I had spent four weeks at St Georges, and leaving, despite the initial fear, was incredible. Now, on the whole, I wouldn’t describe a long-term stay in hospital as fun. Sure, you get breakfast (and lunch and dinner!) in bed and relaxing is positively encouraged. You even get a hot drinks service a few times a day and someone brings you hot chocolate before bed. But mostly, it wasn’t fun. I do, however, have some good memories of my time there. This post is all about those precious moments. Moments that helped me through what was a really tough few weeks.
One of the difficult things about being in hospital long-term is that you’re never really alone. After about a week at Georges, I had the amazing blessing of being put in my own en suite room. The first night I slept in there was incredible. I can remember closing the door at bedtime and switching the light off and it feeling so peaceful. Of course, I could still hear the distant noises from the ward, but it was so much better. Although the first few nights I was in there, I actually opened the door again because it was comforting to hear the nurses wandering around.
One of the most precious memories I have of being in my own room was being able to use the shower by myself. Up until that point, washing involved someone else taking me to the bathroom and staying with me while I washed. Or more accurately, for a couple of weeks, I actually just transferred from the wheelchair to the shower seat and had that person wash me.
It’s funny really. There are lots of things you’d think would be really embarrassing about being in hospital. Having a stranger strip you naked and wash you would definitely have been top of my list. But, you know, in the moment, you really don’t think like that. There’s no, “Oh my goodness! I’ve just met this person and now they’re washing my bits!” All I can recall thinking was, “Oh wow! It feels so refreshing and good to be under the shower.”
But I can remember being so excited to be getting my own room. One afternoon, I was getting a little impatient. I had been asking all morning if someone could take me for a shower. I think most of the time I was a patient patient, but there were some times when it all became too much. And sweating in a hot ward all night and not being able to shower in the morning was one of those moments. At the height of my grumpiness, all of a sudden, one of the nurses came over and said, “Peter, how would you like your own room? We’re moving you to a side room.”
I was so excited that I messaged Mim straight away! Mim, who works in a hospital and knows exactly what it usually means when they move you to your own room, didn’t share my excitement. Turns out that most of the time, people are moved to side rooms to isolate them from the rest of the patients, because they’ve got something that is highly contagious and possibly dangerous. So it’s understandable why Mim wasn’t as excited. But me, I was super excited.
They moved me to my new room and it was wonderful. I had my own toilet and shower room. It had windows that I could open and close at will, without worrying about upsetting someone else. I had a nice little view of a courtyard and, even more exciting than that, I could see the helipad, so got to watch helicopters taking off and landing. I just laid there for a while with the fresh air on my face. It was magnificent!
It was then that I realised the possibilities of having my own shower. I could maybe attempt to wash myself. So I waited for a nurse to come by and asked if I was allowed to shower on my own and she told me that she didn’t see why not. She did say to leave the door unlocked and made it very clear where the red emergency cord was. I sat in that shower for about half an hour and sang worship songs. It was incredible. I have been in many worship times at Church and that moment right there ranks as one of the best.
Another great memory was when Mim and I realised that we could be alone. So one evening, when all other visitors had left, we had date night. Mim went out and got burgers, and on her return, we closed the door, ate dinner together, and watched a movie on my iPad. We felt a little bit naughty because the burger place messed up the order, so it was way past visiting hours.
There was a lovely moment when one of the nurses opened the door and we thought he was going to say that Mim had to leave. But he just said, “Oh no, I just thought you might like some cutlery and napkins.” Then he closed the door and left us to it. It was at moments like this when the staff of St Georges really shone. There are many more stories to tell about the heroes of the NHS, but I think I’ll give them their own post at some point.
One of the hardest things about being confined to a hospital ward is that you can’t go outside. It was only after a couple of weeks of being in hospital that I managed to start walking again. That was a weird feeling, but an important milestone. At first, my walks involved going twenty yards to the window and then back to my bed. Just that short distance was exhausting. It felt like climbing a mountain.
After a day or two I progressed to walking up and down the ward. Then, within a week, I was able to walk off the ward and around the block. I had to inform the nurses when I was going so they could make sure I made it all the way round and back to my room. The outside world was visible from a few windows on my journey, but I can’t put into words how much I missed being outside.
