How I ended up with a syringe stuck in me...

I wrote this a while ago, sometime last year, but I think the story itself is pretty interesting.

Hospitals are strange places. It's hard to form an opinion of them, especially if you're the type of person who finds themselves constantly roaming the corridors with a brand new ailment every time you visit. Your experiences always differ.

I've been in and out of hospitals for most of my known life, and I've experienced the good, the bad and definitely the ugly. One thing always remains the same however, and that's my complete respect for the people that take the responsibility to care for and treat the people that wind up in the same position as me every single day, because I know for a fact that I couldn't do it.

So last night I found myself (once again) in Accident & Emergency at Chorley Hospital. I was there for possibly the most retarded reason yet. Somehow I'd managed to break a syringe whilst injecting myself (I'm not a junkie by the way, I'm a diabetic) and the needle part unfortunately stayed underneath my skin and totally buried itself into the muscle in my arm. Admittedly, the first thing that went through my mind was, "Crap, I'm going to miss PR1". The second thing that went through my mind was, "Crap, I'm going to miss PR1 because I'm going to be in A&E for hours!"

Anyway I got to A&E. There was a huge wait but fortunately not for X-Rays, which was where I was headed. Some old lady took my X-Ray after getting my name completely wrong. The odd thing is she wanted me to take my shirt off, which is completely unnecessary because, shockingly, radiation travels through clothes. Nonetheless, it turned out that the sod of a needle had indeed buried itself right in the middle of my arm. This brought about two conclusions. Firstly, the needle was probably going to have to come out, as the nurse so delicately put it "if it gets into a vein, it could make its way to your heart and give you a fatal heart attack". And secondly, I'd have to be transferred to Preston Royal Hospital. So I knew I was DEFINITELY going to miss PR1.

After a quick pit stop at home we eventually got to Preston Royal. I will tell you now, the polar opposite of Chorley, Preston Hospital is one scary, scary place. Everywhere looks the same because it's all long corridors and right angled turns, in huge squared formations with yet more corridors coming off those corridors, and corridors coming off those corridors too, probably leading back to your original corridor. We had to make our way to Ward 16, a.k.a The Dead End. Ward 16 is on the top floor right at the back of the hospital. The air is stale and warm, the walls are yellow and you get the impression that the people in ward 16 don't get to see the light of day much, if ever.

I've never been so freaked out in my life. I didn't want to have to go through all the bullshit of staying a night in hospital. I wanted to go home and so far I'd been lead to believe that I would be able to go home that very night, but when I got to Ward 16, I felt like I was going to be there for a long, long time.

I was stood at the front desk of the Ward when some old Polish guy came up to me. He stood next to me and started talking in words I couldn't understand. After he'd finished he looked at me as though saying "what do you think?" I just said, "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I can't tell a word you're saying". At first he looked offended, but then he went behind the desk and started pulling peoples files out of the cabinets and playing around with them. This totally freaked me out. Before I knew it this old woman was walking up to me shouting "I'm going home tonight!" I just smiled as the nurse behind her shouted "No you're not!" The old lady shouted "I'm going home tonight, yes I am!" in defiance, but she was led back to her bed.

There was no way any of these people would have been able to function in society, and all I seem to remember thinking was that most of the people in that ward, would probably die in that ward. It was horrible. The nurses were so nonchalant about the whole thing though. For me it was like being in some kind of alternate universe where everything was gloomy and morbid, and for the nurses it was just business as usual. A nurse eventually came over and said I'd been transferred back to the A&E ward. I breathed a sigh of relief.

Over in A&E the atmosphere was calmer and not as stuffy. A doctor eventually came over to me and told me I had to stay overnight for an operation first thing in the morning. He said the operation was essential, but he had to warn me that there was a very small chance that my arm would never be the same. He said things like nerve severage, muscle failure and other complications weren't common, but they could happen. I basically had to sign a piece of paper saying that I was allowing somebody to slice my arm open with the possibility of it never being the same. Not a very comforting thought when you're pretty much only good at art.

I went for my X-Rays and prepared to stay overnight in the crammed rooms, complete with hourly "wake-ups" to check my blood pressure and other stuff. I recall having an interesting conversation with a nurse about how she was able to do some of the things she was required to do. It went something like this:

ME: "I don't know how you manage it...just doing this every night. I don't think I'd have the stomach for it"

NURSE: "It's not that bad... once you get past the faeces...and the urine...and the blood...and the vomit...and the occasional visible organ".


To conclude, the whole experience ended with a wake up call this morning barely after dawn had cracked. The consultant came in and told me they weren't going to operate after all, saying that the risks were too great. She said the needle is considered a foreign body and my body's natural defence will be to shroud it in scar tissue, hence it isn't neccessary to remove it provided I take some antibiotics.

So on the one hand, I spent a pointless night in hospital worrying about losing the useage of my arm all for nothing, and on the other hand, at least I know I'm ok, and you can guarantee that no matter how bad things get, in every hospital, less than 100 feet away from you is someone with a worse problem. It puts things into perspective a bit. All I know is that I couldn't do what some of those people opt to do every single day.