In the Land of Hospitalia
To my Trusty & Well-Beloved Comrades, Greetings:
Due to Circumstances beyond my Control (which you know to be an Uncertain & Unreliable Thing) I am now interned in the independent & autonomous Territory of Hospitalia, north of York City.
Admittance to this Perilous Land is by Circumstance & Accident, Terror & Pain. Through these Four Gates stream in would-be Citizens of varied & varying Condition, named within this Domain, Patients (though some be not) and some Few acquiring other Sobriquets such as Old Cow or Troublemaker, Curmudgeon, Nitpicker or Cowardy Custard. In truth these Terms – no doubt in pleased Affection – have all been Bestowed upon me.
I remain therefore, Dear Friends, in Hospitalia until I have respited me fully of my Sins against the Ancient & Archaic Pavements of our Fair & Noble City of York.
This is a Strange Land of Outrageous & Inexplicable Customs & Habits. The People do divide – or so it seems to me – into two Categories. The first of these are the Carers who between themselves take on the many Tasks of Helping & Healing, especially for us Patients, but also for each other. To me they seem of major Import for the Well-being of Hospitalia at large & yet they do not always appear to be in Prime Favour, especially with the second Category of Hospitalians, the Bureaucrats – for thus they call Themselves – whose Purpose is meant to be that of Order & Arrangement, Economy, Service & Sense.
Alas! Though many of them be Sane & Reasonable Beings, who do all Time the Best they can & who Lament those few above them who can not or will not Strive for this Ideal – yet some do seem to be under a Manic Disorder of Reason believing the Rules & Regulations of the System imposed to be of more Import than the Welfare of the Natives & Entrants to Hospitalia for whom it was Devised.
Chief among the Carers I have encountered one whose Name is Spradlow (Blessed be his Line) who did with Teams of Able & most Dedicated Surgeons, Doctors & Nurses, Devise & Deliver all that was needed to Repair, Mend & Ratify the Severe & Grievous Injuries inflicted on my Foot. No Fear to tiptoe sadly into the Future on Beechwood Simulacrum. I am in Hopes to Walk & Run again, to Waltz perchance, or mayhap learn to Tango.
In Hospitalia the Day is Long, the Night Wearisome to bruised & battered Bodies, bewildered, baffled Minds. At Six of the Morning we are roused from Fractious Sleep to Flustered Wakening. At Seven our Patient forbearing is demanded for Observation & Report, the Matutinal Piss (on Bedpan or Communal Loo), the mandatory Shit, Clumsy Ablutions with Bowl or by Basin, the Spit of Tooth Powder into Steel Bowl, the awkward combing of Hair turned into Porcupine Quills by uneasy Slumber in an unfamiliar Bed. A Hot Drink is our reward & after that begins the Long wait to Break our Fast.
Now comes a Solemn Conclave of Consultants & Specialists, senior Doctors & Nurses, Blood-Gatherers & Body-Builders, to Comment with Deep Meaning, to Lobby Questions, sharp & intransigent, at Juniors most Respectful of our Wounds & Injuries, the Ups & Downs of Temperature, the Movement of our Bowels, our Slumber, and our Daily Medication.
Exhausted, we Mope & Mumble through the Morning, attempting Diversion, such as Nattering & Chattering, the turning of desultory Pages, the Painting of Face and Creaming of Body, Etcetera, Etcetera, until Time for Elevenses.
Some of us are whisked away by Four-Wheeled Chairs for additional Treatments –a Barium meal, or X-Ray, the Tweaking Out of Sutures & of Staples (in my case, some few Hundreds, All of which I Bore with much Fortitude.)
At Noon is Lunch supplied, surprising in its Variety & seemingly Meagre; but yet, in our Enfeebled, Bed-bound or hobbled Daily Living, enough, if not too much. Then we are bid to Rest, preparing for the Onslaught to come – the Hours of Visitation. Swoops in the Hordes, both young & old, before Expectation & Staying Beyond it; or arriving when all Hope is gone only minutes before the Brass Bell tells ‘Begone’. They bring Chocolate when you would have Grapes, Barley Water if you detest it while Peach Juice goes by you to Another Bed, Lotions when you desired Powder; they bring with them also the Scent & Glamour of the Outside World, & leave, Well-satisfied with Duty Done - & Myself Remembering only now when All are Departed that which I Wished to Lay Upon them. Comes Dinner in between & afterwards the Hours stretch out.
Medication is at Eight, at Twelve, at Four, at Six, at Ten; by which Latter Ritual – especially if some Urgent Emergency has Occurred or if there has been an Unexpected Increase in Callers & Comforters – many among us have succumbed to a Stupor of Boredom & Inattention, longing only for the Day to be Ended & the Night to Begin. We beguile the Time with Rites of Disrobing, the Big Wash, the Cleaning of Teeth (in Mouth or in Container), & the Like. At Nine the last Drinks Wagon is circulated and I sup Malted Milk until my Lids grow Heavy. Alack! Naught here of Peace & Sweet Repose. The Borders to Hospitalia remain open Night & Day & many come in between Eleven of Night when the Lights are dimmed & Six of the Morning when Day begins. Now advance those in Turmoil & the Tumult of Bloody Wounds, or our Senses are Beleaguered by Others in Trauma, by the Clack of Heels from Nurses disobeying Strict Instructions to walk Soft-Shod, by the Clash of Trolleys & the Crash of Doors, by Movement of This One & That Other from Bed to Trolley or from Trolley to Bed; or, all else Quiet, by the Moans & Murmurs, the Sighs & Snoring of One’s Bed-bound Fellows – that strange Admixture of Needing to be here & Longing to be at Home – before comes Reluctant Awakening to Another day in this exotic land called Hospitalia.
I tire, Dear Friend, and therefore will I cease & go me to my Rest – what rest there be – a Sinner among Saints, a Child of Mischance most Fortunate in Receipt of Care & Consolation beyond my Expectations in this Remote, Unlovely, Loving Realm.
And so, Farewell from your Esteemed Correspondent,
Jennifer, Dame de la Motte & Functionary to the Circle of Words & Women.
posted by Jenny Argante @ 1:39 AM
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