Yesterday dad was moved from one ward to another ward. This is not a lot of fun, especially when you cannot breathe very well and the staff tend not to tell you very much. You are left, bundled up in preparation for long hours as you wait for the busy crowd that began the military operation to complete it.

I understand that hospitals are very busy (I have worked at one, after all) but what I don’t understand is why they don’t seem to tell you anything. Well, that’s not entirely true, they tell you they’re going to do something and, sometimes, prepare you for it but then…nothing.

This is what happened yesterday with the move. The move was necessary because (they said) dad’s medical team worked on a different ward to the one he was on. Personally I think he was moved because he was in the nicest spot in the whole hospital, filled with the loveliest nurses, most considerate wardspeople and the best view. However, patients are only allowed to enjoy this for a limited period and, sooner or later, you are moved to somewhere more normal.

Dad is not very well at all and virtually everything is a major effort so it’s not the best when they want him to move. Still, he bore it stoically and, eventually, he was moved down a floor.

Mum told me that when they were first admitted to the hospital, she sat with one of the nurses and they composed a list of things that are wrong with the hospital. One of them is the television sets. It’s a bit of a random pick whether they work or not. Apparently there is some sort of wrangle between the people who supply them and the hospital administration. This means that the poor sick people whose only pleasure may come from a television, miss out. Nice, eh?

While the television in the old ward was a bit dark and the sound had to be jiggled a bit, that’s nothing on the new one. it just doesn’t work. Still, I understand how important it is that the feuding hospital administration and the tv suppliers are satisfied that everything is fine, though, I wonder how they’d feel if the foot was in the other shoe for a few weeks. I doubt this would ever happen. Anyway, yesterday we managed to get dad moved down a floor, and it only took a few hours.

We didn’t think dad was showing much improvement but, when Denise spoke to the nurse, she said we were mad and, in fact, he is showing a lot of recovery and we should be pleased with his progress. I guess that’s why I’m not a doctor.

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