Another step into the NHS world today and it was like being back home…the sense of confusion and frustration from staff and patients filled the clinical air.
New hospital, let’s start with reception, it’s says welcome on it. Ward 10 please? She interrupts her conversation about Britains Got Talent and gives me a slew of turn left and rights, whilst querying her co receptionist before finally saying that’s where I’ll find ward 12. Internally, my brain blinks and realises its futile to say I asked about Ward 10. I amble off in the general direction she described. Turn right I remembered…
Five corridors, two lifts, one left turn into hospital kitchens, two laps of courtyard and two more queries to nurses who think I’m suffering from memory loss as well as an obvious limp, I find The Private Ward…a hospital marketeer must of felt Ward 10 needed rebranding. It made me think of the train platform in Harry Potter, 33 1/3. It only exists if you believe it does. There was certainly no signage for it.
The usual measuring of scars, making me do a Monty Pythonesque funny walk and suggesting I might want to get my ankle frozen in time, with a few more screws…like wearing a ski boot he said cheerily. Brain blinked again…time to go.