A room with a view to die for

Sophy Wollaston is a London GP and trainer

No time to hand over, I just had to go
To A and E
Doctor to patient
Healthy to sick
Asthma, hypoxia, I better be quick
Relieved to be
No longer caring, but, cared for
As soon as I step through the hospital door

A and E is mayhem,
Underfunded and groaning
Chest pain, miscarriage and hot babies
Broken bones in frail ladies
A man says good bye to his wife
Ruby marriage parted by death
As he takes his last breath
On a trolley
‘Let me out’, a tormented cry from the padded cell
I’m scared, breathless, want to get well

Chaos, but kindness, care and respect
It’s the NHS, what else would I expect
X-rays, bloods, nebuliser, mask
Professional staff at every task
Nurses, doctors, HCAs
Working through nights and days
Introducing themselves politely by name
Again and again

Standing room only in the waiting area,
Relatives sitting on the floor
Trolleys in corridors, ambulances outside
Queues getting longer by the hour
Ignored by the government in power
Alcoholic chunter and chunder
More tears and deliberate self-harm
In handcuffs, another broken arm
Raw emotions, anger, fear, joy
An extraordinary soup of humanity

After 30 hours I’m moving off the trolley
Simple pleasures now in sight
It might be possible to sleep tonight
Despite the constant beeping of monitors and alarms
Dreaming of a pillow, a blanket, some relative calm
The respiratory ward is a better place to stay
A modern Nightingale ward, with other women in my bay
Puffing, panting, wheezing, we seem to have in common
With different coloured lipstick, blue, purple, pink and grey

I must think to breath, to shift the air,
In and right out again
Mismatching hospital pyjamas, tired underwear,
I simply couldn’t care.
‘Can you spare a vape’ shouldn’t have surprised me
The first question from a fellow patient
Most are smokers, with COPD
The ward is not so peaceful after all
Machinery pips, beats, musical bars
Repeating tones and phrases,
A kind of nightmare symphony.

My consultant appears,
So pleased to see a familiar face
She promises to ‘unpick my case ‘
And confirms a nasty strain
Of influenza A
I’m moved again
To a side room with a view to die for
I can now recover from this drama
Gazing on the London skyline panorama

81 choices on the menu
High calorie, low fat, lumpy, smooth
Salads, curries, stew
To suit all ills and cuisines in this diverse community
Dressed in psychedelic hospital attire, pink, blue and green
We look like the fruity dressed up vapes
To tempt the curious and inquisitive teen
Who will soon be hooked at too young an age on nicotine.
With gaps and flaps, and peeping flesh,
Tubes and liquids flow in and out,
Inhaling misty potions too
A colourful respiratory zoo

Time to think, process and reflect
On a condition that’s just a part of me
But has now forced me to contemplate
My own mortality
The high dose steroids start
Messing with my brain, insomnia and jumbled thoughts
Tumbling out in crazy stanza
Rhyming couplets or in verse
Catastrophising, I imagine leaving in a hearse

I was a weedy prem baby, with 28 week lungs
The Irish nurse who cared for me then said I was strong
As a child I imagined a friendly wheezy cat, inside my chest
Curled up, purring, mostly at night
Always last to be chosen for the squad
The cat said no to speed and flight
But steadily I could climb mountains, in the Lakes and Wales
Despite the cat I would always do my best
Not the fastest, but I can reach an Alpine Crest

The sleeping companion in my bed
Is my phone,
I keep it close, like a toddler with a Ted
It contains my friends and family
And brings me news in manageable bites
While confined to bed, unable to walk
With little energy to talk
My family deliver all the provisions I need
Clean clothes, snacks, and books to read
My phone, a life line
A cell mate
A date

The other important ‘news’ is the early warning score
Today this starts to rise, a worried looking nurse
Could I really be getting worse?
Abdominal pain, now a different plight
Drips and scans again throughout the night
No fun being a diagnostic puzzle
Who knew?
A cough induced bleed in the muscle
Oxygen and morphine do the trick
No talk of ITU
At least I’m not that sick

Oxygen levels and peak flow
Are moving in the right direction now
The chart climbs and zig zags like a mountain ridge
The nurse with pink hair, says
‘You can do better, have another go ‘
New inhalers, and a new asthma plan
Back to hiking and cycling as soon as I can

I chat to the ward staff at my bedside
I hear stories of their homelands, far and wide
Tales of tropical rain forests, deserts, and island archipelagos
Intrepid journeys to reach the UK
And travel across London to work, each and every day
Accounts of racism too, shocking and unforgiveable
They’ve just come to do a job, like mine
And deserve the respect I have
Now, and all the time
Don’t ‘stop the boats’
The NHS would be sinking faster without migration
But it’s safer via the airport or the station

Unexpected plumbers and electricians visit me in my hospital room
On ladders, with clipboards
Joining the clinical staff in charge of my care
In high viz jackets and hard hats they come to repair
A blocked toilet and broken ceiling panels
Costs we must afford
Fix estates which will in turn
Help to fix patient and staff morale

Back on track now, improving in all ways
But staying in hospital a few more days
A better night, an optimistic dawning
Enjoying the bright sunrise this morning
Pink and orange glow lights up the sky
From Canary Wharf, via St Pauls, to the London Eye,
My legs wobbly like a newborn foal
Naught to 5k is my new goal
I imagine, from my hospital safe haven
The cheers I hear, from the Emirates stadium
Are applauding me

Waking from an opiate haze
Something resembling an exotic insect is creeping
Round my bed when I am sleeping
It seems to have a multitude of long and spikey limbs
Vital signs machines that take my pulse and squeeze my arm
But no longer incessantly alarm
Like a glow worm the night nurse wears a torch upon his head
Eventually I too emerge from this narcotic dream
Out of this hospital fug
From a chrysalis like a bug
Into the outside world
Life appears to hibernate when you are so sick
Slow and steady progress now
At last my chest is clear,
I reach the magic numbers to go home
Rejoicing to return to my own
Much more peaceful bed

Convalescence brings time and full recovery the choice
To influence the powers that be and use my voice
To paint and draw on my experience
To shout and write about
What needs to be changed or maintained
If our much-valued health service is to be sustained.

As a GP I value continuity of care
As a patient it really matters
The doctor and the nurses know my story
And what I hope to do
They recommend new pills
And an e-bike to get me up steep hills
Continuity and ‘face to face’ must not be threatened
By remote and transactional consultation
It is our obligation
To save the NHS
For the sake of the nation

‘Skyline view from the ward’ Lino print by Sophy Wollaston 2024