There is a chasm, a deep trench along whose edge we all walk many times in our life. The irony is that the temptation that leads us to fall over the edge or leap to its blackest depths, are emotions of vastly contrasting origins.
We fall in Love, we dive into rage and blindly adore or hate, all inevitably casting us from the safety of the ledge, to the unknown of the abyss. But then there are other devastating and incredibly powerful emotions that that lay in wait for us as less obvious structures. The very fabric of our lives is infested with cracks of despair and I am currently doing my best to avoid stepping on the rotten planks beneath my feet, as I know they cannot bear the weight of my happiness and want me to fall into the deep. Last November I had an all too close encounter in this same hospital and tomorrow I again face the fear that history might repeat itself.
So I distract myself. Today my view is from a hospital window. I choose now to look for as many chinks of light as I can and I find them in observation and human nature which makes me smile. Here in this place of healing, there is an obsession with bowel movements. The condition of all of the patients in this particular part of the hospital has really little to do with bowel movements, but the wonderful nurses here seem nonetheless obsessed with the question. Fortunately for me, the response from one patient kept me entertained for a good ten minutes last night and sometimes, ten minutes can make a big difference to your day.
“Did you move your bowels today?” This simple question requires a yes or no answer really, but oh no, there’s always one.
“Yeah.” The voice without a face answered in an inappropriately loud voice. But happily he didn’t leave it there. “I had a poo this morning. Come to think of it I had a good clean out last night.” Enough information? Let’s leave it there was my initial thought. You’d think so wouldn’t you?
“If I eat chocolate I can ruin meself,” he said before continuing. “Had a bar of whole nut on Sunday, cleaned me out.” Then he raised his voice and repeated the last bit in case anyone in a 500m radius couldn’t hear. “Cleaned me out.” But he wasn’t finished.
“I had a wee…well…I had about 5 wees. Do you need to write them down?” The nurse replied no and from the tone of her voice I think she was retreating, but this man was not to be stopped.
“What about the runs, cause I had the runs on Monday after being cleaned out on Sunday. Does that count? That’s when I ruined meself.” It went on and on and I sat looking out my window, listening to the anonymous voice, smiling.
This morning a 14 year old intern, tried to question and lecture an eighty five year old man on his drinking habits. They weren’t even reading the same book, let alone being on the same page.
“How many units of alcohol do you consume each week?” It meant nothing to the auld lad.
“I don’t drink Eunice.” His reply was a gem. Never drink larger.” Even I was confused. The boy doctor tried to simplify the question for the man whose age was further exacerbated by his poor hearing.
“Not Eunice …Units…How much do you drink?” The old man laughed.
“Chance’d be a fine thing. I haven’t had a drink since I came in here.”
“No, sir, How…much…do…you…drink.” He spoke as loud as he could.
“I’d have 2 cans of Guinness.”
“A week?” He needed unit numbers for his calculation.
“Jaysus no… a night… sometimes I’d only have 1.” He sounded contrite.
“So you have one or two cans of Guinness a night?”
“I might have more.” I could hear the exasperation in the medical child’s voice.
“Three?” He was determined to work out the units.
“Might be 3.” Finally!
“So you have 1 to 3 cans every night?” Doctor boy was being sure of his unit calculation, pen in hand.
“Of Guinness?” The patient clarified.
“1 to 3 cans of Guinness per night?” the Doctor had finally tied it down. You could hear the “Oh yeah!” in his voice. But then the old geezer just threw it all up in the air again.
“I could have 6 or 7…”
It was so much fun, yet another gem that went on for long enough to drag me across a few more planks of despair. It is all around me here. The ubiquitous whistling Dublin hospital porter, every now and then whistling Spanish Eyes, as he passes the door as if on some cosmic hospital porter loop. His colleague, the singing Dublin hospital porter, with a broader range from Nat King Cole to Frank Sinatra. They all have a pure, magical, lilting belief that they have a magnificent voice, surely there is a school somewhere that teaches this art, for I have yet to visit a Dublin hospital and not hear one croon his way down the corridor.
Then last night my amusement turned to sadness. At 3.30 am a registrar was discussing patients with nurses outside my door, when a thick Dundalk accent started shouting. It sounded like an old woman.
