Slumber Party with N.H.S.

Here's a photo of the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast, located just a few blocks from the volunteer house. I had the unfortunate fortune of blacking out at 1am on the Sunday morning before July 4th and banging my face on my flatmate's bedroom door. 10 minutes later I was off the floor and headed out the door with a paramedic.

I spent a few days at the hospital so that tests could be run and the decisions could be made that
1) I can still drive in the U.K.
2) This was most likely a one-time thing
3) My brain seems to be pretty normal!

OK, now to the good stuff. My stay in the hospital was at times boring, at times really, really depressing and at times absolutely hilarious. I met the most random women who were also staying in my ward. (There were 6 beds in my ward that were almost always taken). The bed to my left seemed to be a revolving door of disruptive women. First, there was the woman who said the doctors tried to drug her, changed all of the clocks to read 7am at all times and that a nurse was keeping her mom locked out of the hospital. This was the same mom this lady said she hated. Anyway, I was glad to see her finally be reunited with her mom and for the clocks to be allowed to move past 7am. Next up was a much older woman who had fallen and broken her arm. She was only there a short while to boss the nurses around and complain about the soup (not enough salt) before she was granted her own room upstairs. Next was another young lady who, sadly, had taken a bunch of tablets. She was pretty quiet and told the doctors and nurses to leave her alone and shut up a lot. Next was a nice looking older lady who received a visit from her son and his wife. Turns out their wedding had been featured in a local magazine so they brought her a copy. Later that day, another son of hers arrived for a visit. The mom was furious that her other son had brought a magazine and not her favorite mystery novel. The nerve!

There were two women across from me who had actually grown up in the neighborhood I live in currently. They both had one son and talked a lot about that and about people from the neighborhood. They were planning on staying at the hospital for a while longer so they had collected chocolates and crisps from the canteen and were stocked up on TV credits. (You have to pay for credit to watch the little TV that hangs by your bed). Both women love Gordon Ramsey's current show on television, Wifeswap and CSI.

It seemed that every hour a nurse would come by to take blood pressure or jab you with something. Each of these trips included a battery of questions. The nurses asked me a lot about why I was in Belfast, how long I'd be here and what I thought of their National Healthcare System. It was lovely, I replied. And a lot lovelier when I was discharged on July 4th. Perhaps my favorite independence day ever.

The food was a little odd (I disagree with the lady about her soup - that stuff was loaded with salt), but what do you expect at a hospital? They serve huge meals and never any Jell-o. How sad.

This was the first time I really missed home. And I really missed Neosporin. Random but true.