While writing this post, for some reason all that I'd written was lost and the draft reverted to a blank. Frustrating. Starting again, this is to be a precis version, I'll cut to the chase and get quickly to the story I wanted to relate without some of the explanatory preamble.
After coming home from Flinders Hospital on 28 Jan, I had Gord drive me to my doctor clinic Tuesday 30 Jan so I could make an appt. for late Feb to (1) Doctor to clear me to drive again, as it's mandatory after a stroke, you can't drive for four weeks. (2) Get new prescription for the Atorvastatin and Clopidogrel blood thinner the hospital put me on. I went there in person as I thought a doctor or nurse may be able to check my wound and change the dressing. There was a lot of swelling in the neck wound area, we were aware this would happen, but were not sure how much is too much. I was not in pain. The receptionists made an appt. for me for 23 Feb and told me to go to outpatients to have my neck checked as I'd had a procedure a public hospital and had started my adventure at Victor Harbor, all the info would be there.
So I did. Next day, Wednesday, was our 43rd wedding anniversary. We had a piece of eye fillet beef planned for a celebratory dinner. Lib drove me to outpatients about 3pm. We should have gone up in the early morning, I may have been attended to quicker. As it happened. I was not called in till about 7pm, and then only because I approached the triage desk and told the lady I was checking out. She asked me to wait five minutes, the nurse really should take a look at my wound. In a few minutes the nurse came out and I was taken in and sat in a treatment room. Here I waited another half hour. They brought Gord in to sit with me, I'd rung him earlier to come get me when I'd decided I'd had enough waiting.
The good part of this episode was, prior to my impatience and decision to leave, I approached an old bloke sitting on the other side of the room. He'd come in after me with his daughter and like me they sat waiting for hours. At one point he was called in and was away for about 10 minutes, as I had been, before coming back. This initial call was just to have a student nurse check the blood pressure and ask a few basic questions, date of birth etc. Everyone in the waiting room had been called in for this. The old guy and his daughter were conversing in increasingly agitated tone, and I heard him say to her that she should go home, as she had said she was needing to buy things for her family's dinner and get home. He said he'd catch a taxi home after he'd been attended to. She left and the old bloke sat looking sad and lonely.
With the example of the lady Sarah in Flinders hospital in mind, when she approached me to ask how I was, and how she later explained she was helped greatly by the other lady with MS who'd approached her leading to her resolve to help others when she could, I went over to him. I asked him if he was OK, could I get him a drink of water or something or something else from the vending machine. He politely declined. I went back across the room. Ten minutes later he came over and sat next to me and started a conversation. He was an interesting man. After about half hour of conversation, a nurse came out and asked for Robert, which he had told me was his name. With relief he got up and went to her and they went in through the door. A minute later he came back and sat down next to me and laughed as he said they wanted Robin not Robert. A lady then went in with the nurse. Lib rang and said she was waiting to put the meat in the oven till I called saying I was ready to come home. This is when I decided I'd had enough and went to tell them I was checking out.
After I'd been taken inside and had been waiting a while I went to the loo, and walking past other rooms there was Robert sitting in one patiently waiting. I stopped and we laughed in a quick chat. Robert had told me he'd be 89 in May. He lived in Goolwa, worked on the barges before retiring, out in the sun most days. He had evidence of skin grafts round his eyes as a result of he said a lot of trouble with melanomas. He played tennis most of his life at Goolwa so he'd had plenty of sun. He lived alone, his wife had died some years earlier. He still watched the local footy and tennis, after he retired he had a little sideline restringing rackets. He'd lived in Goolwa all his his life, his father was a commercial fisherman on the lake. He loved where he lived, he had a big lounge room window where he could sit and watch walkers and joggers going past along the track, and the Murray River flowing by.
It was nearing 8pm when I could leave, a doctor having checked my neck wound, and a nurse putting on a new dressing. On my way out Robert was still sitting there by himself in his treatment room. I stopped to say goodbye and good luck. I said I'd like to visit him in Goolwa and have a cuppa while we watched the Murray River flow by. He told me his address and surname, Davis. Easy, he said, Bob Davis. I said Bob Davis used to play and coach Geelong in the VFL. He said "Yes, I used to play there." Then with a laugh, "I'm joking."
I'm sure Bob had joked that many times. I look forward to visiting him. He said to bring Gord and my wife. The roast beef was good, but the gloss of the day was gone.
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