Mysterious Illness Mk2

Hospital Log, Day 0, Monday 30/05/11, 9pm

The evening, after a consultancy with the likable Dr. Murtagh, who immediately decided I needed a bed as soon as possible, was sent for an ECG with Jane the enthusiastic Filipeno nurse. Was slippery-ed up and prodded. One more thing off my to do list and something to enspire envy in Joe.

My four room-mates are united by a common theme, they are each at least fifty years older than I. I have begun Person Observation Game 3, illness investigation.

The White Wisp is directly opposite me, favours maroon pyjamas with blue checks and is agile enough to bend over his bed from the opposite side and successfully pore water from a jug into a plastic cup. Overheard a nurse ask him about blurred vision yet he reads the newspaper avidly, the right way up, and watches the small, aperture supported tv screen from approximately 2.5 – 3 metres away. Albeit with his headphones on the wrong way around. (The headphones are, surprisingly, Logitech.) Seems pleasant.

The Haggard Man is ensconced diagonally across the room from me. He is decorated with maroon pyjamas with vertical white stripes. He moves slowly with a walking stick, talks in a low raspy voice and is spoken to by two less elderly women (wife and daughter?) in the standard condescending concerned relative tone. He coughs infrequently and periodically asked to use a nephelometer that will supposedly help to 'clear out his lungs'. He is forbidden from lone toileting. Seems pleasant.

The Transient is forceful and loud, both in voice and tv volume. He is the youngest of the three and informed imperiously in passing when commandeering the Haggard Mans communal closet space that he'll only be here a night. We three others find the floor and chairs to be ample storage space.

In the top-floor cafe (that stays open until 9pm) there works a crazy Eastern European who delights in the beauty of the view from his height and discusses with his overly but calmingly bubbly female co-worker where the best place will (WILL) be to wait out the impending flood. The cafe itself is standardly overpriced and a credit to weird misshapen coconut and jam baked thing purveyors everywhere.

Have surmised that the terrifyingly loud, blinking red, motion activated paper towel dispenser in the communal bathroom is likely to be used for drying hands. The inconspicuous toilet roll below it is likely used to fuction as toilet roll. Noted for future reference.

For the next two days I shall be relieving myself into a square, graduated, brown jug containing an as yet unknown acid. Have decided against attempting to construct a rudimentary chemical analysis kit.

Will be fasting until morning blood test, at eight o'clock. Decided that a semi permanent needle entry point would clash with my hospital bracelet so will attempt to avoid one.

Have figured out how to turn down the radiator (which is full of angry snakes), and open the window.

Hospital staff seem intent on giving me chicken tandoori sandwiches, have had three so far. The meal person was surprised when I didn't want dinner. Wonder how much tea I would have to drink for the caffeine to start interfering with the tests.

The street light outside my (groundfloor with a two story drop) room obligingly doesn't work properly. I would be unlikely to come away from the fall without a broken ankle. This may be intentional.

Am getting good at palming urine samples to conceal them en route from toilet.

Am on Zanidip to bring down blood pressure, already on double dose as they're not working.

Have learned that those floating figures made of transparent rods and circles that dance in front of my eyes are not in fact normal. Have an eye review test tomorrow. Will frighten nurse with them.

Radiator not responding as expected to twisting of its nob (damn it Niamh) beginning to expect a ruse.

Nurses consistently surprised by high blood pressure and rugged handsomeness.

Edited Phillipeno to Filipeno, ENTIRELY different meaning.