Dorell Ward

Dorell ward was an exercise in contrasts with CDU. It was quiet, peaceful and cool. Initially I was the only one in the six person bay my bed was wheeled into. After the flurry of activity over being moved and sign-in had finished, the on-shift ward sister came to see me, equipped with a set of gowns for me to change into. She took her time to talk quietly to me and apologised "I'm sorry. We sent you home too soon." I started crying. She sat with me for some time before encouraging me to lie down and to try to get some sleep.

I did not know it then but I was to spend a total of twelve days in hospital. The time spend in Dorell ward was a cycle of sleeping, eating and walking. It was a real pleasure to have access to proper washing facilities too. The showers on this ward were cavernous and I felt much safer using them than I had the one on the spinal unit - no dragging equipment out of the way and more grab rails.

I tried to read the magazines that previous patients had left but found I kept reading the same few lines over and over and over again. I had no concentration whatsoever. I'd had the same experience wirth previous surgeries but it had always worn off after two to three days. It was not until day eleven after surgery that I was finally able to read an entire article and not until day twelve that I even wanted to watch TV. When I think back, I realise that these two things really underline just how disconnected I'd been mentally. It probably took about the same length of time to regain confidence in being able to do even the simplest tasks without feeling like I could do myself some serious damage.

Toward the end of my time in Dorell I finally had a couple of visitors both of whom I've always found calming and peaceful to be around; the sort of people you just know you can rely upon.

I think my re-engagement with interests such as reading and watching TV led the ward sister to deciding I was now really in a position to go home.

Discharge this second time was a completely different experience. For one, I was not totally physically exhausted.

The ward sister took the trouble to re-fill my blood pressure medication as well as the pain relief that the hospital had prescribed so that I would have one less thing to concern myself over. She had arranged for the first of several appointments with my GP practise nurse for wound care. She had also provided me with pads to prevent me getting blood all over anything I lay or sat upon and a pack of spare dressings. Yes, my right incision was still bleeding! I can't help thinking that had these things had been done the first time, I may have not had to have been re-admitted. Another difference was that my lift home was pre-arranged and trouble free as my friend Jimmy was off-shift.

I had been very lucky that my friends Gary had been able to stay at my home this entire time to look after my cats and that he'd done so willingly and without making me feel like I was imposing.

Critical Dependency Unit (CDU)

The two days I eventually spent in CDU were horrendous. I had been told I could stay there so long as I didn't move around. This instruction was in direct contradiction with what I'd been told to do by my spinal consultant. The light levels were kept very dim and the beds were packed closely together. I was told that a member of the spinal team would be down to see me. At this pount I didn't know why as I's already been seen by someone from the team whilst in A&E. I had also overhead them saying that the spinal team were dealing with someone with three breaks in their spine so knew that they would not be down "in a while between patients" but would be in theatre for at least nine hours. In short, I knew I was being lied to.

Some of the other people in CDU were very ill. I was under the erroneous impression that my incisions had not been re-dressed after being examined in A&E (did I mention I was a complete fruit loop at the time?) so was in a panic about being infected. I also felt disgisting as I hadn't had a wash for two days. I eventually decided to ignore instructions to stay put and locked myself into one of the bathrooms to take a quick wash with the emergency hygiene kit I'd been provided with because, of course, I hadn't expected to be re-admitted so didn't have my own stuff with me. Though I felt better for being clean, I was still very sore and emotionally volatile.

I think it may have been the evening of day one in CDU, my surgeon's registrar came down to see me. It's difficult to be sure of the time as the lack of daylight and having no watch meant I had no sense of time. We talked for a whole but I think he just thought I was mental. To be fair, in hindsight, I do think I'd lost it a bit and was quite paranoid by then.

On the second day of being in CDU, the patient opposite me started talking to me as she was feeling a bit better after being admitted as a result of a bad asthma attack. She did more to calm me down that any of the staff... I'd had to disobey instructions a second time just to get them to notice me long enough to get a jug of water earlier. Given how hot CDU was and that I'd been told by the spinal care team how important it was to drink a lot, this had also had me bouncing with anxiety.

As day two wore on with no further information on what was happening I got to the point where I was a hair's breadth from walking out, without my meds, and in blood soaked clothing (yes, not even provided with a gown after two days). It would have been an evens bet as to whether I would have made it home or been found jumping off one of the bridges over the Thames at this point. I mean this sincerely. I was a mess mentally.

I asked for some paper and a pen and started writing. No, scribbling, at high speed, using the counter at the nurses' station. I tend to write to vent anxiety anyway but I also wanted to capture what I was going through for future reference. It seemed to have the side effect I was hoping for as I think the staff assumed I was writing a complaint. Indeed, I may well have eventually but knew I was in no fit state to make a reasoned decision at the time. From this point on, things finally seemed to get moving.

Two, maybe three hours later, I was surrounded by staff and told I was being moved to Dorell ward. I think it may have been in the early hours of day three. I was later to find out that this ward is part of the Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) suite.