"The best and worst of human behaviour and feelings they generate"

I prepared to leave Aberdeen with mixed feelings. It’s not the grey buildings and surroundings. I like them. They’re quite unique and create very beautiful residential streets. They provided great scenery from my hospital bedside window.

It’s the contrast of what happened in hospital that caused my mixed feelings. I’m alive and been saved from PE. I should be relieved and happy.

I doubt many know how painful a damaged sore lung can be. But before those pains, and eventual diagnosis, care at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary was awesome. Truly professional and caring. My family and friends were made aware of this admirable record. I beamed with smiles and optimism most of the time. I sent photos.

The first member of staff who conducted my ECG. Truly impressive, caring and professional. From then on, those two qualities always shone through. Most consultants and doctors I met were fantastic. There were many more perhaps.

Then came the fateful day. I was perched on my bedside supporting my upper body on the serving table in a contorted way. I was racked with pain in my lungs. Nothing mattered except to see my family again. I’d gradually got into that position to generate a modicum of relief from the incessant stabbing pains in my lungs. It was so bad I couldn’t get to the bedside emergency help button less than a meter away.

I heard footsteps. And a voice entering introducing theirself. They asked what was going on. Loudly. Help was at hand I thought. My head still partly on the table. I couldn’t see their face. I whispered through my pain - I’m in serious pain. The conversation didn’t go well. I asked for morphine.

They eventually brought me Oromorph and some painkiller tablets. I couldn’t move. They asked what to do for me. Help me take it please, I pleaded. They objected. I remember them shouting - I want to understand what’s going on. I whispered back - I’ve told you I’m in serious pain. I can do nothing at this point. I just need help please. They didn't seem interested. They asked me to get myself together and dilute my powdered medication and take them. You can see I’m helpless and you’re loudly barking instructions at me. That was all my fight from a position of humiliation.

They disagreed and stated they just want to understand. I found them hostile. It was awful. I asked them to leave. It was too much. They left and slammed the door.

We had a second encounter a while later. I’d lost track of time. It seemed they were assigned to me. It ended up the same way. I felt humiliated. I asked them to leave again. I was close to tears.

Another nurse came to ascertain what was going on. They were a lot more of a nurse and a caring human being. They asked me why I still had my eyes closed. I said - I’m in so much pain. I can’t help it.

I eventually got help to take the oromorph by someone putting it to my lips. There was an undignified drip down the left side of my mouth, but it was the least of my worries. The pain should start to subside. I was left alone for a while.

I thought the worst was over. Then a while later, the finale.

Two nurses came in. One of the nurses ticked the usual boxes with one or two initial questions and then bang - Now get yourself together. Get your stuff on your bed, swing your feet back on the bed. We’re moving you to another room and you are going home !! Huh!

I thought I would just die there and then. It felt like a nightmare. I was shocked. But I couldn’t fight back.

The nurse continued - I don’t know what blood clot can cause you this level of pain. Even childbirth isn’t this bad. I felt ridiculed.

I was helpless. I whispered - I cannot do anything quickly please!!. They were determined. I felt the hostility and intense cruelty.

I said to the nurse - Would you treat me this way if I was your brother? Why are you being so horrible? This is so bad. This is a hospital! This seemed to fall on deaf ears. The other nurse hardly spoke.

By this time, I had managed to take the tablets in addition to the Oromorph, and luckily the pain was subsiding.

They hurriedly put all my things on the bottom of my bed. I slowly got myself back onto the bed and was briskly wheeled out to a large room of 4 beds.

A caring doctor listened to my story sometime in the morning and asked if I wanted to make a complaint. I declined. I’d encountered too many good people. And I will be writing to thank all of them.

I just wanted relief and assurance my bouts of pain wouldn’t be fatal on another occasion.

Although I’ll be on medication for perhaps 6 months or more, my departure was happy, sparkling with a victory over my ailment but irreversibly tinged with the trauma of knowing how fellow human beings can treat another person at their lowest point.