7 - The difficulty of the most simplest of tasks

"..many emotional ups and downs.."

The trauma ward I was sent to in late May had many emotional ups and downs, not that the whole experience thus far had been a nightmare rollercoaster with no exit. For it was here, in this ward, that I worked with the physios to achieve a task that most people experience everyday, a task that has been taken for granted since time immomorial, one which I shall detail shortly.

It was also the ward where, as a patient of our health department, I witnessed some of the major problems that affect our primary healthcare system. Having seen them from the inside, other patients out there in the big wild world will know what I'm talking about and I'll touch on those as I go.

"..quite a common theme.."

So, a new ward and a new set of nurses to explain my injuries to. This was quite a common theme that ran through my hospital stay; despite having a set of notes that was thicker than a railway sleeper, I still found that I was orating my injury list on an almost monthly basis. So much so that it had become ingrained in my mind, almost becoming a chore repeating every break, every fracture, every scar that my body possessed. Still, it made sure I got to know all the new nurses and healthcare assistants in the ward, knew their movements and shift patterns and developed many friendships in the initial days following my transfer.

So, to the title of this post "The difficulty of the most simplest of tasks". By the very nature of my personal horrific injuries, my mobility had been restricted to avoid further unwilling damage to my limbs. This meant, that since that black day in April 2010, I had been relatively supine for over a month. In that time, my equilibrium had been completely wiped out, along with my musculature, which meant that I experienced waves of sickening dizziness and nausea during periods when my head was raised on the bed.

Also included in the vagueness of this post title is the easy task of washing. This was clearly an impossible act for me, not being able to stand nor raise my arms since the collision. To combat this difficulty, every morning at 8:30am after all other patients had been 'attended to', having been left until last, I was set upon by teams of nurses to accomplish this one menial task. I had one nurse per limb and one to wash me. Turning me in the bed each morning for the ritualistic wash and sheet change, I was consistently subjected to bouts of extreme agony that racked my body to the tune of jaw clenching grimaces.

".. interspersed with operations on my arm.."

Again, day rolled into day and the physio's worked tirelessly, picking up where the previous team left off and managing to get me some movement in my only good arm. These were interspersed with operations on my arm to build in metal which uncomfortably had cables running across my elbow and into my forearm. Resting my elbow on even a matress was uncomfortable. 

Not to mention the ultimate late evening experience that will not be cherished; having a catheter re-inserted after it came out. It was akin to pushing a straw into one of those juice drink cartons, only considerably more physically awkward.

Now to the crowning glory of trauma physio achievement. On one particular day, when the monotonous daily activities were grinding my psyche into the ground and continuing to dig, one of the physio's in charge of my care (Ruth) suggested getting me into a seated position. This was no easy task. The use of slide sheets, two physios and two healthcare assistants were required to manoeuvre me on the bed with my head to the side, aiming to drag me backwards on the bedsheet into a wheelchair for my first experience of sitting up.

The successful result!

In one sweeping move, I was pulled backwards and into the chair. It was one of the best days ever! I may have only managed to remain vertical for half an hour but it was a giant step for me. Eventually, after a quick whirlwind tour of the ward and a wave of dizziness, pushed eloquently by my wife, I was eased back into the bed.

".. I could now see some glimmer of light at the end of a terribly long, dark tunnel."

My attitude, post wheelchair event,was increasingly improving. Suddenly, although I still suffered regular bouts of grief for my previous active life, I could now see some glimmer of light at the end of a terribly long, dark tunnel. This gave me something to strive for, some handhold on a flat cliff that seemed impossible of scaling. And I hung onto it with all my might, with whatever inner strength I could muster, I kept that vision of myself getting back to some semblance of normality prominent in my thoughts. From then, I tried to see the humour in situations to lighten my spirits and, as if answer to my unspoken requests, one such even presented itself.