Hospital is no place for the sick, by Sam Mason
Here's my contribution to Blogging Against Disablism Day (BADD) 2017. Hospital is no place for the sick.
I've told the tale of breaking my leg. Many times I told it while I was in Airedale Hospital, Yorkshire, for five weeks with a broken leg.
The news here in Britain is full of reports about our National Health Service (NHS) being in crisis. Let me tell you: in Airedale the crisis I saw wasn't a need for more money. I saw professionals who didn't know what each other was doing.
My multiple sclerosis was in relapse, making me fall a lot. One of the falls twisted my left leg until its fibula snapped. Thar's one of the bones that link ankle to knee. Breaking that bone hurts.
Thanks to the NHS, I was driven to Airedale Hospital where my leg got a pot (plaster) and I got a bed in a ward. I stayed in that ward, and others, being cared for expert doctors, nurses and technicians. Good people who worked hard. But who often didn't know enough about each other.
In Airedale Hospital I had to make a nuisance of myself to get the loan of a wheelchair like the one I use at home. A chair I move using my hands, not waiting for somebody to push me.
Also in Airedale Hospital, the 'accessible' toilets weren't suitable. I had to break rules, bringing in my own water bottle to rehydrate from. And I had to wait for somebody to open doors for me. I could tell the building was older than our Equality Act 2010.
The food we ate in Airedale Hospital was all right. A bit like airline food. I lost weight.
We were invited to a daily class in physio. That was a good place to learn exercises that I still use. Far more enjoyable than the daytime telly we got.
Like all the other inpatients, I was impatient. After a few weeks I got out.
I've told the tale of breaking my leg. Many times I told it while I was in Airedale Hospital, Yorkshire, for five weeks with a broken leg.
The news here in Britain is full of reports about our National Health Service (NHS) being in crisis. Let me tell you: in Airedale the crisis I saw wasn't a need for more money. I saw professionals who didn't know what each other was doing.
My multiple sclerosis was in relapse, making me fall a lot. One of the falls twisted my left leg until its fibula snapped. Thar's one of the bones that link ankle to knee. Breaking that bone hurts.
Thanks to the NHS, I was driven to Airedale Hospital where my leg got a pot (plaster) and I got a bed in a ward. I stayed in that ward, and others, being cared for expert doctors, nurses and technicians. Good people who worked hard. But who often didn't know enough about each other.
In Airedale Hospital I had to make a nuisance of myself to get the loan of a wheelchair like the one I use at home. A chair I move using my hands, not waiting for somebody to push me.
Also in Airedale Hospital, the 'accessible' toilets weren't suitable. I had to break rules, bringing in my own water bottle to rehydrate from. And I had to wait for somebody to open doors for me. I could tell the building was older than our Equality Act 2010.
The food we ate in Airedale Hospital was all right. A bit like airline food. I lost weight.
We were invited to a daily class in physio. That was a good place to learn exercises that I still use. Far more enjoyable than the daytime telly we got.
Like all the other inpatients, I was impatient. After a few weeks I got out.