A few of my readers have wandered where I have gone but I am still here breathing fire and brimstone, although my typing skills have diminished and my reading skills and conversation skills are not what they were and my sight is not what it was. I had a stroke on the 14th January that rendered me incapable for a month until I signed myself out of Roscommon Hospital, for I would have gone completely barmy, on the 18th February. I was not at all well but either that or the high road, Hospitals boast care and gentility, but they give neither. They are a place for geriatrics who are in the worst phases of dementia cared for by an overworked nursing staff who cannot wait for their next break, the end of their shift or another fight with management who treat them like shit. Most of them deserve to be treated like shit anyway. I was in Sligo Hospital for the first two weeks before graduating to Roscommon Hospital which was even worse. Full of overweight nurses who were bitter about their size and shape. A nursing manager should not start anybody who is more than 7 stone in weight or 45 kgs in new money. The demands on nurses these days are so demanding over that weight it breeds laziness and dilitary behaviour. I was overlooked on more than one occasion because after my name is the initials NV (not vaccinated). I was treated like a leper except by a few dedicated staff. One day I needed the toilet, I pressed the nurse call button after 10 minutes I shit myself and I had to wait another hour until a nurse came and wheeled me out for a shampoo and shave. When I complained about my treatment the nurse said she was busy and if I wanted better care than I should have gone private. They have always got an answer to refute any complaint. In Sligo hospital for the first week I did not have a shower for a week. Just a cursory bed wash sufficed, my hands stunk, they did not see water for a week. I was about two weeks short of coming home when I signed myself out with the promise of District Nurses caring for me in Care in the Community specialists on hand. I saw neither Nurse or Specialist and I have been out for seven weeks although the Physio Department was active at alll times and I did see Occupational Health twice. I have not seen my GP once until this coming Friday when I demanded bloods after 7 weeks. The cosultants I met were a mixed bunch, In Sligo Dr Hickey kept a firm hand on her team who were only there for five days a week. Weekends were limbo land to most doctors. In Roscommon I had a bunch of consultants who could not get to grips with my necessary beligerant behaviour until I came across Dr Costa in my second week who took up the reins in my bid to release me from this internment. I also thought the Occupational Health specialist was good, an Indian man who played cricket for Monaghan, Giri by name.
I have been out now for seven weeks, I can walk with a slight limp, I tire easy, my vocab has reduced by 50%. I canot read a paragraph without getting confused, i find typing this peice hard work and my eyesight is shot, my balance is improving daily but I still need a stick sometimes on rough ground but I am blessed my SeLene who I married last Augut is a nurse and as helped me considerably and has helped me on a number of embarrassing occasions. Little did she know what the future held for her when she said “I do”.
I was going to write a completely different piece when I set down to write today but I had to get this off my chest. If you are going to get ill in Ireland do not go to hospital if you can help it and I hear that the NHS in Britain is no better. I hear good things about Turkey and Africa but the best thing is stay at home and reap the consequences of love and devotion if those close to you can stand the smell of piss and shit. The worst things of having a stroke is incontinence with all its social drawbacks. I will leave the piece I was going to write until tomorrow when I will be in better shape and mood.
The post A Stroke Through The Covers appeared first on .