If you thought I was lucky to survive the comedy of errors that was my hospital stay then read on.
A few hours after coming round I was in pain again and reached for the call bell which had been carefully placed on my locker to maximise inconvenience, fumbling around I knocked my glasses to the floor before finally getting hold of the it. In strode the nurse and almost predictably stood straight on them, all I heard was the sad crunch of a smashed lens, all too familiar from many lost fights at school. I got an apology, a promise that they’d be repaired and the blessed relief of another syringe load of morphine so in the short-term I didn’t really care too much.
By morning the level of morphine was down to a point where the pain was gone but the brain was working and I wanted my glasses to bring the world back into focus, then I was given the depressing news that they wouldn’t be back until the next week, wonderful! I tried reading a newspaper with my nose literally touching it but that just gave me a headache so all that was left was sleep until my first visitor showed up.
The fun really started 3 days later when I was brought a pair of crutches so I could at least attend to the call of nature in private, there was a practice session and then I was on my own, for the toilet and nothing else. Somewhat nervously I started across the ward and completely failed to see a wet patch on the floor. Landing on the injured leg was almost a certainty and an ear-splitting shriek brought the entire ward staff running. When the registrar came in and told me that I’d just got myself at least a week confined to bed it felt like a punishment, just the sort of thing my parents would have done even though I’d done nothing wrong and, let’s face it, I could have sued.
Eventually it took a week to get my glasses back, thank heaven for my Sister and her Boyfriend who took pity on me and brought in some bottles of beer, quite permissible back then as was smoking. I was only allowed my cigarettes when I had visitors because I was so bored I kept falling asleep the rest of the time. I was stuck in that place for over 3 weeks, almost 2 of them confined completely to bed and the rest of the time I was in physio morning and afternoon.
The really depressing part was that this was only knee one, the consultant was already planning his assault on the other one.
Love
Ohh, how horrid! I can’t imagine the pain of landing on that knee…… What did they do to your knee? After all was said and done, did the surgery help or was it just an exercise in futility?
I had knee problems from 14 and the guy I saw in London assumed that surgery would be the answer. Not keyhole surgery back then either I’ve got 4″ cars on both knees and nothing got better. Oh well