The last time I wrote a post was way back on 2 April. We were gearing up for our Super Easter Saturday, which included a very successful card making demonstration, facilitated by Kim, followed by another rip-roaring Sundowner. Thanks to my inimitable second-in-command, the Divine Ms George, the East End Gallery began to be emptied at midnight. Remarkably, Michael retired to our Inner Sanctum by two...
Not to diminish a fantasmagorical night at all, but I was exhausted by ten-thirty. Once more, our Famous sausage sizzle was a success, the live music was fabulous and much to our delight, sales were brisk. We actually had eleven dollars remaining in the kitty after paying all our wonderful artists...
But I had to go to bed. This is a familiar, and often an irksome theme in my life at present. Occasionally, I can sail through an evening, particularly when engrossed by Outlander, but the likelihood is much more that Cinderella's carriage is rocking up for me at about nine-thirty.
And an added irritant is that I will lie in my very comfortable bed, absolutely stuffed, and sleep will elude me. Last night, in addition to being alternatively too hot and too cold, I played foot fights with Chop, endured Pip's bad breath and snuffling and engaged in a spirited tug-of-war for the quilt with Stella. Michael wisely continued to watch the telly.
Anyway, as ever, I've digressed. Following an extremely successful Easter, we only had two days of attending to the home fires before we were back in the Gallery once more. I spent a sizable chunk of our precious downtime on the phone. To the NDIA and the Housing Commission (which has now been enveloped by a juggernaut named the Department of Communities with numerous associated and disassociated branches). My Mission? To divert some of Alex's NDIS funding in order to purchase and install a reverse cycle airconditioner in his unit, so he lives in a stable temperature. And why? To reduce his risk of catching viruses, having those viruses turn nasty, hopefully controlling his asthma and bronchiectasis better and not having his daily life seriously disrupted with chest infections and the worst-case scenario, succumbing to respiratory or cardiac failure.
So, any other activities were squeezed into an exceedingly small window of opportunity. Thursday, we returned to the Gallery. New artworks were arriving, along with the associated and usually pleasurable arranging and labelling. Except my enthusiasm was thin on the ground. And by Saturday morning, I began experiencing breathlessness along with the familiar burning pain in my chest.
What to do? Given some unpleasant outcomes at the local hospital, we decided to bypass that, the ambos and go straight to the Emergency Department at Northam Hospital. We arrived during a very quiet lull, so I was admitted, wired for sound, donated some more blood and hung around. At least the staff left the screen open so I was able to observe the nerve centre with all comings and goings.
All was turning out to be perfectly normal, however final bloods were to be taken at ten-thirty, so I was moved onto the ward into a much more comfortable bed. Then, I was suitably reminded why hospitals are not a place of rest.
The ward coordinator was a marvellously cheerful individual with a booming voice. I thanked my lucky stars he was signing off following the afternoon shift. My nurse was a young and equally cheerful lass who did her very best to disturb me.
However, there is nothing quite so startling as a thermometer being inserted into an ear whilst on the very edge of sleep. That woke me up thoroughly for another couple of hours. Then, of course, I played blanket roundabout - being pulled up, pushed down or falling completely on the floor. Blood pressure taking was an added amusement. As I naturally have low blood pressure, but I was being observed for cardiac symptoms, I was informed that I needed to have the systolic number higher than 80, otherwise my nurse would be required to begin readings every fifteen minutes. After vigorously pumping my legs, I could only raise my pressure to 74/99. Fortunately, a trip to the loo did the trick and I was rewarded with blood pressure readings that required less attention.
The problem with night waking is a propensity for repeated trips to the toilet. Hence after trying that old standard of ignoring my bladder, I really needed to go. Deciding not to disturb the staff, I simply unhooked myself from all machines that go beep and headed for the bathroom. Mid-pee, the alarms were all hammering and in my haste to pull up my knickers, the oximeter on my finger became ensnared in the lacey bits. Bollocks...
Eventually, peace was restored and I grabbed a few hours of very precious sleep. With all my observations and bloods normal, I was given my Get Out Of Jail card at around ten o'clock on Sunday morning. With orders not to cancel my appointment for Coronary Artery CT and follow up consult scheduled for today. Poop...
I cannot fault Northam Hospital. Their care was great, the bed reasonable and the food edible. The room was clean, the bathroom spotless. All the staff were accommodating and very kind. Whilst still feeling like a complete malingerer, I was comfortable and at ease.
I still have to face the appointments today. I am hoping that all comes back completely normal. The reality is that I would prefer not to spend another eventful night in a hospital anywhere soon in the future. Michael definitely concurs...
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