I’m writing this from the hospital bed on the 17th, yesterday.
Since arriving in the chauffeured Mercedes – thank you again, NHS – they’ve looked after me well. It’s a large room with just two beds. Tim, in the role of carer, is in the other one. Medics galore: another Covid test, weight checked, blood pressure, blood sample, urine sample, oxygen levels, lung strength normal breathing, lung strength blowing, an ECG, a whole hour with the doctor questioning and giving advice and checking muscles. Then more Botox injections into each side of the neck, hopefully narrowing the saliva glands to try to reduce the flow.
After a night with the NHS’s Alice at home (blog February 3), and now being summoned to the hospital for further pleasures, I’d presumed there would be even more cables and clips and nasal inserts and so on. Absolutely not. They have a machine by the bed which measures a far greater range than Alice could, but this time it’s just a cable clipped onto the ear. Much easier.
Tomorrow morning, when this is published, more talks and tests to see if they feel a cough-assist machine will help me get rid of secretions in the throat that cause so much coughing and dangerous choking. Then, all being well, home in the afternoon.
If they give me anything less than a Mercedes I’ll be a bit miffed.