When I was 15, I had to spent a period in hospital. As the number of Medical Dramas on television these days testifies, hospitals can be interesting places.
Ian (very badly broken leg), Gordon (badly broken leg) and myself were assigned to a small 3-bed side ward. After all, we were all long term and weren't going anywhere for a while, so I suppose it made sense.
Gordon's Story:
Gordon had already been in for 16 weeks, when the surgeon, having satisfied himself that Gordon could bend his leg far enough, said he could go home.
Now Gordon was from the small village of Mintlaw near Aberdeen, and his folks couldn't collect him that night but arranged to do so the following day.
That night we three had the "mother of all battles". "Battles", believe it or not, were a fairly common occurrence - it helped relieve the boredom. Tangerine peels, grapes and huge syringes full of water were all pressed into service as "ammunition" and dressing gowns, pillows and anything else we could lay our hands on were used as "shields".
The battle was in full flow when Gordon dropped his shield, a colourful hospital-issue dressing gown.
As shock and awe rained down on him, he stood up to retrieve his only means of defense.
I can here the click to this day. He hadn't fallen, but had presumably put his leg in such an awkward position and it had snapped.
Poor man had broken his leg again and was in for a further 12 weeks.
Hopefully someone will have a hospital tale that's more interesting than this one.
