Day 2 - The black stuff

Thursday 10th September 2009

John was back at work following our holidays so we both felt like throttling his alarm when it went off at 7.30am that morning.

John asked how I was feeling and did I want him to stop off work.

Although I wasn’t feeling 100%, I felt so much better than yesterday so said I’d be ok on my own. Famous last words!!!!!

After seeing John off to work, I had my breakfast of muesli. I took one mouthful and felt extremely sickly again – and it wasn’t anything to do with eating museli ! The dreaded lurgy had come back.

I had my usual Thursday appointment to get my pressure sore dressing changed by one of the nurse at my GP’s later in the morning, so thought I’d go back to bed for an hour to see if I could sleep off the lurgy – or at least feel a little more ‘human’ again.

My normal morning routine is to switch on my computer and check my emails before I get washed and changed out of my night clothes. I have no idea why I didn’t just go straight back to bed. Old habits are hard to break…

I don’t know what made me look at my pressure sore dressing but I felt that something wasn’t right. The entire dressing was black – ink black – and the black gung was oozing down my leg and onto my nightshirt and dressing gown.

My first thought was ‘oh, that can’t be good!’ then rang John at work as the black stuff was now pouring out at a considerable rate and I was feeling quite ill again.

John came home as soon as he could and found me sitting on the bed trying to mop up the black stuff, without much success.

He decided it would be best to leave the original dressing on. We didn’t know what we would find hiding under it, plus the nurse might want to see everything intact. He just covered it with another dressing.

By the time I got to surgery I was so ill I could hardly walk, so John helped me into the treatment room.

A young student nurse who was working at the surgery as part of her final third year placement asked how I was.

“Not too good”, I replied.
“You don’t look very well”, she commented.

I asked if Margaret, one of the nurses who I had been seeing for my pressure sore, was in today. No disrespected to the student but I wanted to see a qualified nurse.
“She’s just popped out for a moment”, she replied.

“Hello Marie”, said Margaret, as she walked through the door and spotted me sitting in the chair, “How are you? Did you enjoy your holidays”.

I didn’t get a chance to answer her when she said, staring at me, “You don’t look very well. You look very pale”.
“That’s what I said”, said the student.

I explained that I hadn’t been feeling very well since yesterday and that there had been an interesting development with my pressure sore.

On looking at my sore, Margaret commented that she’d never seen anything like it before so asked Eileen, the practice nurse Sister, to come and take a look. Eileen arrived and she’s too had never seen anything like it either. Her only suggestion was to ask for help from one of the doctors.

While we were waiting for a doctor, Margaret and the student dressed my burn.

Dr Blake came into the room. “Oh, hello again”, she said on seeing me.

She had a good look at my hip then said that I’d need to go to hospital for some antibiotics as it looks like there was an infection in my hip. We were to wait in reception while she wrote out a referral.

Ten minutes later we were called into her consulting room.
“I’ve rang the hospital and told them you are coming”, she said, finishing off writing my referral, “I’ve asked that an x-ray be taken of your hip and for an orthopaedic registrar to take a look at you when you are in A&E”.

She printed off some more notes from her computer then gave me a large envelope which I had to give to the medical staff on arrival at A&E.
“Do you have any transport to get you to hospital”, she enquired.
“Yes”, I replied.
“Good. Other wise I would have called 999….”.

About half an hour later we were in A&E and although the waiting time on the message board said four hours, we were seen almost immediately. Following several x-rays on my hip I was eventually seen by the orthopaedic registrar.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to admit you”, he said, “your hip is infected. That’s why you are feeling ill. The infection has got into your blood stream”.
“How serious is it”, I asked.
“If we don’t do anything about it now, then it will become life threatening”, he replied, “when was the last time you had anything to eat or drink”.
I told him the last food was a spoonful of muesli at 9am and a sip of water about half an hour ago.
“Don’t have anything else to eat or drink”, he said, “as we’re going to book you in for immediately surgery to clean out your hip”.

A nurse then appeared and tried to insert a Venflon, which is an intravenous tube, in my hand. I don’t have very good veins so it took several painful attempts.

After several phone calls the registrar came back to say he’d found me a bed in Ward 43 and that I would be moved there as soon as they could find a porter.

I arrived onto the ward at 4.45pm and was put into a side room. John left shortly afterwards to phone my mam as I normally ring her on Thursday afternoon, and to bring in things I’d need, like toiletries and a change of clothing.

I was then seen by one of the wards registrars who took some details and asked to have a look at my hip. He said some medical term which I didn’t understand.
“Do you mean I’ve got metal fatigue”, I asked.
He laughed, “You could say that. The black stuff is the metal from your hip”.
“That can’t be good”, I said.
He shook his head, “it isn’t I’m afraid. Your hip has failed and will have to come out”.

I knew artificial hips don’t last a lifetime but I really expected mine to last longer than 11 years.

About ten minutes later the registrar came back accompanied by another doctor.
“Hello”, said the other doctor, “I’m Mr O’Brien and I’m the on-call orthopaedic consultant”.

I’d never met Mr O’Brien but I knew of him as he is my friend Janice’s consultant.

He confirmed what the registrar had said then said he’d see me in the morning.

One of the nurses asked if I’d like something to eat. I explained that I thought I was to have surgery sometime tonight so was nil by mouth. She left the room saying she’d find out. The evening domestic cleaner who gives out the teas and coffees to the patients asked if I’d like a drink. Once again I explained what I thought was happening so she too said she’d find out. Neither of them came back…

My mam arrived just after 6pm so she must have left her house immediately after John had phoned her. She had guessed something must have happened as she had been telephoning our home phone since 4pm and getting no answer.

A nurse came into my room carrying three packets of sandwiches. “You’re not now going down for surgery”, she said, “so would you like some sandwiches”.
I was hungry but didn’t feel like eating as I was still feeling sickly.

“Go on, get something”, ordered my mam.
I didn’t particularly fancy any of them but chose the ham sandwich as it looked the best out of the three.
“Here, have another packet”, said the nurse putting a packet of beef sandwiches onto my table, “I’ll put this one”, she said holding up the third packet, “in the fridge should you want it later tonight”.

I never touched the sandwiches.

Shortly after John had come back another registrar doctor came in to my room wanting some information. As I was on my way to the loo, my room had it’s own toilet, I suggested that John and my mam could answer any of his questions until I returned.

When I came out of the loo, the register had gone. “He mustn’t have wanted to know that much”, I said.
“His bleeper went off”, replied John, “you would have liked him. He sounded like the Swedish chef…”.

Later that evening a nurse asked if I’d like an extra blanket as she said I looked cold.
“Yes please,” I replied as I was still quite shivery.
“I’ve brought you two”, she said, “as it can get cold during the night in the side rooms because they don’t have any heating”.

I looked around the room and she was right, there were no radiators.
“What happens to patients in the winter”, I asked.
“They freeze”, she replied….