The afternoon of February 6th 2018 was the day I finally made it outside. My parents, Mim, my brother and my nephews were visiting me and they had taken me down to one of the hospital coffee shops. We were sat just yards from a door that opened out onto a courtyard. Despite it being really cold, my nephews were more than happy to escort Uncle Pete to the outside for the first time in weeks. It only lasted a few minutes, because it really was rather cold, but just for a minute or two, as I stood there in my dressing gown, blanket and slippers, it felt marvellous!
Now for the story of the t-shirt and medal: two things that brought a massive smile to mine and the faces of people all around the ward. So, remember way back when I first got sick? You know, when they sent me home from the hospital with suspected flu? Well, it turns out that my friend Sarah had bought me a t-shirt she thought would be funny.
It did turn out to be very funny, however, when I was rushed back into hospital with a deadly infection, Sarah felt pretty bad about the ‘Man Flu Survivor’ t-shirt she had bought for me. I on the other hand, found it hilarious, so asked her to bring it to me so I could where it on my walks round the block.
I wore that t-shirt with pride, along with the ‘I Survived 4 Weeks in Hospital’ medal that my wonderful fiancée, Mim, made me. These were just two of the gifts that people gave me while I was in hospital. Never underestimate, no matter how large or small, the positive affect a gift or card can have on someone who is stuck in hospital.
I’m not sure what it was about the clocks in St Georges, but it was very rare to find one that got the time, day and date right all at the same time. Now a broken clock is annoying at the best of times, but when you’re in hospital with not a lot to do, it becomes VERY annoying. So when my friends Robin and Sophie visited me, and Robin attempted to fix the clock in my room, it gave us twenty minutes of pure joy and hilarity. Every time he thought he’d fixed it, it just made a whirring noise and reset itself to an incorrect time. Robin never did manage to fix that clock. But he absolutely managed to brighten my day.
Speaking of time, one of the hardest periods of each day was waiting for visiting hours. People weren’t allowed to visit until 3pm, so when you’re woken up at 6am for antibiotics, the following nine hours often went really slowly. Friends and family were very generous with passwords to various streaming services, so between Netflix, Amazon Video, Sky Go, Now TV and BT Sport, I was fairly well occupied. But TV isn’t a perfect substitute for contact with people.
Infective Endocarditis is a pretty rare condition. So when you find yourself in a hospital that has a medical school, you suddenly become a person of interest. So I did have a regular stream of student visitors wanting to listen to my unusual heart rhythm. One day, I even had a lecturer bring his class to see me to do a full investigation.
It also just so happens that one of Mim’s best friends is studying at that medical school, so I had a daily visit from Zoe in the mornings. Even though most days it was no more than a five-minute visit, it was such a blessing to see a familiar face. Especially because, as mentioned above, visitors weren’t allowed until 3pm. It was even more of a blessing when, on some days, she bought me a breakfast roll from Pret.
On top of that, one of the girls from the Church I work for, who is now training to be a paramedic, was on a placement at St Georges. So she was able to use the powers of being in a paramedic uniform to sneak in to see me during the “no visitors allowed” times. Annabel is one of the world’s joy bringers. You know, the kind of people who just brighten a room when they enter it.
Again, it was usually just a few minutes here and there, but it made a massive difference to my day. I would also like to mention Annabel’s twin sister, Harriet, who is training to be a nurse in Leeds. She is also a joy bringer. They get it from their parents. Harriet made and sent me an epic card!
The final tale from St Georges comes from the day before I left. My friend Dan was coming to visit and he had asked me if I wanted anything. I said that just seeing him would be fine. Dan went over my head and asked Mim if I needed anything. I was actually pretty down because it was pancake day and I hadn’t had any pancakes. That afternoon, Dan turned up with a wide variety of pancakes and toppings. Absolutely delicious!
Five weeks in hospital was really tough, but it was moments like these that got me through. Always remember, even the smallest act of kindness, could brighten someone’s day enough to help see them through any storms they may be facing.
I would like to say that these were my only memories of St Georges, however, I would find myself back there on more than one occasion. But those are stories for another day.
A Journey Of The Heart 