Having jabbed in two brief posts recently, I thought I should dictate a longer post to fill in the preceding eight-week silence.
But first things first. I was so saddened to read that Matthew had died. He was a great character, a one-off. He gave me many a chuckle. Still, his Hugs, Smile and Early Bird Club will stand as a fitting memorial to him.
Back to Wednesday 30th March. I had been feeling rough most of the day and by the evening my breathing was not very good. I remember discussing whether we should call an ambulance, which is what the carers wanted to do. But then I remember nothing until waking up the following morning in the Osler Respiratory Unit of the John Radcliffe Hospital with a consultant in full PPE explaining to me that I had been admitted with Covid. There began perhaps the most uncomfortable three weeks of my life.
I was hooked up to all sorts of tubes, leads, and IV lines and rendered virtually mute by a large full-face mask. I was isolated in a large, airy room on my back staring up at white ceiling tiles. All sorts of anti-viral drugs and other meds were administered and blood oxygen and CO2 were monitored frequently. After ten days I was pronounced Covid-free.
In the meantime an ambulance collected my electric wheelchair from home and my two Nippy NIV machines. On Monday, 11th April I was transferred to my chair, to come home, whereupon I collapsed with a respiratory arrest. I have no memory of this but they were obviously successful in resuscitating me and I spent another five days flat on my back in bed, during which time a team of nurses and physios practised transferring me to a stretcher trolley with the aid of a slide board, with the aim of discharging me on a stretcher. At the last minute, the stretcher idea was abandoned, and I was sent home in my chair, a couple of days after Easter.
I left hospital with no respiratory hangover but some rather nasty indirect side-effects. I had two screamingly painful pressure sores and developed a rash over most of my body which was attributed to an allergic reaction to one of the antibiotics. The rash faded after a few days, except for a patch on my left thigh, which lingered a few days more. This is now the site of a strange numb feeling in that area.
District nurses as well as my regular carers worked on the pressure sores which, thank God, have now healed. A bonus is that I have been given an airflow mattress.
The combined effects of isolation, immobility, and drugs played havoc with my mind. I virtually lost my powers of concentration and it has taken all this time to get back to anything like normality.
Thank you for starting the thread about Ellie. I was pretty certain I wasn’t the only one who loved her to bits!
Doug
But first things first. I was so saddened to read that Matthew had died. He was a great character, a one-off. He gave me many a chuckle. Still, his Hugs, Smile and Early Bird Club will stand as a fitting memorial to him.
Back to Wednesday 30th March. I had been feeling rough most of the day and by the evening my breathing was not very good. I remember discussing whether we should call an ambulance, which is what the carers wanted to do. But then I remember nothing until waking up the following morning in the Osler Respiratory Unit of the John Radcliffe Hospital with a consultant in full PPE explaining to me that I had been admitted with Covid. There began perhaps the most uncomfortable three weeks of my life.
I was hooked up to all sorts of tubes, leads, and IV lines and rendered virtually mute by a large full-face mask. I was isolated in a large, airy room on my back staring up at white ceiling tiles. All sorts of anti-viral drugs and other meds were administered and blood oxygen and CO2 were monitored frequently. After ten days I was pronounced Covid-free.
In the meantime an ambulance collected my electric wheelchair from home and my two Nippy NIV machines. On Monday, 11th April I was transferred to my chair, to come home, whereupon I collapsed with a respiratory arrest. I have no memory of this but they were obviously successful in resuscitating me and I spent another five days flat on my back in bed, during which time a team of nurses and physios practised transferring me to a stretcher trolley with the aid of a slide board, with the aim of discharging me on a stretcher. At the last minute, the stretcher idea was abandoned, and I was sent home in my chair, a couple of days after Easter.
I left hospital with no respiratory hangover but some rather nasty indirect side-effects. I had two screamingly painful pressure sores and developed a rash over most of my body which was attributed to an allergic reaction to one of the antibiotics. The rash faded after a few days, except for a patch on my left thigh, which lingered a few days more. This is now the site of a strange numb feeling in that area.
District nurses as well as my regular carers worked on the pressure sores which, thank God, have now healed. A bonus is that I have been given an airflow mattress.
The combined effects of isolation, immobility, and drugs played havoc with my mind. I virtually lost my powers of concentration and it has taken all this time to get back to anything like normality.
Thank you for starting the thread about Ellie. I was pretty certain I wasn’t the only one who loved her to bits!
Doug
Comment