Hospitals!!

I can recall about 10 years ago, saying to somebody in passing that I had never been an inpatient in a hospital. Foolish boy!  A year later I had started my new career, moving from consultant to consultant and hospital to hospital. Yesterday I had once again to travel up to London to Kings College Hospital to see the pain consultant who had, in her turn, referred me to St Thomas’ Hospital for specialist treatment. I only see her every 6 months, just to give her an overview. Pleasant she was, no doubt of it, professional and expert as well. But I find all of them don’t fully appreciate what patients have to go through. To get there for 3.30 pm, I had to plan the day. I have a routine, like most disabled folk, which takes in dressing and washing, medication, eating (which has to be matched to the drugs) and so on. I suffer from chronic pain as a result of 2 failed back operations. My pain killing drugs have affected my pituitary gland which means I need to take various hormone preparations to compensate for that damage. But I can’t avoid the drugs because they are the only way I can face life.  To help me reduce the damaging medication, I have had to have a spinal neurostimulator inserted. But this takes an hour a day to charge up. Thus, I have to plan the day backwards from the appointment to allow sufficient time for everything.

Of course, I could ask for a later appointment, although doing so means that I am still travelling home when the next round of drugs is due.

Yesterday was the Tube strike in London and with all the turmoil, I found myself on a slow, all station, train. Standing all the way was somewhat uncomfortable, but 30mins from my home station, I noticed a couple of worried glances coming my way. I knew what it meant, and lifted my hand to my forehead. The sweat was running fast. My hair was soaked. Yup, cold turkey!  I began to shiver, although the train was hot – and when I staggered off the train, I was so cold in the slight warm breeze that was blowing down the platform. It’s a 10 minute walk usually, but the tremors meant I had to be careful not to stumble.

It was then that I realised the wonder of the mindfulness meditation I had been trying to practice for pain control.

 “Don’t think about the distance, think about just this step, feel your foot go down and your weight roll from heel to toe. Switch to the other foot and move it as gracefully as possible past the first. Try to feel the sensation of movement in your ankle and foot. Follow the breath, inhaling so that it travels down each leg in turn and meets these sensations. Stay in the moment.” Time after time I must have gone through that routine, but there is no counting in the moment, there is no last step or next step, there is just this step.

I got home, but even that one hour delay in taking the meds meant that the pain broke through and I knew that today would be a grand effort to get it all back under control. Sad really! But you have to laugh!