The Great Escape

In hospital parlance it's known as Hours Off. In practical terms it means that patients are allowed to leave the hospital, subject to return by a specified evening curfew cut-off. I jumped at the chance on Thursday when my surgeon offered me Hours Off for this weekend. FInding out how it all works is far from easy, of course, and there are administrative hoops to be jumped through before concept becomes reality, but I finally established that the granting of Hours Off first has to be noted in a patient's master folder/chart (not the one at the end of the bed, but the one the medical team write up for the nursing staff). Yesterday's day nurse checked this yesterday and confirmed a note on my chart saying I was okay for 'hours off over weekend if well enough'. Clearing away that 'if' hurdle in turn involves being given clearance by the medical team on the actual day, so before being let out today I had to wait for the team to come round and actually say 'Off you go'.

Normally the team come round quite early (sometimes before 9.00) but it was after lunch by the time they surfaced today. This meant that I was left sitting waiting here while Carl twiddled his thumbs on the far side of the city waiting for the yay or nay (well, he did have things to around his house -- packing things out 0f the way and such-like -- in preparation for floor-sanding work which happens next week). Time always passes more slowly in circumstances like this, and it seemed to drag and drag and drag before the team appeared (which involved a moment's double-take, since the surgeon's second-in-command wasn't in his usual scrubs but was dressed in a rather smartly tailored suit). On the medical front he got straight to the point and confirmed what the ultrasound operator had told me yesterday; that the deep-vein thrombosis scan had proved normal.

So I asked the question of the day: 'I'm down for Hours Off. Is it okay to go out now?' Resorting to one of his rare bouts of dry humour, his reply was 'Sure I've been trying to get rid of you since Wednesday!' Way Hay! Jubilation!! Hallelujah!!!

So, the first few hurdles had been successfully cleared. Coordinating Carl's arrival with availability of a porter with a wheelchair to get me down to the exit concourse was more difficult. The day nurse put in the request as soon as I got word that Carl was walking along the street outside, having parked the car. Unfortunately Carl forgot to take my bag of outdoor clothes out of the car and had to go away again to do this. Naturally, the porter arrived while Carl was in transit, and was not at all amused to find me unready for wheeling. (The fact that he appeared in the ward with his wheelchair without having been given the name of the patient he was to collect didn't say much for the system, and he wasn't happy when I lost some of my cool and told him about the clothes confusion -- 'Listen mate, there's no point getting annoyed with me' was his comment). Off he went, and I was sure we'd lost our wheelchair until he came back a moment later and left it at the foot of my bed for us to use ourselves. I changed into something more suitable than pyjamas, Carl pushed me to the lift and down to the Concourse, went off to rescue the car from the 'patient collection point' which we couldn't find our way to from inside the hospital, and eventually Jim and his car were reunited after all this time of separation (can it really be 30 days?!)

We headed for the sea and some nice fresh air. Unfortunately there was quite a heavy mist rolling in along the Clontarf seafront so we changed our original plan and stopped for an extended back-to-front Italian pit stop at Mulhino's in Raheny. It was great, just sitting there in the open air, watching traffic go by, ordering real food from real waitresses, drinking real coffee and savouring real strawberry pavlova and tira-misu and whatever else it was we had. The blip is of us together, Dublin Shooter and Surrogate Blipper Carl, enjoying the moment, reflected in the sugar-sachet holder on the table.

The mist had fully cleared by the time we finished there (which, surprisingly, was going on for 6.00 pm) so we returned to our original plan and went on to Howth, stopping for a while to allow Dublin Shooter to take a few shuffling steps near the Aqua harbour. Then it was on to Baldoyle and so on, and back to the Mater via Fairview, getting here at 7.20. That's when we encountered the second hurdle with porters and wheelchairs.Carl dropped me off at the door while he went to find a temporary car space before returnng to bring me back to the ward. I went up to the Reception desk and told the guy I was a returning patient, so could I please have a porter with a wheelchair. 'That could take a while', he said. 'They're very busy.' 'And how am I supposed to get back to the ward?' 'The best I can do is put in a request'. So he dialed a number and put his phone back down again. He didn't make any effort to tell me what he'd done or when I might expect a porter to arrive. Carl came in back in, I told him what had happened, he said he'd try to find a wheelchair and I explained to him that we couldn't just get a wheelchair unless it was attached to a porter. 'Actually', says the guy on the desk, 'you're welcome to take a wheelchair if you can find one free.' So off Carl went. No luck. Then we saw an elderly gentleman being wheeled out in a chair marked MMUH (Mater Misericordia University Hospital), and Carl raced after him and successfully negotiated a short-term rental.

So, mission finally accomplished. Dublin Shooter successfully overcame all hurdles set in his way and got out and about and filled his lungs with much-needed fresh air and a good old dose of liberty. Another friend has volunteered to take over driving duty tomorrow to give Carl some time off. I still don't know if I once again have to wait for another formal all-clear from the medical team for this second bout of Hours Off (today's nurse says I'll need to talk to tomorrow's nurse to find out).