32 hours and counting: A Transport Story

"What?!" My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe my ears. This can't be happening. Not for the second day in a row. I looked at Dad, my mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For once, my insatiable voice had been silenced. Everything that could be said had already passed my lips. So I just sat there. In dumbfounded silence blinking back bitter, angry tears.

"Dreamer" an original cartoon by Rosie P

"I'm sorry, but we've tried contacting the bed manager, and transport won't be here before 9 tonight at the earliest. Would that be too late? It's really difficult to book for a stretcher ambulance on a weekend. Plus you have far to travel..." it was only when her voice trailed off that I became aware my eyes were throwing daggers. I snorted in disbelief, shaking my head, resisting the urge to grab her warmly by the throat.

Panic started to rise I my chest. I can't do another night. Not here, with meds so infrequently, with the constant screaming and moaning from the old lady next door. My eyes widened as another realisation hit me, like a punch in the gut. Oh god. What about my TPN?? Yesterday I got lucky as they'd over ordered my prescription, leaving me with a spare bag. The fight for fluids could take hours! My head sunk into my hands, the light stabbing my eyes like a thousand white hot needles. A migraine was brewing. The calm before the stress induced storm to come.

Sound went distant. Colour started to drain. I could hear Dad. He was talking to a gaggle of nurses: "So 10am tomorrow, for definite?" The resounding silence said it all. The cracks were beginning to show in earnest. "Your bed manager said that he'd arrange and pay for a private crew for tonight." Dad hissed, "We had even given him the name of our regular private ambulance company, only to be told that G4S have made there own arrangements. That was nearly two hours ago. So, once again, where the hell are they?!" He growled.

"Fire Breather" an original cartoon by Rosie P

"Stretcher cases are more complicated than you understand, sir." exclaimed the nurse. Dad's laugh was more like a howl. If humans could spit fire, she would have been roasted alive in a nano second. Big mistake nurse, big mistake.
"I have travelled in more stretcher ambulances than you have had hot dinners, NEVER ever has it taken this long" he seethed. "That award you have on your notice board, for your ability to organise patient discharges is clearly not worth the paper it's written on!", and with that we set about dismantling my care for the second night in a row, leaving the nurse and gawping Carer to chew wasps alone.

I felt utterly drained, as if I'd run a marathon up Everest. With Dad busy on the phone, and another nurse placing my meds back in my bedside locker, I glanced at the clock. Time was not on my side. 8 o'clock. The night shift had started to arrive for handover. Amongst them was my favourite nurse. Dropping her bag in the corridor, she made a beeline for me, embracing me in a bear hug without a word. Grateful and emotional, I squeezed back. "I'm so sorry" she soothed.

"So am I", I whimpered, tears finally running. "So am I".