Heavenly Beverley : Hospital Antics - Featuring More Red Socks and Mata Hari Stockings

Today has been extremely busy until now, which is at the end of lunch. I'm hoping to finish this post before I need a Bex, a good lie down and a decent cup of tea.

Forget about hospitals being places of rest, recuperation, and recovery. That misconception only occurs whilst the patient is being given enough medicinal goodies to stay in Cloud Cuckoo Land. Once the heaviest of the sleep-inducing stuff is withdrawn, the patient moves into a state of less extreme snooziness but is continually interrupted from sleep by a barrage of people and their requests for your body and your mind. And when you are well enough and conscious enough to leave, your money.

In a salute to that classic moment only expected in the movies, I was roused out of a deep sleep at 10 o'clock last night to be given the last of my night meds. Which I had actually requested at eight o'clock... That was when I realised my state of consciousness had returned to normal, and that the hospital had returned to its default position - of crazy protocols and nonsensical schedules.

The noise levels begin their rise before six o'clock in the morning. This is when the Water Jug Ladies remove your bedside water jugs and glasses. Gone. Just like that. A later set of Water Ladies return a new jug and glass, so if one is thirsty in the interim and confined to bed, bad luck.

Further early morning amusements included those awful modern symphonies of observation trolley clashes, a cacophony of nurses' low voices, the jungle-like rhythmic knocking on room doors (are you still asleep? Not anymore you aren't...) and if you are really lucky, your first meds for the day ( there you are, back to sleep now...).

I was starving this morning by the time breakfast arrived, at eight o'clock, having listened to the jostling orchestral sounds of the ward since the departure of the Water Jug Ladies. Michael had snored his head off throughout these less than silent hours, only surfacing with the smell of fried egg and toast arriving at his table. His return to consciousness was spot-on. I was envious.

Post breakfast shenanigans included the casual visit by the Boy Wonder - "what on earth is that?" were his first words pointing to the layer-upon-layer-upon layer of neat, staggered and not waterproof bandaging on my leg. Sarah, in response -"that's how all your patients come back". Ben Kimberley, in an astonished tone "well get the dressings off and stick on a waterproof one, will you? Of course, I'm usually in the tea room by the time this all happens!"

Trying not to laugh, snort and hoot all at once...

A quick look, a sign-off, preparation for my discharge and the Boy Wonder was off to startle his next patient.

Then came the Allies/Allied Services. David was the so-called evil physiotherapist from yesterday. All he was trying to do was to teach me how to get up and down steps. "Good leg to heaven, bad leg to hell" and watching in slightly amused horror as I demonstrated this move completely incorrectly on two occasions. Which caused me instant pain. Bollocks.

Must keep practising, practising, practising...

David was followed by Zoe, an occupational therapist with clear instructions on how I should be moving. I'm sure I nearly caused her a nervous breakdown. She was less than impressed with the swiveling action of my good foot, my "falling with style" onto the loo and using objects like bathroom cabinets for additional balance. She also disapproved of my complete refusal to consider a toilet chair or a panic button. A snippet of our conversation went something like this -

Zoe "but you fell over and couldn't get up without help"
Me - "that's because eighty-two kilos of me followed my knee in my collision with the paving"
Zoe - "but you've fallen twice"
Me - "well I won't be doing that again. The second fall and arthroscopy were most unsatisfactory and now I've had a new knee, I have no desire to fall ever again."

I think Zoe came to the conclusion that I was probably a lost cause.

Michael, having breakfasted himself and showered, helped me with my shower prior to leaving me until tomorrow. He was being forced to return to Heavenly Beverley due to an unexpected complication. Mark and Joel, our wall builders, had finally come to the end of our job - finish the sealing of the pavers. This involved the exile of any animals from this area until the pavers dried. Jan has taken Matters In Hand, locked a very annoyed cat in Station House so Michael could give her the dreaded blood pressure tablet and taken the Beagle and Pip to her house for the duration. Michael needed to relieve her, profusely thank her and offer our eternal gratitude.

Vanessa arrived as Michael was leaving. And I also had another appointment with the loathed support stockings. Sarah frogmarched me to the bed to assist dragging them up my reluctant legs. These ones were full length and took quite some effort to finish the job. However, once at full stretch, Vanessa declared that they were sexily white, shiny Mata Hari stockings.

Suddenly I was no longer confined to a hospital bed, but reclining on a chaise lounge, scantily clad and inhaling a seriously fashionable cigarette. The addition of more non-slip red socks on top only added to my allure...

And I thought I wasn't taking weird drugs anymore!