Back on the 4th of May, I was sent flying off my bike, through the air and landed on the edge of the curb - on my head. I ended up in Kings College Hospital, where the surgeons of the ICU performed a craniotomy to relieve blood pressure on my brain. Thus far, as medical treatment goes, so good. After a day and a half in ICU, I was moved to a care ward and a different team, at which point things became much less good. The team was very poor at communication - with each other and with the patients. The nurses refused to explain my status or the purpose of their actions. The doctors were better but mostly very uninvolved; they didn't bother the nurses much and if they did, the nurses didn't listen. I quickly learned that any questions or requests for alterations to the routine would be classified as symptoms of brain damage and get me in trouble. This was a particular problem given that the nurses simply did not let me sleep. For 7 days. 7 days.
It was important to check my blood pressure, absolutely. The nurses checked my blood pressure and tested my reactions every 90 minutes. Every 90 minutes. I tried to explain to them that this was preventing me from sleeping. My head was sore (not least because it had three dozen metal staples holding my skull together) and so were my shoulder and ribs; getting to sleep after any disruption was slow. Disturbing me every 90 minutes guaranteed no sleep. I tried to reason with them that after the first few tests - which showed that not only was my blood pressure safely down but that my mental capacity was well restored - it might be smart for them to lengthen the period between tests, so that I could get some rest. Not only did they not listen, they accused me of being mentally unstable, so I shut up. They had a scale of 0 to 15 for mental agility/capacity and since the sedation had worn off (on the second day), my score had gone up to 15, but any questions or complaints from me would see me classed as a violent and aggressive patient.
7 days. Near the end, my blood pressure began to rise again. Small wonder, given the lack of sleep and resulting tension.
I did encounter one doctor who listened to me and who tried to get the nurses to co-operate, but while they did, at his request, remove the staples, they refused to change the rest of their routine.
I had no access to my mobile phone, was not given access to the hospital phone system or the internet. If a friend hadn't happened to learn of my situation on the first day, my family, workplace and friends would have had no idea where I was.
On the eighth day, I walked out of the ward. I live a few minutes from the hospital and I hadn't slept for a week. I needed the sleep. Living in the rougher edge of Camberwell means that walking down the road in pyjamas caused no comment at all. The nurses called the police, who knocked on my door, talked to me, realised I wasn't mad but just tired and left me alone, on the condition that I did, as I had explained I would, return to the hospital the next day.
I had a night's sleep. It was wonderful. I contacted my work, friends and family. I returned to the ward and said "I feel much better, let's continue.". They told me to get lost. As far as they were concerned, I had checked myself out. They were going to reuse the bed. Given the seriousness of my injury, this was more than a little disturbing. I went to my GP practice, which has not only an excellent duty nurse but a GP who is also a qualified surgeon. They looked after me so much better than the KCH team that I could have cried from relief. Apart from anything else, they gave me useful painkillers which helped me rest and sleep. My blood pressure is healthily low, my strength and energy is back.
My mental faculties were restored very quickly after the accident. My physical resources were restored once I got off the damned ward and had some proper medical care. This week, I happened to look through the bag of pills the hospital gave me when I left (and which I never touched, because I did not trust the team). Was it painkillers or antibiotics? No. It was powerful anti-psychotic drugs - which they put me on shortly after I moved to their ward Do you know how recommended anti-psychotics are for simple head injuries? They aren't at all. They either do no good or make things significantly more dangerous (one of the side effects is the risk of passing out and falling over - great for somebody with a head injury and a skull still healing). But I had questioned their behaviour and this was my reward.
A "therapist" from KCH rang me a couple of weeks ago. It became clear, quite quickly, that either he had not read the notes on my treatment or there simply were no notes. It took some time to make him realise that I'm not some barely functioning vegetable. He said I would be asked to go to the head injuries unit for a check-up. No letter has arrived since that conversation. The hospital has refused to give any information to my GP practice about my treatment at KCH.
There are good departments and teams in KCH (A&E, Radiology, Fracture clinic, to name just a few), but the one I ended up under is horrible and dysfunctional. I don't think I will ever feel secure walking through the doors anywhere in that hospital again. I would, at the very least, need to know that I could safely walk back out a door without any risk of the staff restricting me as those bastards did.
The team was named after it's consultant, whom I never met. From my experience, he's either incompetent or malign. Either he does nothing to repair the various bad practices of the team (poor communication, secretive and paranoid behaviour), or he causes them. He's the boss.
The ward had two other guys who had been there for a couple of months and had no idea why they were still there or what the timetable for their treatment/release might be. I really hope things have improved for them. I pity anybody under the hands of that team.