So I have no complaints of any kind about Mr B.
The caller who reminded me of the appointment and the anaesthetic nurse both misgendered me. The latter gave me one of those conspiratorial “it doesn’t really matter” looks as he apologised. Wrong. It is very humiliating. It’s not my fault I had to remove my wig and makeup. I was too helpless at the point of being anaesthetised to point all this out to him and make him realise that at Charing Cross Hospital of all places, misgendering jolly well matters.
This turned out to be a mere curtain raiser. After I awoke I was parked in the recovery room for well over an hour with no saline drip and no food or water to help purge the anaesthetic drugs from my system, as a headache slowly built up.
Eventually a space appeared in the day ward and I was transferred, given some sandwiches and told also to drink lots of water. This was a real struggle. I felt the absolute pits by now, was being made ill by bright lights, rather like in migraine, and my head was getting sorer by the minute. I was told that there was nothing they could do to reduce the light level.
The remedy suggested by the nurses after I threw up was to drink more water. This also came back, together with the rest of the sandwiches. In fact I was projectile vomiting, so I overfilled their vomit bowls and covered myself in the stuff.
The nurses were too busy scurrying around to notice me, and I was feeling too ill to shout for help. There were no call buttons.
I had heard stories of elderly people being left in their own mess in old folks’ homes but here it was happening to me in the UK’s leading gender hospital.
In desperation I phoned my partner, who was somewhere in the building, and asked her for help. She made a polite fuss and my bed was changed.
My health, however, did not improve. At 8 p.m. that night a decidedly stroppy nurse came in and peremptorily told me to get dressed and leave. This was a real struggle. I felt awful, and really had to force myself to do this.
My partner told me that the charge nurse had in fact tried to get me admitted for an overnight stay, but there were no beds. Nobody had bothered to tell me this. If they had it would at least have been clear that they realised that I had a problem and were doing their best to deal with it.
As it was I left feeling more than slightly neglected.
It took a further day for the effects of the anaesthetic to wear off enough that I could travel. We had to buy an extra night for two in the B&B and we had to re-book coach tickets home.
Jane x.
