The blue curtains are drawn the next morning to reveal a glamorous Australian woman in place of the previous elderly lady and within the first 5 minutes of meeting we discuss our fear of incontenance (she brought it up), in a way you only can with someone you meet on a ward knowing you’ll never see them ever again. She was visiting UK from going on tour with her band and I hated myself by assuming she was the singer because she was blonde and glamorous (everything I hate about microagressions and stereotypes) but turned out she was a tour manager and also the niece of someone from Status Quo. I admire her nounce and balls as she cheekily changes out of her ward gown into normal clothes, pops down to Costa for a nice latte and sandwich and brings it back up before anyone notices, before sneakily changing back into her ward gown. I make a mental note of this bold manoeuvre but am discharged before I have chance to try it myself. She is discharged that day.
Later on in the day the
previous elderly ladies friend comes to visit and is stopped dead in her tracks as she sees the immaculately made empty bed. I am reminded of scenes in films where visitors go to hospitals only to see an empty bed in place of where their relative was, thus signifying their potential ending on this earth. She is tense in her posture as she stands staring at the empty bed. No-one else seems to notice this so I cry out the best I can above all the bleeps and noise “Excuse me are you looking for Brenda?” She turns and addresses me, relief starting to form on her face “Yes – I thought I had the wrong room but then recognised your haircut” she replies. I give her directions to the new segregated room and I can almost feel her relief and she joyously thanks me and turns away leaving the ward.