In The Navy…the hospital
I write this as I sit here in bed feeling pretty shitty about falling to the dreaded “man-flu”, the most debilitating condition known to medical science to such a point that it should be given ACC consideration…but I digress dear reader.
Anyways, I was posted to HMNZS Waikato and woke up feeling a bit under the weather, and when I turned up for breakfast and turned down my standard fare of 2 x Bacon and Egg Sarnies, with HP Sauce, even the Stewards looked at me and commented on my lack of appetite, colour, and normal exuberance. About an hour later I found myself in the Navy Hospital up Philomel Hill, lying in a bunk dressed in what loosely resembled a homeless woman’s best dress.
Over the next two or three days (I lost all concept of time) I went through bouts of extreme fever and debilitating chills, vomiting the lining of my stomach into a bucket at me bedside. While they presented me with my three meals a day, nothing was touched (and that means serious for me!) and the only intake was water and green “gargle” in the morning, and red “gargle” at night.
I didn’t sleep at all the first couple of days as they tried to control my temperature; fans on me and window open when I was hot, hot water bottles and extra blankets when I was chilled to the bone, and yet nothing seemed to get better. And they were concerned about my lack of sleep.
But I eventually fell asleep the third night. I don;t remember actually falling asleep, but this is what I do remember; I was being shaken lightly on the shoulder, with the demure voice of a young nurse, “Sir? Sir? Wake up”. I ripped my eyelids open to be looking a the cute nurse who had tended me through the afternoon, in her hand a glass of water and a couple of pills. “Sir,’ she cooed to me, “time to take your sleeping pills.”
/nɜrs/ noun, verb, nursed, nurs·ing.
You have got to be fucking kidding!