As the CEO’s of South East Water sup on their over inflated salaries the rest of us were thrust into chaos.
The kidney unit in Tunbridge Wells had to shut down. 192 kidney patients were farmed out to various other hospitals. On Tuesday I stood in the road, the rain splotching all over me, at 5.15 in the morning. In and out I went until 7.00a.m. when it was clear the car was not coming for me. I made two hot water bottles and sat on the settee until my mobile broke the silence. The driver had forgotten me. Didn’t he know who I was?
The poor driver, having to carry three other passengers, had forgotten to come to collect the fourth dialysis bitch. They finally sent a Polish taxi driver who kept tutting and telling me he couldn’t believe it. I arrived in Borough at 10.00.
I’d forgotten my blanket – dialysis makes you very very cold, we all have our own blanket as the NHS doesn’t provide warmth. It provides drugs and machines and dedicated nurses but it does not supply blankets.
Lying in Borough for three hours without a blanket was purgatory. I was the proverbial snowball in hell. I was fucking freezing. After three hours a car came for me, fifty one miles later I finally disembarked. It was 4.00 p.m. and dark.
The old git had had to fend for himself.
Stressful for me, not for him cos he doesn’t remember whether he’s coming or going. I settled down.
And then the landline broke the silence. The kidney unit called, there was still no water and so I would have to go back to Borough the following day.
I was enormously brave and said NO.
I faced my fear, stood my ground and said NO.
‘You have high potassium, you know what can happen with high potassium.’
I refused.
‘Will you go to Sidcup?’
‘How far is Sidcup?’
‘It’s much closer.’
‘You could die’ they said empathetically ‘If you you don’t have another dialysis.’
What could I do? However brave I felt being threatened with my own death weakened me. I capitulated.
The car arrived at 11.19, on Wednesday morning. Leaving the flu ridden ‘oosbind in bed. I set off with Husseain, who drove like the clappers. I had remembered my blanket.
I sat in the waiting room for twenty minutes and then was shipped into the unit. New nurses from Milend and Doctors from Peking.
I was plugged up and left for three hours. Having had dialysis the day before I felt wooly. But said nothing.
At 4.45 the taxi arrived.
I could hardly stand.
The nurse from Bromley held me up and shouted at me to go to the ramp to meet the taxi.
I didn’t understand. I could hardly focus and went to the wrong exit. Th Bromley belle shouted at me then walked me to the car. I perphlumphed on the back seat.
I could feel my self having an out of body experience.
My head got lighter. My equilibrium, deserted me and I breathed away the bile. After an hour it was dark. The driver took the back route. Down narrow roads and oncoming cars.
‘I’m going to be sick’ I gurgled.
He stopped the car. The door was locked. We played car lock roulette and till he finally released the handle. I was sick in the kerb. And agin.
Then we set off.
Ten gruelling minutes later
I squeaked.’Im giong to be sick.’
He stopped the car, we played ‘lock me in’ again. There was a build of traffic.
I was sick in the verge.
And again.
We finally set off and the sensitive driver walked me to the kitchen door. The old git was comatose, the dawter was working in London, so I called the neighbours.
The driver stood in the doorway until they arrived. I sat on the kitchen chair unable to look up or down. The neighbours arrived. I was sick again.
One neighbour couldn’t watch. The other stroked my back. Then other told the husband to come in. I had thee neighbours watching me lose it. They called 111. After an interrogation that lasted too long they hung up. My condition deteriorated. I was passing out and chucking up at the same ime.
They called 999.
Finally two paramedics walked into the kitchen. It was like a party. Two paramedics, three neighbours one fluffy cat and an old bitch in a pear tree,
They took my heart rate nd pulse rate. They took my blood pressure and asked me whether I suffered from hyper tension. They talked me down.
‘What biscuits did you eat in Sidcup?’ said Michael the Northern Irish Paramedic.
‘Shortbread. I had it with a tea.’
‘Never, ever eat shortbread,’ he said. ‘It spikes the sugar highe thhn any other biscuit.’
I tought he was joshing, I was wrong. My blood sugar was high.
All the wile the old git was lying comatose upstairs. The neighbours looked in on him and Sid and reported he looked like death. It was flu.
‘Two for the price of one.’ laughed the paramedics.
The paramedics walked into the silence of the front bedroom. The northern patient was fully clothed, his teeth on the bedside table.
Gina and Michael bundled in their paraphernalia. The old git does in fact have a virus.
After three hours the paramedics left.
I was given a sheet of paper to hand to the kidney gals which said never, ever, give two dialysis treatments on the trot.
I went back yesterday. Six of us were privileged enough to go to Tunbrige Wells. There was a water lorry and lots of nurses scurrying around in their blue plastic apron and gloves.
I had nearly two litres taken off me and sent home. Today I feel like a limp rag doll. The dawter too me out for breakfast nd I’m sitting down nd doing nothing till Monday.
I will remain silent and broody until I leave at 7.30 on Monday morning, hopefully into a clean unit with running water and toast.