Heavenly Beverley : Observations Of The Mount...

Michael and I have both been repeat offenders attending the Mount Hospital on a number of occasions, all under the care of our orthopaedic surgeon, Mister Ben Kimberley. Friday morning, we returned once again, Michael to undergo a major operation on his right wrist and hand. We were resident within the walls of the Mount for twenty-five hours and home in thirty hours. During our stay and now safely back in Heavenly Beverley, I have been pondering this excursion and considering how to toss both bouquets and brickbats. As both views are deserved.

The Mount has been "providing high-quality health care" for over thirty years, according to their home page, with two hundred and twenty-four private beds. The hospital admissions information guide is comprehensive and easy to read. Interestingly, little is said about boarding, which is permissible, as I stay with Michael now for every hospital stay. Prior to admission, a lengthy questionnaire needs to be completed and sent electronically. For somebody with limited or no computer understanding, this task alone could be problematic and would certainly require assistance.

To pay for the privilege of being a patient in the Mount costs an eye-watering nineteen hundred dollars per night. Plus, there is a curious "Prosthesis/Gap" fee of twenty-one hundred dollars. With those figures, one might expect very modern and up-market facilities and a gold-coated plate in Michael's forearm. Upon arrival and after attending the COVID 19 station at the front doors, the lobby certainly delivers an air of luxury. I was initially informed to "leave Michael at the door". That was my first inkling that my boarding was, once again, going to be an issue.

Michael's admission was relatively painless and dealt with efficiently by a very pleasant staffer. My admission as a boarder, as I had feared, did not go smoothly. In spite of double-checking the situation on Tuesday, my status had not been recorded. There was a harried phonecall to Karri ward to check before I could be processed. I can't remember a single instance when my boarding has been straightforward. This lack of communication always causes us grief.

We were shown to a private room with a pleasant view out to Mounts Bay Road and the interchange gardens. The single rooms are not large and I had to work out where my folding bed would be set up. Michael snoozed in between the donning of the atrocious hospital gown, the application of the sexy stockings and a quick shave of his wrist. Whilst he was sleeping, I unpacked our toiletries and other paraphernalia, such as our jarmies, his alkaline water, my computer and his ugg boots. I gazed around 235 as I attended to this task, noting its condition. There were no tissues in either the room or the ensuite and no soap for the shower.

Thirty-plus years have not been kind to the Mount's rooms. The shelf behind Michael's bed was half-heartedly hanging on at a jaunty angle, screws protruding. I decided that even the weight of a feather might be a bit much. The doors were kicked and scuffed, the skirting desperately needed painting and I discovered dust and a discarded bandaid under his bed, with cotton and old blood still attached. Not ideal.

However, the nurses assigned to Michael were outstanding. Sanna and Tracey were cheerful and efficient during our brief stay in 235. Eric in Pre-Op kept our spirits raised whilst waiting for Michael to enter the inner sanctum of the operating theatre.

Communication continued to be patchy and confused. Due to possible COVID 19 rules, I did ask about accompanying Michael to Pre-Op as the theatre orderly arrived. The nurse answered in the negative, whereas our hero orderly, wearing a fund-raising Spiderman mask on the back of his head, contradicted her and confirmed that I was welcome in Pre-Op.

Rumblings about the lack of boarders' beds had already been raised with me. I was astounded that the hospital only had four folding beds for boarders. Apart from the facts that we are country pensioners, we were both aware that Michael was going to need assistance in basic tasks once his surgery was over. He was obviously going to be behind the eightball with his right arm in plaster and his left hand hampered by IV lines and oximeter for post-operative observations. Michael's routine after surgery was usually eating and sleeping. The eating part would not be possible without me. Plus, he disliked nurses helping him with bodily functions, showering and dressing. That had been parts of my boarding role.

My sleeping arrangements came to a head whilst Michael was in theatre. There were no folder beds. I confirmed, politely and firmly, that I would be staying with Michael and I would not be sleeping on the floor.

Within an hour, we had been moved into a double room - 282/283. The view was the carpark, so I pulled down the blinds. The air-conditioning duct was not in the middle of the room, but straight over the bed closer to the window. Michael had the bed closer to the door and the loo with no airflow. As a result, he spent the night either too hot or too cold, dependent on the master thermostat. For some strange reason, there were no longer blankets on the wards. The wonderful and warm cotton blankets were only readily available for theatre or same-day patients. In their place were thin and decidedly not warm covers.

As expected, Michael returned from theatre with both his arms out of commission. Initially, I held his drinks and fed him. As he became more wakeful, we swapped the oximeter onto his right fingers so he had more use of his left hand. He then successfully negotiated to ingest a sandwich and coffee by himself.

The ensuite loo caused another headache. The toilet seat would not stay up by itself. That may sound like a trifling whinge, but Michael had to try and hold the seat up with his left hand whilst aiming his willy towards the bowl with his right plastered arm. Not easy.

Time for another bouquet. The nurses were quick to attend to any needs that I could not do. Obs, drugs and a lightning bed straighten for him were all achieved. We would like to thank nurses Cathy, Yelen, Barry and Elsa for all their efforts, performed with both care and a smile.

Michael's Superman change from the ill-fitting hospital gown into his jarmies was one of my night tasks. A warm and leisurely shower, buttering his toast, making him plunger coffee and helping him dress were all completed by eleven o'clock. Ben came in on a Saturday morning, a child in tow, doing his rounds. Then, with a mountain of possessions (and his discharge summary) on a wheelchair, we gratefully left the Mount and headed for Heavenly Beverley.

My last experience of hospitalisation at the Mount was a five-day stay after my knee replacement. Longer hospital stays definitely test one's resolve, patience and humour. Overnight stays are easier to endure. Even so, I think the Mount needs to spend some money on room refurbishment. Individual air-conditioners, fresh paint and renovating the existing fittings could be accomplished in stages. Toilet seats that stay up or down as desired. Cotton blankets for warmth on the beds. New tray tables that don't stick. Upgrading the patients and visitors pantry on Karri ward and the provision of a microwave would also help.

Cleaning continues to be haphazard. Dust, dirt and soiled bandaids under beds should not be there. After discharge, beds need to be moved away from the corners so the cleaners can conduct a thorough job. Enough towels, pillows and additional blankets should be placed in the rooms ready for the next patients.

More folder beds are required. Boarders should be encouraged to stay, rather than spoken about in quiet whispers, particularly to assist frail or lonely relatives or those patients who wish the extra support a boarder can provide. Clear examples of needs include helping with eating, toileting, showering and dressing. Whilst on a two week stay at Joondalup Private Hospital, I made Michael's bed, placed soiled linen in the correct trolleys and aided him with daily tasks. As a result, he was much happier and I relieved the nurses of a number of the more mundane activities. In the end, Joondalup nursing staff were threatening to keep me there permanently.

This is not rocket science. Attending hospital can be frightening, unpleasant or just strange. Rooms should be modern, comfortable and welcoming. All needs should be met. Not all carers or family want to be boarders, but those who want to stay or whose family member wishes them to remain should be given every respect. Admission with a boarder should be a smooth process. Scrambling about for a folder bed when we were charged thousands for an overnight stay should not occur.

Monday afternoon. Michael is asleep as I write. I will be ringing the Boy Wonder's rooms shortly to begin the next stage of Michael's recovery.

Stay tuned.