Today has just been a day of bad things happening. It all started with a phone call at around 9am - Mum fell and broke her ankle in the garden, necessitating the ambulance, paramedics, the whole nine yards.
When I got to the hospital, they refused point blank to tell me anything until I'd sat in Waiting Room 3 for an hour like a lemon. This was worsened by the fact that Jeremy FUCKING Kyle was on. I'd heard of him only by repute, but this is a man who makes George Lamb look like John Peel. I have never wanted to murder someone more. Never.
When they finally did deign to tell me what was going on, I got about twenty minutes before they announced that she was going to theatre. This would have been around 11am. As I type, she has just gone - it is 6pm.
During the afternoon they have
- Failed to figure out who she is
- Told me which ward she was on, only for the ward to deny all knowledge and have no beds
- Tried to take her to theatre in a bed that contravened regulations necessitating them having to run around headless, complaining that they couldn't find rails
- Told me not to visit because she was being moved, only to find she hadn't been moved at all
And so on, and so forth. It's been a shocking experience, to be honest. There's been no information, no helpfulness, and my mother by the time they took her up for the operation was scared to death.
I'm scared to death too.