Returning to reality (whatever that is)

I'm finally back to work on a sort of occasional, restricted hours basis. I dare not travel in the rush hours because it is essential that I have a seat, and avoid all risks of anyone standing on or kicking my injured foot, on the 50 minute journey 'twixt beautiful Ruislip and Waterloo. And the effort of getting to work, as well as being there, is very tiring. So I'm doing a few hours, every three days or so, and working as much as possible at home the rest of the time.

It is quite pleasant to travel down mid morning in trains barely half full. Coming home they seem to be crowded no matter what time I choose to depart. But actually the idea of the "rush hour" is very out of date. Huge numbers travel at all times, apart from very early and very late. I can recall when the evening trains would be full of suited men with briefcases rushing home to their dinners in the suburbs (Thank you Mr Betjeman, we'll let you know: Ed). There are a few left, of course, but the travelling public is now representative of the general public, and in world that increasingly works all hours and all days, the transport system is going to do the same.

Lines from a sofa - 2

I've been out of hospital for a week now and all being well will not need to go back (unlike the previous two occasions within the last month). I'm not even confined to the sofa anymore. Both foot and lungs are healing and mobility, in a limited way, has returned. Arm-chairs, dining chairs, even garden chairs, there is no restriction on the form of seating that is now available.

The commuting experience remains the short and tedious journey 'twixt home and Hillingdon Hospital. On Saturday I was called in by letter for a blood test, only to discover once there that the clinic is shut at weekends. Terrific stuff, very good for the blood pressure. The NHS equivalent of being told that all train services are running normally only to find, a few stops down the line, that your destination is unreachable by the normal route and a huge detour beckons. It's just like being on the Piccadilly again.

Lines from a hospital bed - 4

Back in hospital again, this time with blood clots in the lungs. This is an unfortunate consequence of my prolonged resting at home while my left foot healed. I have (or had) all the classic symptoms - breathlessness, dry coughing, pain in the chest, tiredness and dizzy spells. These are all cleared bar continuing pain in my left lung and an occasional cough that is driving me mad, because it hurts, I can't catch my breath and I end up gasping, unable to speak and fighting for breath. But I am coughing a lot less than a few days ago, hurrah.

I came back in a week ago and hope to be out soon. No idea when I can resume doing a decent bit of commuting though. Not only is my foot still too weak to bear my weight, the 40 odd steps at Ruislip Manor station are the equivalent of a steep hill in my current shallow-breathing state. I cannot see myself making it. Nor indeed am I fit to fight my way through the streams of people moving 'twixt Met and Bakerloo in that vortex of despair that is the stupidly narrow steps connecting those lines. God knows what cretin designed stairs wide enough for just one person in each direction. Wouldn't it be nice if the bosses of LU had to travel by wheelchair or with crutches every so often so they could understand how awful much of the Tube architecture really is.

Lines from a sofa - 1

I'm out of hospital (hurrah) and likely to need at least two weeks at home while my damaged foot recovers. Thanks to modern technology I can connect to my desktop pc at the office and work almost as if I was sitting there. So a spell of working, but not commuting, beckons. It's a strange feeling. I finish my breakfast, take six steps into the living room and start reading the office emails. All my life there has been some element of commuting and for much of it, regular journeys of an hour each way have been the norm.

Just for old times sake I checked out the Tube website to see if services were running normally. They are. But if there had been extensive delays due to hailstorms at Chalfont, or something, I should have permitted myself one short smile of appreciation.

Lines from a hospital bed - 3

I'm in a four bay ward and when the bloke opposite went home yesterday morning, I thought this would help toward a quiet weekend for the rest of us, given that hospitals don't do routine admissions then. I was wrong. Later that day the bed was given to a brash young man who has been a source of noise and distraction ever since. He is seriously ill with an unexpected recurrence of long-standing pancreas problems but has the air of a newly rich popstar holding court. Last night he had extensive treatment, had several machines plugged in him, hourly monitoring and visits from about a dozen assorted doctors, nurses and specialists. He greeted them familiarly, "allo, ow are you doing alright", instructed them where to insert drips and take blood, had his personal mineral water put in the nurses' fridge, told them which painkillers he wanted and made them explain every reading.

This morning the crisis seems to have passed and he only took up about 80% of the time of the main nurse on duty. Mind you, she has 4 others to look after. Actually, this is not so bad as it may appear because the rest of us need little direct care. But unlike any other patient, he spent all the time not employed in ordering nurses on his mobile. These are not discreet and quick, essential calls. He bellows into the phone in a voice that cuts into Wishbone Ash (a 1970s rock combo. Ed) playing loud on my Walkman headphones. I would mind less if the hospital had not put large red notices at the entrance to the ward forbidding mobile use within.

As I write it has gone a bit quieter (exhaustion of the vocal cords?) but it won't last. His family will be visiting later.