A stay in Basildon Hospital

The story has now been told and re-told. I will try to provide the complete version.

It has been decided that I need an operation to reconstruct my shoulder so I have been admitted to hospital.

First I was moved to the surgical admissions ward. I spent a most uncomfortably night unable to get warm on this ward 10 or more years ago. This visit was different. Jo left me to settle in and returned home to get some of the basics required for the day. It was now too late to be included in Monday's list, so I was allowed a meal. The food is good - especially to the hungry - but the portions are not great. Jo returned with supplies, so I am set for the night and next day. The operation is expected to be Tuesday afternoon. At 8pm the visitors leave and people are slowly allocated to wards.

I'm sent to get a hanging cast - to put some weight on the arm to help re-align the bones.
The guy who took me relates the story of his accident 'lilo surfing' on the hotel pool on day 1 of his holiday. He got no sympathy until he changed his story to a water skiing jump accident, then he was kept supplied with drinks for the rest of his stay. Perhaps I need a story. Or perhaps not - it isn't my style!
I am taken back to Linford ward, and settled in by Mandy - the ward sister. When I arrive she is defusing World War three between two women. One is stealing the others biscuits. Mandy knows who is who and what is what, and gently leads the confused 'thief' back to her bed.
I am directed to a bed and unloaded and 'plugged in'. The drip is attached to my left arm, and my right bends at 90 degrees at the elbow. I'm immobile, until a pole is found to hang the drip on. Some doctors have seen me and told me that I may have a light breakfast, but now the plans are changed and I am 'nil-by-mouth' from midnight. I am allowed to use the hospital phone to call home and communicate the revised arrangement.

The diagnosis is that I have broken the ball off the top of the arm, and shattered the socket.

In the course of moving around I have noticed that the drip isn't dripping, and have to get it reset. On returning to my bed I find that the blood in the tube has cleared. The drip is almost a stream - it is reset again. I have previously asked about the air bubbles in the drip, and told that if they're under 5mm its not a problem.

It is a busy night on Linford. People are still being admitted, and the guy in the next bed is returned from surgery. He is attached to a monitor, which bleeps an alarm every couple of hours, he's also on 30 minute observations. There is no peace. I have retreated to the headphones - Radio 4 - as a distraction. I'm hearing it, but not really interested. I sleep fitfully under the lights and with all the coming and goings. A cup of tea is allowed just before midnight - its a welcome interruption.
The time for the operation is revised again, almost back to the old schedule, so breakfast is cancelled.

The surgeon has visited and told me what he is going to do - put a plate in the arm to join the bone. I signed the consent form on Monday because as the orthopedic doctor said when she found out I was a very right-handed programmer "This really needs fixing". As with all surgery there are risks, and recovery may not be complete. Movement to 95% should be achievable. The risks include the screws going into the bones and the bones completely failing to heal. This does not worry me as much as it should have - after all there's nothing I can do about it.

We go through the pre-operation questionnaire again. The pre-surgery checks for allergies, loose teeth, strange make-up etc. I've done this four times in all.

Tuesday morning eventually arrives, and I am initiated into the hospital washing routine. The nurse is one of the gentlest and most friendly people you could possible hope to have help in such a situation. He has many people to wash, and tells me what to do, and provides what I need. He constantly tells me to slow down.

Breakfast is served, but not for me. I retreat behind the headphones again, and drift in and out of sleep. I am woken by someone from an outpatients offering a bone density scan - I accept. Even though I thought osteoporosis was a woman's disease it affects 1 in 12 males over the age of fifty.

I have tried to pray at various times, on the bed, or sitting in the chair, but tiredness, and the deep seated dread of being made unconscious have blocked my signal to God.