. Her estimate was supported by an Angel. I knew which time I would prefer, but I decided that patience was going to have to be a virtue when it came to me departing Room 7 on thirteenth floor of University College Hospital.
And boy did I need patience.
This morning, I woke up at 07:30hrs, relieved that two hours earlier my temperature had fallen to 37.0. My excitement was palpable. I just wanted to get home. I also wanted to have a shower, but there was no point in me doing that until my PICC line had been removed.
Based on what I had been told on Wednesday and yesterday, I needed to wait to see the doctors, my CNS, have my line removed and get my drugs. The latter, I was also told, were ready for me last night.
At 09:40hrs, I saw the consultant during her rounds and I was informed that I could go home. Fine. As they left five minutes later, the ward sister informed me that she would return in five minutes to get things sorted.
At 11:00hrs she reappeared to tell me that she would contact my CNS, confirm when I next needed to be in and check my blood results to confirm I did not need anything else. I said that 30 minutes before she came in, a Junior Senior Medically Trained Person had informed me of my blood results and said I would need to take some additional injections to boost my blood at home. The nurse was pleased with the news, especially when I told her I had already been in touch with my CNS and that I thought I had arranged having a blood test done in another hospital next week. The nurse left.
At 11:30hrs, I saw my CNS. Got all the information I needed and collected some blood forms. Done.
By midday, I was crying, because I literally had nothing to do, I could do nothing, until I was seen by the nurses. I may not have been doing anything for the last two weeks, but today, I had somewhere to go. Every minute dragged and dragged some more. I just wanted to get dressed. Trying to guess what time Mamma Jones should reach London Town was also proving stressful. All seemed well however because a nurse entered to give me my afternoon’s drugs and said they’d be with me in an hour. As I had a lot of time to think, I asked if they could also shave off my remaining hair.
At 13:15hrs a different nurse came in my room and I had what can only be described as a paddy, which embarrassed me because the nurse is very nice. We had a nice chat the other night and he made me think twice about a wish of mine to holiday in Moscow. Not at the moment. Anyway, he informed me that they would be with me in an hour, to shave my head and remove my line. My additional drugs had not arrived yet, so he added that even if they had removed my line, I wouldn’t be able to go anywhere. I explained that I could at least shower. I just wanted to leave.
It was time for show tunes.
I phoned some people and complained. I do not know how they could be so relaxed about it. I guess it is not their life is it? When somebody told me to be patient or relax, I got angry. Nobody could possibly understand the torture that is waiting to leave hospital.
At 14:40hrs, the nice male nurse returned. He removed my PICC, which was effortless and thankfully, painless. He then shaved my head again, to try and get off as much of the hair as one can without a Bic razor. It was at this time, I found out that my blood results had shot right up and I no longer required the additional injections. Brilliant. So I would be leaving soon, yes?
By 15:25hrs, I had showered, dressed and made myself look semi normal. It was just about waiting for the drugs. I sat. I waited. I carrie on listening to show tunes.
At 16:30hrs, with my wig on and my drugs in my bag, I walked out the main entrance and into a black cab.
I’m going home.
I’m actually going home.
I believe the customary thing to say right now is that I have done it. Bugger.