The Coronavirus Diaries, 28th January 2023, Cicero 💙 NHS

Well, never say we don’t know how to have a good time here in sunny south London. Not just one, but two consecutive days with visits to A&E at King’s, an accident and emergency department that has achieved national, maybe even international fame due to the series 24 Hours in A&E. Not that there were any tv cameras while we were there, though quite a few notices telling us staff wear body cams.

I didn’t do the whole shifts, just joined in for a while with Octavia as she sat in the waiting area feeling sick and poorly bad. She spent a greater deal longer there than I did. She developed a bad pain under her ribs yesterday morning. It travelled round to her back and left her feeling extremely unwell. She called 111 when it didn’t get better and the next thing she was off to Kings in an ambulance. Tests, scans, samples ensued but no definitive diagnosis. I received a text from her and joined her mid evening.

The waiting room was full. Staff came in and went out, calling names. We waited. Octavia’s pain grew worse. I went through the double doors to request pain relief and to ask how long she might need to wait before being seen again. Standing at the desk I watched as the staff continued working, calmly but ceaselessly. They were like bees, in constant motion. Computer screens were studied, colleagues consulted. Every now and then there was an urgent call for someone to go to resuss.

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The Coronavirus Diaries, 12th February 2021

Tonight the wind is biting. I popped down the road to deposit something in Celia’s brown bin as we no longer have one. I had intended to ring her doorbell and have a chat, but it was so cold all I wanted to do was get home again. It’s been cold all day, but also sunny which did much to mitigate it, so long as you were on the sunny side of the street, which by and large B and I were. I was her escort or minder for the walk to and from the venue where she had the first of her Covid jabs. Pfizer for those of you who like to know these things. For once I hardly took any photographs, although there were a number of things which caught my eye. It was all too much of a faff as I am again one handed having fallen the other day and put out my hands to save myself.

My accident was like a study in the effect of falling on different surfaces, one kind, the other unyielding. One hand landed on grass and I got a muddy glove but no injury. The other landed on the pavement and the pain had me wincing all the way home and especially when I tried to take off my glove. I thought, I hoped, it was just a bruise, maybe a sprain, and wrapped an ice pack round it, covered it in arnica, put it in a sling, took paracetamol. In the morning it still hurt, but one bit where I could see a large bruise blooming, hurt more, hurt a lot more. I went to A&E at Tommy’s.

Things that go bump on the knee

Exhausted

Wednesday night and the Boy and I are on the sofa. He’s sleeping as though he’s spent the day cleaning the flat from top to bottom (he hasn’t, there are paw prints on the windowsill and other things I’m not mentioning). I’m watching 24Hours in A&E and enjoying the human interest stories while admiring the wonderful professionalism and compassion of our NHS staff. People’s resilience is astounding.

I’ve got my left leg elevated after an accident that fortunately has not required a trip to A&E. One moment I was hurrying along the pavement wanting to get to the bank before I started work, the next I was sprawled on my face in the dust. A slightly raised paving slab and my failure to notice it were to blame. ‘Are you alright?’ said a concerned voice. ‘I don’t know yet,’ I answered, resisting the urge to get to my feet immediately and recover my dignity while I tentatively checked with my various parts to see if they were all still attached. They seemed to be, so I got to my knees, then to my feet. And oh the relief, my trousers were intact. I was expecting a jagged tear across the left knee which seemed to have taken the force of the fall. No grazes on my hands either. My sunglasses still on my nose. Hurrah!

Stayin’ Alive

Five months today since I smashed my wrist. Maybe I should have bought flowers to commemorate the day, but actually I did something far more exciting.

Bike in the Park

In the weeks following the accident I seriously wondered if I would ever get back on my bike. It stayed locked up in the bike shelter, gradually getting dirtier and dustier while I looked at adult push scooters, and waited for my fracture to mend.

I thought about selling my bike; unravelling the floral garland; removing the star shaped reflectors from the spokes; handing it over to a stranger along with my cycle clips, gloves and hi-viz jacket. It felt like betrayal. But I was scared. What would happen if I broke my wrist a second time? The talk of possible nerve damage when I was in A&E kept playing in a loop around my head. I’d got away with it this time, but a future when I couldn’t use my right hand made me cold with fear.

The consultant was reassuring. With all the metal in my arm, even if I broke it again, it would be in a different place. Rather haughtily I was told they had done all the wondrous and wonderful work on my wrist exactly so I could ride my bike again.

So the problem was me, how I felt, not my healing wrist. I kept renewing my bus pass and stopped looking at my bike. Deep down, I believed my cycling days were done.

Celia to the Rescue

You know what it’s like, there you are, stuck in a waiting room with nothing to read. Fortunately you have a mobile phone, so after calling the people who are expecting you so where you are definitely not going to be, you text a couple of friends.
I needed to thank Octavia for the gift of rhubarb I found through the letter box this morning, but knowing she was at work, I didn’t expect a reply before this evening at the earliest. Then I texted Celia who promptly pulled on her Superwoman tights, and found me in A&E.
I had nearly completed my cycle ride to work this morning and was passing St Thomas’ Hospital, when, just ahead of me, I saw a white car crossing through the lane of traffic to my right. I didn’t think the driver had seen me and I didn’t want to slam into the side of the car, so I applied my brakes, hard.
The good news is my brakes are very good; much better than I expected. Impressively effective, I should say. I came to an immediate halt, and fell off my bike in an undignified sprawl on the road. Kind people asked me how I was, picked up my bike, and I got to my feet. My arm felt bruised and instinctively I raised it and held it across my chest. I was pleased to find no holes in my trousers, and although I felt it was nothing serious, allowed myself to be led to A&E by the young woman who had rescued my bike. I am ashamed now that I did not ask her name.

Unfortunate Events

Halfway through a special screening of West is West last night, I felt my throat becoming very sore. I fished out an Olbas Oil pastille as quietly as I could and carried on watching.

The film is wonderful; every bit as warm hearted and thought provoking as East is East, and equally poignant and funny. I think it goes on general release next week, or maybe it’s next month. Anyway. Book your seats. You shan’t be disappointed.

Out in the foyer, I turned to my companion and found I’d lost my voice. Ooops.

It still hadn’t reappeared this morning so I rang in sick. which meant I was home when the ‘phone rang. Mother was found lying on the floor and has been admitted to her local hospital via A&E. She’s now been moved to the Emergency Assessment Unit, and I’m advised to call about four to see how she is.