Friday, 18 December 2015

Welcome to the NHS


Along with the BBC, the NHS are one of my favourite institutions. I owe them my life many times over. However, they are not without flaws or faults. All of the following really happened but has been grossly exaggerated.

Once  again I found myself in the Acute Stoke Unit following another bleed. The nights were jam-packed with Activity....

Poor old Brian had really been hit badly by his stroke. Unable to move or speak properly, when in need of the lavatory he had to be hoisted up by hydraulic lift onto  a bedpan. He insisted, through a series of barked imprecations, that he was able to walk. The nurses disagreed and so he was launched on high, suspended from a device located above him that ran right to left across the ceiling. It was at this point my fertile imagination began to riot as so did events around me.

I imagined Brian hung on high flying from left to right across the ceiling and with a set of propulsive plops propelling pellets of poo from his posterior onto the patients below. As this thought sprang into action so did Howard from across the ward who, upon climbing out of bed had proceeded to walk in a North, North, West way toward the chilled toilet. No sooner had one foot set down in front of the other when a lunatic oriental nurse leaped up screaming "You can't do that you don't have mobility" whereupon she rugby tackled Howard sending him tumbling into a flask of water which he then decanted over a slumbering Bill who, startled awake, then sat up shaking off a few droplets of H2O from his brow noted...
"FUCKIN' HELL! THIS IS LIKE EUSTON STATION IN THE RUSH HOUR!"
Bob, who up until this point had remained quiet meekly enquired. "Where's my Coke a Cola?"
The response to which came from same rugger bugger nurse, who gave Bob the Greenwich MT. "It's Midnight, fool!"
What the time had to do with having a drink of Coke positively escapes me unless she feared Bob's intention was to thrust plastic bottle up Brian's back passage  before releasing a jet of carbonated liquid the better to aid bowel action.
At this point, someone, rather melodiously, started humming in Spanish. (can someone hum in Spanish?) yes, as I distinctly heard castanets. These, of course, might have been Brian's testicles as he had been suspended on high for awhile and at such an altitude the cold does tend to make things rattle.
In the corner, Michael snored on as I rolled onto my back and giggled.

Welcome to the NHS.

As I reclined, pandemonium running riot in Benfleet Ward, so I began to think.

Of the six patients lying here, five had been told they would soon be discharged. Why earlier that day Bill ONE had been led away weeping. No one knows why he was weeping, and no one has seen him since.

My personal belief is he was taken down to surgery, promptly anaesthetised and thereupon had certain body parts removed; possibly his spleen and liver, for I believe the NHS, in a cost-cutting exercise, are compiling a team of SUPER NURSES made from the body parts of Stroke Victims.

By the end of the week families of visitors will only be able to view his head and torso of their loved ones as limbs, hand and feet will have been removed and sewn onto a member of the dreadful SUPER NURSE Team.

As I have father four children we all know which part of mine they will remove.

I shall be discharged next Wednesday with a chap called Nigel believing my name to be Daphne.

Welcome to the NHS
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Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

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