Though our protégée has been well cared for in hospital, the experience has hardly been a delight. Her ward was cramped - four to a room - and dingy. Yesterday’s discharge process was reminiscent of mine two years ago, only worse. A long wait in the ward for transfer to the discharge ‘lounge’, and another wait there for medications to arrive: though less long than I’d to wait.
The said lounge had a number of patients in beds. Overspill? Or maybe they were waiting to return to beds in care homes. Another patient awaiting discharge was firmly shackled to a prison officer, with whom he seemed to be sharing a friendly repartee. Anyway we were glad to be out of there, free tea and biscuits notwithstanding (and gladder still today to have reports of a good night’s sleep at home). I was a little disappointed that there was no attempt to talk through the discharge letter, nor to explain the new medication regime. Celà dit, we ought to have done that when we got her home, but were maybe too tired to think of it.
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