Trauma & Fracture

In last week’s blog, I explained how I tripped over a box of braille documents lying in my hall and ended up in hospital with a fractured femur, awaiting surgery. At that stage I didn’t know whether I had also broken my hip.

So there I was, lying in the Accident and Emergency Department with a broken leg, unable to move and in some pain. Mary, my PA, had kept me company and it was round about this point that she reminded me that I was still wearing my apron. Somehow, I managed to wriggle out of it.

They tried to block the nerve in my leg to help with the pain.

“I’m just going to cut your leg with a scalpel,” the doctor said.

“Okay,” I said. And then, after a moment’s reflection, “Why am I saying it’s okay? It’s not okay!”

My objections were overruled, but in the event the nerve block did not stop the pain. Nor did the morphine.

While I was waiting there, they tested me for coronavirus and MRSA. The COVID test is horrible. They have to swab the back of your throat and they had to use a tongue depressor because I could not override the gagging reflex.

Some time that evening they moved me to the Trauma and Fracture Ward. There they put my leg in traction, which did help a bit with the pain because it lined the bones up. One of the nurses said, “I don’t want to gross you out, but you can actually see the bones moving.”

Well, I couldn’t, as I’m severely visually impaired even at the best of times, so I suppose that that was all right!

Anyway, that’s how my weekend in traction began. The hospital had just started to allow visitors back after lockdown, but only on a strictly controlled basis. Each patient was allowed one visitor for one hour per day. They had to book in advance and they had to wear a mask. Mary organised a rota, so I got to see someone every day, which was brilliant.

The nurses and healthcare assistants were amazing. They were very kind and looked after me extremely well, quickly adapting to my needs as  a visually-impaired person. They introduced themselves, told me what they were doing, and helped me with my food. For instance, I couldn’t manage soup in a bowl in my awkward position, so they put it in a cup. They offered to cut food up for me and told me where everything was on the tray.

The doctors also always introduced themselves and explained what was going to happen.

In many ways, this was one of my better hospital experiences for standards of care. I have, in fact, just become a hospital governor, so I felt a bit like the healthcare equivalent of a secret shopper.

When it came to the operation on Monday, I chose to have an epidural rather than a general anaesthetic as the last time I had had a general anaesthetic I was very sick… But let’s draw a veil over that!

I was told that the doctor who was going to administer the epidural was the best they had. She was a lively Italian lady who amused me by asking one of the doctors, “Who is that new doctor, you know the scruffy one?”

I’m sure there are no scruffy doctors in Italian hospitals!

They gave me a sedative before the operation so that may have shaped my experience of waking up more than any reality. Be that as it may, my impression when I awoke after surgery was that my head was wrapped in a blanket.

I felt like a hibernating hedgehog.

I surmised that it was to stop patients waking and seeing things which might upset them. For obvious practical reasons, that was never going to be a problem for me.

I was just glad to be awake and on the other side of the operation.

To be continued…