Diary of a sick black woman: 4 of 6

I am really losing track of days now; my memory is becoming a blur in the monotony of hospital life. So yesterday was interesting, I had a surgeon come and see me in the morning and tell me that I would be discharged. I found that astounding. Here am I not able to walk more than 4 steps with no one at home to care for me no wheelchair to take home and in a flat which is not wheelchair compatible and I was being discharged. This made me absolutely terrified. I decided that I would not leave this ward until I had an acceptable care plan in place. I gritted my teeth and I bore down ready to fight this thing out. I sat in my bed and I waited and waited and waited and then it was night-time and then I went to bed.

When I woke up this morning the same surgeon came to see me. She told me again that I was being discharged and would be going home. By now I’d spoken to the nurses and understood that she didn’t mean going home she meant that I was being discharged as in I was clinically discharged so there was nothing else a doctor needed to do for me. That didn’t mean I was being kicked out of the hospital, so that was good news. I’d had a few questions for her regarding the reason for my pain in the plans going forward. As always I was told that it was a complication that always could have happened and that any plans going forward would be discussed with my original orthopaedic surgeon. I was told that physio and occupational health would come and see me today at some point. I was pretty meh about that seeing as they hadn’t come yesterday.

It was at the end of a visit from my mum, just as she was about to leave that the occupational health worker came to see me. She wanted to assess how I was able to move. Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever had if physiotherapy or occupational health assessment in hospital, but this was brutal. Not because I think she was choosing to be brutal. But just because it was so painful to even try. I managed to get myself standing using my trusted walking sticks and her arm as support. I even managed to take a step but she stated with the amount of weight that I was putting on her I may be better with a frame. Me! With a zimmer frame? Be still those beating hearts. So off she went and got me a frame with the wheels on the front. I managed about 6 steps with that before I just couldn’t do any more. She bought a chair behind me for me to sit. That would have been okay if that was the end of it. But now I had to make it back to my bed. You might think being 10 Steps Away From my bed is nothing. But the pain I felt with every single step was agony. I managed to make it back to my bed with only minimal tears and embarrassment.

But still its a step in the right direction, with a steady flow of patients coming in and out of my 6 bed bay I’m starting to feel like a part of the furniture.

It’s time to get out of here.

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