When did we become so impatient and so unconcerned with the plight of our fellow man? Or is this an attitude that we have always had, waiting inside, ready to spring out?
Having spent a couple of weeks in hospital I have seen some amazing behaviours, some good, look at what our surgeons and nurses do, and some bad as shown by Joe Public. I was tempted to make this blog a funny one, lets face it, the last couple were nothing to laugh about, but I thought about what I  had seen and decided that human behaviour is nothing to laugh about. Humans are selfish, out for what we can get for ourselves.
I was amazed, while being pushed around in wheelchairs and beds while in hospital, the number of people who won't give way or will barge through, almost forcing the porter to run them over with said bed or wheelchair. The worst was when I was recovering from the operation. It was only a couple of days after having my chest cracked open, but the medics like to get you on your feet quick, it helps your recovery, and a physiotherapist came to see me. She got me up and off we went. Now at this point, I am not very steady and the physio is supporting me as we stroll through the corridors. At one point we came across a group of people coming towards us. At the narrowest point in the corridor they forced their way past me, pushing me into the wall. If I had been fully fit they would have bounced off of me, or I would have punched someone. But no, they carried on without an apology.

And one night I actually told a healthcare worker to fuck off. I know, bad language from me, who'd have thought it?
I am not sure that she was a nurse, wrong colour uniform. But she was doing work that I would have thought a nurse would do. She looked like an ageing European drag queen, a cross between Sticky Vicky and Danny La Rue, bandy-legged with blond nylon hair and a better moustache than mine. Apart from not being able to stop a pig in a passageway, she was a bit impatient. Having just fallen asleep one night, she decided that she would update everyone's patient notes. The notes were in folders wedged in at the bottom of the bed. Me, being a bit of a big fellow, filled the bed and my feet were across the notes. I had also just fallen asleep, and if you have ever been in hospital you will know how hard it is t get to sleep. Along comes Helga and shoves my feet out of the way to get the notes out. Now I am awake.
About 5am I decide I have to go to the loo, the pressure on my bladder has got too bad to ignore anymore. So off I go. This is not an easy trip as getting in and out of bed when you have had open-heart surgery is not an easy process. To start with, you can not use your arms to push yourself up, you have a sternum that held together with a bit of stainless steel wire and you don't want the bomb bay doors to burst open. Anyway, off I go to the loo. I do the business and head back to the ward. Helga is now following me down the corridor, pushing the weighing chair, and is anxious to get past. "Excuse me, I need to get past!" My, my, she is impatient, "Sorry love, you are going to the same place as me so you can wait" I totter back to the ward and start the process of getting back into bed, almost as hard as getting out. She decides that as I am awake she may as well take my weight. Why she didn't ask before I started getting back into bed, I have no idea. I refused to sit in the chair until she put the brakes on, she tutted at me then. Now the process of getting up, whether it is from bed or a chair, is to start rocking back and forth to build up a bit of momentum, then using legs only push up while hugging a rolled-up towel to your chest. This stops you from using your hands to push up and keeps the rib cage reasonably stable. When I did this to get up she decided to help by putting her hands under my arms and lifting. Painful. That's when I used some inappropriate language, for which I do not apologise. I feel that anybody working in a cardiac care ward should understand what has happened to the patients in it.
It was odd that I never seemed to see the same nurse twice. It was as if there was no consistency in the care given. When I was given the all-clear to go home it took twice as long to get out as different nurses were trying to find things out and not coming back to me. 'Why are you not wearing a Post Thorax vest?' I was asked several times. To which I responded with 'I don't know. No one has told me to wear one or, indeed, given me one to wear.' The nurse would then go to find out why I wasn't wearing one and not come back. Eventually, 2 days later, a nurse did come back, with a vest, and I escaped.
Don't get me wrong, these bad experiences are only a small part of the whole. The majority of the people who work in the NHS are dedicated professionals who give far more than their fair share to look after the patients in their care. The surgeons who cut me open and restored my failing body are phenomenal. The nurses who followed them are heroes. I couldn't do what they do. I refuse to get drawn into the politics of their pay and health service funding, but they deserve far more than they get. All they can have from me is my undying gratitude.

I will try and write a funny one next time.

Regards
Giant68

PS: considering I had a quintuple bypass after 3 heart attacks, I am hoping to go back to work at the end of this month. So I am doing ok, just in case you cared.