Remarkable Kindness

There is nothing worse than being ill in a waiting room, with other ill people, complaining how ill you are and how long you have been waiting. I was in the waiting room for twelve hours in total. I had been in and out of triage for various checks and briefly a side room that I hoped was the end of my journey, alas I was chucked back in the waiting room, waiting for a bed, with what I later learned was acute appendicitis and despite a brief reluctance to have surgery, the appendix was removed on Sunday evening. Ouch.

During the COVID pandemic, no one can wait with you because the hospital is split into amber and red areas, so you end up meeting people, half making friends and half wishing the queue would go down or people would give up and see their GP on Monday morning. To be honest, as the hours went by I wasn’t feeling kind in the least. I was sore and then later very hungry as I was asked not to eat or drink, which isn’t a good mixture, especially when I had arrived prepared with a pocket full of change for the hot drink machine, which oddly wasn’t used that much considering how long we were all waiting.

Then my heart sank, and I thought of my own Nana, who I had lost four years ago. There was an old lady with a walker, she was in pain and looked longingly and with some confusion at the coffee machine. There were a lot of choices and a lot of buttons to press. I saw her ask two members of housekeeping to take her pound coin and get her a cup of coffee and both said they had no time or couldn’t do it.

That lady to me was everything to someone. Someone’s mum couldn’t get a cup of coffee, someone’s Nana, someone’s Aunt, or Sister, was going without a basic drink because no one would give her the time of day and put her pound in a machine and press a couple of buttons. How would I have felt if it was my relative? When the second housekeeping staff refused her, I got up and asked her what she would like. I didn’t take her money, I had plenty and decided someone else could benefit from it, as I wasn’t allowed any food or drink until I next saw a doctor (whenever that was going to be).

I brought back the cup and was patient enough to make sure she had hold of the cup before I went back to my seat, we were each meant to sit, with a space between and with no friends or relatives to keep us in good spirits or help get any food or hot drinks for that matter.

Later that evening, the same machine tested my good nature. A middle-aged lady did have change for the machine but only one two-pound coin that the machine would not accept. I started fidgeting around in my coat pocket, I’d had to remove it as it was getting too warm due to the amount of people in there, one girl had taken to sleeping on the floor with a pillow in her nighty, it clearly wasn’t her first-time in.

The lady struggled to find someone to exchange change with her, I then struggled to wave her down with my hand wrapped around one part of my coat and the other in the pocket trying to get what she needed. She asked if I was certain, and I joked about how I’d luckily been prepared but couldn’t help myself due to orders to keep my stomach empty until a bed and a surgeon was found for me. I exchanged two-pound coins for her single coin and almost watched with envy as she enjoyed her coffee.

After twelve hours I found a trolley bed on A&E and was moved around a little until it was time for me to have my appendix removed. Despite not feeling it, I was told that I was a good patient and quite understanding of what could and couldn’t be done for me, such as no mum when I woke up sick and confused after my operation, where luckily the kindness I had offered, had come back to me with supportive staff, who understood how much I hated general anesthetic and how it wasn’t fun continuously throwing up water due to not eating for thirty six hours.

They didn’t even mock me when I admitted that asking for my mum, when I was being sick at the age of thirty, was a little pathetic.

Back on the ward, I was further surprised that the staff weren't getting cross with me due to my weaker than usual bladder that decided it was buzzer pressing time every twenty minutes, all night long without a break until the morning staff said that if I felt up to it, I could take myself, as my bed was the closest to the toilet.

For me, the kindest thing was the consultant letting me go home on Tuesday, after I promised to keep my food down for the rest of the day and night and let him know if I could do other basics, which I will not mention because I know some people like to eat and read at the same time.

The kindness of those days in hospital were remarkable and real to me.