Two sides of the bed, and a matter of unfinished business

I have crossed paths with many of the Acci staff in the 8yrs I was involved with the old girl.

I rolled through the rubber flap doors in 85’ after stupidly thinking I could ever win a wrestling match with a machine that was much bigger, more powerful and definitely less unforgiving, resulting in my right arm being torn off.

Up to that day, luckily, I had never really been aware of the existence of the Acci, not until the assistant in the back of the ambulance with me, said as we passed the general hospital in the centre of town “don’t worry, we are going to the best place, the ‘Acci’ they will take good care of you”- that was an understatement.

Thanks to the skill of the many staff there on that fateful, life changing day, my arm was replanted. Mainly due to the expertise of Keith Porter (at that time, still a senior Reg on Peter Bewes team), his team, and the plastics team led by Consultants Paul Levick and John Gowar.  After much carpentry and embroidery, the arm, that had been so unceremoniously put in a bucket was re-attached using screws, plates, veins and skin from my own body (later operations harvested nerves, more skin, and bone – I became a bag of spare parts) I was still all there, just not in the same order I started off in.  Now began the long wait, would the replanted arm be successful?

After the initial Op. I was transferred to the Major Injuries unit (at that time still in Ward A, the new MIU was to be officially opened a few weeks later). 

I came around, and someone was standing over me, it was Hazel, checking the array of machinery that was around me, bleeping and blinking merrily, a technician’s paradise. I tried to say something but found it was muffled, it was just an oxygen mask. There wasn’t much to say, just hello to a world I had lost for a while. Time from then seemed to be a blur, after about 3 days, Paul Levick and the Burns and plastics team came to see how I was getting on (there must be a collective noun for a bunch of surgeons). I think that it was really to assess how I was coming to terms with my injury. He asked me to tell him how it had happened, and then he explained the process they had gone through to put me back together.  I am afraid I have always had a quirky sense of humour, and I looked at Paul and said ‘Does this mean I will never play the violin? He looked at me a little concerned and said probably not. I then said, ‘oh well it will save me ever having to learn it then’ You don’t get many chances like that do you? It certainly lightened the atmosphere at the bedside

After a week or so I was moved to the Burns unit, and then to Ward D. There were many Ops to come, but now it was the long drawn out process of Rehab in the Physio dept. that would last the best part of 2yrs. the Acci became my second home, although I do think I was getting hooked on GA’s and hospital food.

There seemed a few milestones to my stay and treatment, there was one memorable moment, when after 14 months I noticed the first flicker of movement in my index finger while in Physio. At last something concrete to work on.  Another was while I was waiting in the casualty hall for clinics, where I spoke to an ambulanceman, he asked what I had done, so I told him, it turned out he was the same man in the back of the ambulance when I was bought in. he said he had only agreed to that days shift to cover sickness. He said it ruined his breakfast that day.

Again, while waiting for clinics, I chatted to a man that was a technician at Davenports next door, he remembered me coming in. It seemed that it was common practice to get ice from the physio ice machine to keep amputated parts cool, and as usual it was out of action, in that case, ice would be asked for from Davenports, as they used it in their brewing processes. They had none at the time, so he said that men were sent running to all the local pubs to collect the ice used for bar ice buckets, a great start to the proceedings. 

During my period as a patient in the hospital, I got to know the staff really well, I enjoy people watching, and almost as a fly on the wall, I watched them go about their work day in day out. Never with a look of pressure, there was always a calmness that seemed to radiate from them. Their only priority was the care of the patients and each other. This was truly a patient/person-centred approach. Okay, the hospital was a main Trauma centre, and this meant that it dealt with the mucky end of the stick, where matters of life and death were commonplace, but staff always found time to show care.

This brings me to the Unfinished business part (don’t worry Dawn, it’s not the fiver you owe me). as I have said, the recovery/rehab seemed to go on endlessly. I coped with this by taking a laid-back attitude, and in a way enjoyed whatever was thrown at me. But the support of the staff, and Keith especially, helped me to cope. As I have found since, the kindness and care that was shown to me was something that is sadly lost in todays soul-less conveyor belt NHS, where the patient is scared to go to the toilet in case the bed is filled by the time they return.

When it came time to end my time and treatment at the hospital, I felt lost, it had become my second home, the staff became my family, and I had actually been at the hospital longer than some of the staff.  As well as the loss felt, I also felt a strong need to give something back. I applied for a job in the general office and was successful. It didn’t really match my background as an engineer, but I had got used to dealing with new challenges. And I worked in the general office with Ethel for 5yrs till the closure. All that were there at the time remember how heart breaking and horrible it was, again I felt I was cast adrift, and to be truthful I felt as if part of me had been torn off all over again. I was offered a job at the General, but their staff were also in an uncertain position. At this point I decided to take my leave and make a clean break. We moved to Wales.

The loss of the Acci hit me hard (I found I couldn’t even watch Casualty on TV anymore).

My gratitude to the staff is immense, and as I have already said, the treatment just seemed to trail off, so I never really got to say a big, massive Thank you, with all my heart. The Acci will always have a place in my heart, till the day I shuffle off this mortal coil.