Bleeding the NHS dry

Day 1 (last Saturday)

TheBloke (TM) appears home early from cricket.

"Hello," I say. "I didn't get your text saying you were coming home." TheBloke (TM) looks a bit sorry for himself and appears to have a Post-It stuck to his head. On closer inspection, this is not a Post-It but in fact a large piece of medical gauze taped to his head.

"Oh," I say. "Are you OK?"

"No," says TheBloke (TM).

At this point, reader, I asked him what we were all thinking, "Is the Mini OK?"

It was. TheBloke (TM), as you know, tried to use his head as a cricket bat, and despite wearing a helmet, managed to get himself a nice crack on the bonce. The ambulance were called but let him go. TheBloke (TM) then drove home for two hours (whilst vomiting and bleeding) instead of calling me to come out and get him. I told him off and put him to bed.

Day 2

TheBloke (TM) is beginning to feel a bit better. He joins the pre-FABE party for Wii and cider.

Day 3

TheBloke (TM) has a worse headache than the day before and is feeling sick again. He elects not to come to the FABE. He tells me I should go ahead to the FABE, which I do. I return early, and find TheBloke (TM) has been bleeding profusely from the nose. I insist on a trip to A&E. TheBloke (TM) submits.

Our love affair with the NHS begins. Four hours in total, a doctor (about eleven years old) who didn't think it was at all serious, but at the last minute decided to do a CT scan... revealing a fractured skull, eye socket and broken nose. He sent us home, with instructions for TheBloke (TM) to take at least one day off work.

People in the waiting room evidently think he's in an abusive relationship.

Day 4

TheBloke (TM) has a little bit of a nose bleed but is generally feeling a bit better.

Day 5

TheBloke (TM) rings me at work to say he thinks he'll go to A&E again as he's got a bit of a nose bleed. This is TheBloke (TM) subtext for "I've lost most of my bodily fluids". I call a cab for him. An hour later, I get a text telling me he's likely to be admitted.

I leave work, pop home and grab a non-blood soaked spare shirt for him (these are becoming rarer in our flat) and head out to A&E. I find a very sorry looking TheBloke (TM) awaiting transfer by ambulance to another hospital, having just filled two bowls with nose blood. He has a large sponge stuck up each nostril. Yum. I suggest we go into the black pudding making business, but he doesn't seem keen.

We are here for three hours. Every time I ask a nurse how long the ambulance will be, I get told "imminently". After another hour passes, and still being told "imminently", I ask what "imminently" means, as in my vocab, it means in the next five minutes or so. I am informed, "That's not what it means on the NHS." How right they were.

He remains for the next four hours in total. I eventually kick off and ask the nurse to phone the ambulance people. Turns out the ambulance bloke "couldn't find" him first time round, so just left again.

The ambulance comes half an hour later. TheBloke (TM) is left in a hospital gown shivering by an open door, while the ambulance driver tries to find his ambulance keys.

I am not allowed in the ambulance, so make my way by public transport. I still manage to arrive at St Paul's before TheBloke (TM) who has been taken on a whirlwind tour of London by the fuckwit driver.

We find out TheBloke (TM) has to stay until Friday, when the specialist can see him.

You know what, I genuinely can't write the rest of this out because I can feel my blood pressure rising. Let's just say that although yes, he probably did need to be in hospital, the hospital he was transferred to gave him nothing other than drugs - and he never even got to see the specialist before he was discharged. (The discharge itself was supposed to happen at 8 a.m.... so off I duly trotted nice and early to the hospital. It actually happened at 7 p.m. that evening. The reason? The doctor was a bit busy. Brilliant.) I had to ask about nineteen million questions and hassle three hundred medical staff, most of whom did not speak brilliant English.

But it was all worth it. Want to know why? No, not the safe return of TheBloke (TM) - that was just a happy by-product. It was the following exchange.

Laura: Hi, TheBloke (TM) is in bed nine and doesn't have any water. Could I get a jug for him please?

Medical man: I... sorry... I no... understand.

Laura: (doing miming) Bed nine. Needs water (more miming). Can you get some (some pointing)?

Medical man: Oh! I sorry - no. You need nurse for water. I neurologist.

Laura: For God's sake, it's not brain surgery.

(I couldn't resist it.)

Anyway. He's home and fucked off his socks on morphine. It's brilliant! And there's enough left to sell on Ebay.

Day 8

The lazy bastard let me cook breakfast AND dinner AND do the washing up.