Wilfred De’ath

5am An aggressive nurse arrives to measure my blood pressure and take my temperature. She has very little English. She tries to be nice, calling me ‘Darling’ and ‘My love’ etc, but, underneath, my sense is that she is sulky and disagreeable.

5.30am Another nurse, with even less English, comes to test my blood sugar level, via a painful prick in the finger. Seven weeks in two hospitals – French and English – amount to death by a thousand pricks.

‘Just a little prick,’ she says in her heavy accent. Well I’ve never had any complaints…

6am An HCA (health care assistant) arrives to give me a ‘bed wash’ but I insist on washing myself in the bathroom.

6.30am I plead with another HCA, a fat girl named Carole, to make my bed, but she says she is ‘too busy’. There’s an amazing incidence of clinical obesity among the nurses in the hospital. In fact, Carole is only busy gossiping with her colleagues…

7am Another obese nurse, Teresa, now arrives to pour antibiotic and insulin into my ‘line’. The woman who put the line in, via several painful pricks, was the most disagreeable nurse I have met to date. Too lazy to go and fetch a second pillow, she crunched up my £150 hat (a Christmas present to myself) instead. I was rude to her and she threatened to call security. I wish she would. I will tell them what I think of her. 7.30am I ask another HCA to go and buy the Times from the hospital shop but, again, he says he is ‘too busy’. In fact, he is gossiping with the other HCAS.

8am Breakfast. Two Weetabix with insufficient milk. (I am not allowed sugar.) A pallid cup of tea.

8.30am I offer to go out and buy the Times myself, but I am not allowed off the ward due to an outbreak of a mysterious diarrhoea and vomiting ‘bug’. The ward is closed.

9am The diabetes consultant (very brusque) comes to see me. She can’t wait to get rid of me; I can see that. But due to the ‘bug’, she is obliged to let me stay. There is no pressure on my bed, since no new patients are allowed in.

9.30am Mr Sampson, the leading foot surgeon who amputated my big left toe and part of my foot, comes to check on the wound. It is very clean. He did a great job.

10am A ‘physio’ named Gina comes to check on my progress. She says it will be many months before I can walk properly.

10.30am An occupational therapist arrives – another fat girl. In my day, occupational therapists taught basket weaving and flower arranging. But this girl, Sophie, is in charge of my future, it seems. God help me.

11am Lunch arrives – insipid. I wish I was back in France, where the food was excellent!