“LIAR!” She was accusing someone but it soon became clear she was talking about the doctor. “LIAR! He’s a kidnapper! He’s a kidnapper. Somebody help me please.”
A nurse tried to calm the clearly distressed lady but she became angrier, more distressed and suddenly, my fun of eavesdropping became an altogether different thing. It soon became clear that she was suffering from some form of dementia or memory loss and was convinced that the nurses and doctors were holding her captive. This morning I again heard her, only this time she was insisting on sitting on another person’s bed. She was screaming that she could sit where she liked in her own house and wanted to know what all the people were doing there. Suddenly my amusement felt shallow. I was seeing real anguish no matter how untrue it was, the lady in question was living a nightmare. I needed cheering up again.
Back to my window watching. The sun is shining now, tomorrow I face into the unknown again, and until then I must find a way to while away the hours. There is the obsession with tea of course, (that’s a whole other blog) time is counted here by when the next cup will arrive and I was beginning to despair this morning as patients checked out and checked in. The old voices were leaving, gone my amusement at others around me. I have been left bored and alone waiting for the next cup of tea to arrive. But it feels like I’m waiting for something more significant than tea…and then I heard him, right outside my door.
“Doctor is there anywhere I can put me cat.”
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My thoughts are with you. Glad you can take the good out of your surroundings and pen them. I will read more when you are all sorted. Take care and a speedy recovery x
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Thanks Sharon.. I always struggle with hospitals so I have to dig deep to find a smile
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Patrick I’m holding thumbs for you that you wil be out of there soon and all in one peice. Happy to send you my terribly non pc book about divorce in Fairyland if that would cheer you up. Just let me know 🙂
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I’m sure it’s already on my Kindle Lucinda? Have to check my TBR when I get home.. As a divorcee myself I’m sure I’ll enjoy it 😂
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Thank you for making me smile today. I appreciate it. Thinking of you and sending all good wishes.
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Appreciate it Julia thanks.. Doing my best to make myself smile if I’m honest 😷😀🎈
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I too hope all goes well for you, Patrick. Thanks for turning a not-too-exhilarating time into an entertaining post.
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I’m sure it will.. My last op had a 98% chance of no problem but I ended up in the 2% so that makes me more nervous this time 🍀🎈
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We may not be by your bed, Patrick, but we’re in your head. Around the world are a couple of hundred folk you’ve never met in person, but you’ve changed our lives with your words mate.
I look forward to your wise and comical words on the other side of your visit.
All the best. Tom
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The words stay away from the light Carol Ann with the voice from Poltergeist resonate in my head for some reason 😂 thanks Tom appreciate the kind wishes and words
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Agree 100% with serendipitydoit. As entertaining as this was, I hope your next blog is from your proper place at home.
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Cheers Frank.. I’m an elective job so I can still be postponed up to the last minute by an emergency.. I hope not😷😷😂
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I’m looking forward to your follow-up to this post where you explain how you have seen through time and came back to tell us all about it. Good luck, pal.
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Cheers Eric, my last trip to the table didn’t end well.. Had to be resussed so it has made anxious when I don’t need to be.. Can’t help it.. The memory of the pain is still fresh from November so I have to think happy thoughts 😀😀😷
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We’re totally looking out for you, bro.
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Thanks Eric😷☘
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Sending healthy vibes your way. Hope you get well soon!
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Thanks Melanie ☘
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It’s an admirable thing to be able to draw inspiration from adversity. We all look forward to your speedy recovery and a return to health and writing your wonderful stories.
Best wishes.
Paul…
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Thank you for your kind wishes Paul 🎈🎈
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Hope all goes well for you, good sir. I’ll keep you in my thoughts.
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‘The very fabric of our lives is infested with cracks of despair and I am currently doing my best to avoid stepping on the rotten planks beneath my feet, as I know they cannot bear the weight of my happiness and want me to fall into the deep.’
I can see that you are in a a profound state of mind to write such a line so heartfeltly sincere and philosophically beautiful. My thoughts journey with you.
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Cheers Senan
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My thoughts are with you, Max, I’ve had enough of hospitals lately with Mum’s problems, and your description of the woman with dementia is just too close to home, but very true. Hugs and hope it all goes to plan this time! x
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