So the plans for the week were in danger of being completely wiped out...
Wednesday I was continuing to do the preparations for the 2nd day of the latest Basic Course for New Referees at WRCFA HQ, including writing up the marks awarded for the candidates efforts on the practical exercises from the first day (last Sunday).
Thursday I was attending my son's school Nativity play where he was part of the "musicians" group playing a number of instruments (mostly percussion!) and singing.
Friday I was looking forward to watching my newly upgraded SKY TV channels, having conceded defeat to a nice little Welsh telephone salesman who phoned when I was busy doing something else and allowed him to persuade me that the £5.12 per month introductory offer for SKY HD+ was just too good to pass.
Saturday I was going to Harewood House Country House and Bird Gardens to see Santa, hug a Husky (!) and stroke a penguin with my wife and son. It seemed a better prospect than the last Santa trip where we went to the National Coal Mining Museum, travelling 800m underground to see Santa in a tiny grotto. It was beautiful but I just wasn't that comfortable being so far underground (claustrophobia is not my thing).
Sunday I was helping deliver the second day of practical training for 25 new referee candidates, hopefully not in freezing rain and wind (as it was last week).
Instead I was awaiting the allocation of a bed so that I could have antibiotics administered through an IV. I had a problem though. My phone had run out of charge, work were expecting me back in (although they were aware of the referral to the hospital) and my wife didn't know where I was. Also my car was in the car park and I had a lot of the materials needed for the course on Sunday in it.
I already had a cannula fitted to my arm in preparation for my IV but managed to persuade the nurse to allow me to take my car home. I got home, explained all to my wife (who took it very well) and packed an overnight bag (little did I know it would become a 3 night stay ... at least!). My wife took me back to hospital and I soon found myself propped up in bed in a smallish room, having antibiotics administered by IV every 4-5 hours, supported by regular checks on my blood pressure, blood oxygen levels and respiratory rates.
The surgical assessment unit (my location) is intended for short term stays, often only a couple of hours while the patient is assessed for their suitability for surgery before being moved to a specialist ward for pre-op preparation and then surgery. Ward 37 was my new home, appropriately named Gate 37 as the hospital was styled more as an airport than a hospital and certainly had a lot of development work done since my daughter was born here 18 years ago.
The room I was in contained 4 beds. Bed 5 was occupied by a man dressed in sports apparel (England cricket team I think) who had apparently tried to separate his two dogs who were fighting (an Akita and a Rottweiler) and they had bitten him instead. He'd been stitched up and being treated with antibiotics. Bed 6 contained a young man with a Mohican haircut who was a part time cage fighter. He had a badly infected hand which he had to keep soaking in a jug of fluid containing iodine which made his hand turn yellow!
He spent most of the evening asleep and I wondered if he had been given some strong painkillers which were making him sleepy as his hand was the size of one of Mickey Mouse's. I was in bed 7. Bed 8 had an elderly gentleman who was suffering from dementia but needed surgery for some undisclosed condition. He didn't take kindly to the regular checks on his condition and spent much of his time arguing with the staff. What a merry band we were!
I fell asleep as the last of the first bag of IV fluid drained into my arm around 12:20 am on Thursday. I was going home in the morning ... wrong!
Continue reading...
Wednesday I was continuing to do the preparations for the 2nd day of the latest Basic Course for New Referees at WRCFA HQ, including writing up the marks awarded for the candidates efforts on the practical exercises from the first day (last Sunday).
Thursday I was attending my son's school Nativity play where he was part of the "musicians" group playing a number of instruments (mostly percussion!) and singing.
Friday I was looking forward to watching my newly upgraded SKY TV channels, having conceded defeat to a nice little Welsh telephone salesman who phoned when I was busy doing something else and allowed him to persuade me that the £5.12 per month introductory offer for SKY HD+ was just too good to pass.
Saturday I was going to Harewood House Country House and Bird Gardens to see Santa, hug a Husky (!) and stroke a penguin with my wife and son. It seemed a better prospect than the last Santa trip where we went to the National Coal Mining Museum, travelling 800m underground to see Santa in a tiny grotto. It was beautiful but I just wasn't that comfortable being so far underground (claustrophobia is not my thing).
Sunday I was helping deliver the second day of practical training for 25 new referee candidates, hopefully not in freezing rain and wind (as it was last week).
Instead I was awaiting the allocation of a bed so that I could have antibiotics administered through an IV. I had a problem though. My phone had run out of charge, work were expecting me back in (although they were aware of the referral to the hospital) and my wife didn't know where I was. Also my car was in the car park and I had a lot of the materials needed for the course on Sunday in it.
I already had a cannula fitted to my arm in preparation for my IV but managed to persuade the nurse to allow me to take my car home. I got home, explained all to my wife (who took it very well) and packed an overnight bag (little did I know it would become a 3 night stay ... at least!). My wife took me back to hospital and I soon found myself propped up in bed in a smallish room, having antibiotics administered by IV every 4-5 hours, supported by regular checks on my blood pressure, blood oxygen levels and respiratory rates.
The surgical assessment unit (my location) is intended for short term stays, often only a couple of hours while the patient is assessed for their suitability for surgery before being moved to a specialist ward for pre-op preparation and then surgery. Ward 37 was my new home, appropriately named Gate 37 as the hospital was styled more as an airport than a hospital and certainly had a lot of development work done since my daughter was born here 18 years ago.
The room I was in contained 4 beds. Bed 5 was occupied by a man dressed in sports apparel (England cricket team I think) who had apparently tried to separate his two dogs who were fighting (an Akita and a Rottweiler) and they had bitten him instead. He'd been stitched up and being treated with antibiotics. Bed 6 contained a young man with a Mohican haircut who was a part time cage fighter. He had a badly infected hand which he had to keep soaking in a jug of fluid containing iodine which made his hand turn yellow!
He spent most of the evening asleep and I wondered if he had been given some strong painkillers which were making him sleepy as his hand was the size of one of Mickey Mouse's. I was in bed 7. Bed 8 had an elderly gentleman who was suffering from dementia but needed surgery for some undisclosed condition. He didn't take kindly to the regular checks on his condition and spent much of his time arguing with the staff. What a merry band we were!
I fell asleep as the last of the first bag of IV fluid drained into my arm around 12:20 am on Thursday. I was going home in the morning ... wrong!
Continue reading...
