Tale of two hospitals….

Does anyone have a week in which absolutely nothing goes as planned? Nothing? (Well my mentoring did – so that’s a white lie!)

I was so looking forward to this week – lots of meetings, coffee dates, gym, spin and appointments, dinner with friends… But I spent 3 days just managing to get the boys to school and sleeping for my usually productive hours. Illness or emotion getting the better of me…
And today – the first day I feel less achy, have more gumption, managed to get up for my Pilates and even had enough energy to take the dog for walk… I get a call from school saying that Willy is unusually unhappy with severe stomach pains. He hasn’t had gluten and he hasn’t been sick. But he is clearly distressed and doubled in pain…. So we sit in the doctors, with my mind wandering from trapped wind to appendicitis.. 
The doctor is stumped… Willy is clearly in pain but can’t explain it. He says it could go either way – stop suddenly or deteriorate rapidly. Perplexed… Considering his options… And Willy suddenly deteriorates, writhing in pain… Little face red and crying.. So unlike my happy little mouse. 
Decision made… He starts to ring the hospital… I tell him firmly under no circumstances will I go back to the hospital who took 3 months to misdiagnose Willy with reflux and then rush him to have open stomach surgery. He puts the phone down and asks me where I would go! It may have longer waiting times and I may not get a nice cup of tea and a carpet but at least I will have faith in the diagnosis.
So I am dressed in my dog walking kit, no make up, hair a mess… How long am I going to be? Do I nip home for snacks, a shower, change and look respectable? One look at willy and I know that is unreasonable… Leeds will have to take me as I am…. 
That was at 11 am… 
It is now 15.43…. We are still here.
Willy was so brave – wards are scary in Leeds. No position was comfy and he did his flappy bird impression, creased up little face pleading at me…. Heart wrenching as a parent and you would do anything to take the pain. I keep calm and pray, visualise a miraculous recovery, a hearty trump.. Anything but the thought of surgery on my little man… It made me weak at the knees 5 years ago and I know it will have the same effect even now.
Willy calms and lies in the one position he finds relief. And 30 minutes later he looks up and asks to go home…. He feels better. I didn’t hear a trump. 
Is this a miracle?  
He has been playing nicely and I have asked to leave but we can’t go! The surgeon has to feel his tummy and discharge us… Even though the bugs going round could be the answer, it could be appendicitis or grumbling appendix… We have to wait.
Willy and I don’t do well without food. Breakfast at 7 feels a long time ago.
I commend the NHS… It is Friday. So many poorly poorly children, babies. The place is over spilling.. But we have no idea where we are on a list – others arriving after us are seen first… Others seemingly worse are also still here. Communication is seriously lacking… The nurses can’t answer my questions, as lovely and kind as they are.
There are parallels with the NHS mental hospital behind whose iron bars my mum is hidden… My dad is still unable to find answers about the plans for my mum, how long will she be observed, when will they try new drugs, what drugs, is the plan for her to leave … When can we ring, who should we speak to, who is looking after her, what has she eaten… When did she last have a bath? No one can tell us…. 
I am incredibly grateful for the NHS and the wonderful service they provide and I know how hard everyone works, having great friends as consultants, consultant surgeons, anaesthetists, doctors and nurses, OT’s… Even overworked.. 
I would be really, overly grateful if someone could just come and tell me if Willy can eat something, drink something, if we can go home… 
  

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