"Wards and Warders" drabbles by Neville Hunt

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Changing ways

Wards and Warders #10

I was lying in the hospital bed. The stroke had left me a bit woozy, but I spotted the consultant and his entourage coming my way. They stopped at the end of my bed and he talked to the junior doctors as though I wasn't there. Then he turned to me.

"Mr Hunt... I am discharging you tomorrow. You've had a stroke and that's serious, and you must change your lifestyle!"

"I know, I know, I must cut down dramatically on beer and wine!"

"Oh no," he said. "You need to drink more, much more!"

And then I woke up.

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Scratch

Wards and Warders #9

The scariest thing about being in hospital is the visits from vampires. They have one interest in you. Your blood. I must have given a couple of armfuls already!

But they tell me lies. They’re trying to be kind and manage my expectations, I know that. But all this PC, mustn’t offend anyone thing has gone too far. When I’m told to expect a ‘sharp scratch’, I have every right to expect a scratch... = ‘score or mark the surface’. But it’s not!

But then I guess if they’d said ‘a little prick’ then I might think they’d been looking!

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Memories of Hattie

Wards and Warders #8

You can tell who’s who in the hospital by their outfits. Colour-coding for everyone, except doctors - they’re dressed in mufti, and have stethoscopes round their necks. Consultants are the ones with a following of flunkies.

The nurses of all levels are combinations of white and blue, but the cleaners have the smartest outfit - all in black.

Yesterday though I got things wrong. This big chap wandered into the ward in a really cheap-looking red cotton jacket. He must be a porter I thought. I wonder who he’s come for today?

He seemed confident. So he should, he’s Matron!

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Warzone

Wards and Warders #7

It’s funny, the relationship between dreams and reality. Sometimes the two coalesce. Last night was one of those times. Stupidly I went to sleep early. Too much time to dream!

My dream had me wandering round in my pyjamas in a desolate landscape. Then suddenly there was cannon fire to the left and cannon fire to the right. Everything was blowing off around me! OMG, I’m in a bloody warzone!

Then I woke. I was safely back in the ward. I was in bed. Cannon fire to the left, cannon fire to the right!

OK. OK, You win. I surrender!

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Munch!

Wards and Warders #6

My opposite neighbour had been extremely poorly. His progress Is remarkable, but, having had chewing problems, he was on liquidised meals. Not inviting in any way.

The details of our eating restrictions are on a notice, blu-tacked above our beds. So the housekeeping staff know. Yesterday he got the all clear and was looking forward to munching breakfast... cereal, toast... a good old chew. But the notice recording his new ‘anything goes’ status fell down. Our housekeeper, remembering his earlier restrictions, dished up the usual gloop. I swear I saw a tear in his eye as she moved on.

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Cruel, but it made me laugh

Wards and Warders #5

The man in the bed on my left was very poorly. He’d been bed-ridden for a week. With a week’s stubble growth, he needed a shave. He wanted a shave.

So when the menacing male nurse, a man from the Philippines resembling Odd Job, approached my neighbour’s bed, declaring: “You need a shave, maybe Saturday”, he was correct, but exhibited the tact of his Bond movie doppelgänger. My neighbour didn’t need either reminding, or a three-day delay.

As he left the ward, Odd Job told everyone.

“Saturday’s the best time. You know why?.... Because I won’t be here!”

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Lunchtime lottery

Wards and Warders #4

Mealtimes are serious. Visitors are thrown out so inmates can concentrate on eating. Believe me, you have to concentrate...

There’s a system. Each morning we’re given menus from which we choose the delectations we would like for lunch and supper. It’s an activity that keeps our brains active by making reasoned experiential judgements. Our name recorded at the top.

In my time here I’ve completed the form three times. Each mealtime, with my food, comes the menu completed earlier. My name hasn’t been at the top of any of them! That means some poor sod has got my weird choices!

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Three???

Wards and Warders #3

My stay had reached a new level. Life in a non-acute ward. I thought maybe I’d get a good night’s kip at last. But the nocturnal activities around my neighbours’ beds gave me my answer. Wrong!

3am. Clang! Right next to my bed. Wide awake! Around 4am, got to sleep.

6am “Wake up Robert!” He meant me but got the wrong name. Arm wrestling the machine again, and losing.

Sleep.

8am woken again Breakfast! Weetabix.

“How many?”

“Three.”

”Three???” Her disgust barely disguised.

“And two rounds of marmalade toast... pleeeease!”

“Hmmmmph!”

I’ve had a lifetime’s experience of being awkward!

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Moving up in the world

Wards and Warders #2

Word must’ve got out about me walking back the quarter mile between the X-Ray Department and the acute stroke ward, because I was bored waiting for a porter.

“I needed a walk!”

I was bollocked on my return by the nurses. So they’re moving me on, ‘after administering my drugs.’

“But I don’t do no drugs!”

They couldn’t believe their ears. They didn’t believe me!

“But Neville, here in hospital everyone does drugs!”

I’m going where the air is rare, because however cute I might be, I’m no longer acute. I’m going upstairs (I hope that’s not a euphemism!)

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Obs

Wards and Warders #1

A grip on my arm like a vice
A shock which gave me a fright
Confirmed I was going nowhere
And repeated each hour of the night.

As I lay in the dimly-lit room
With the three other victims asleep
Tubes, wires and round sticky patches
Caused triffid-like monitors to beep.

When lo, cross the room an explosion
A deep and a rumbling sound,
It’s the start of a musical opus
As farting and snoring abound.

Our quartet begins it’s concerto
All dignity from us it robs
Which suddenly ends quite abruptly
As nurses arrive for our obs.