The Ordeal of William Bunsen: A Novella

By James Sherwood

William Bunsen, a retired railways timetable administrator, enters hospital for a routine operation and awakens to find it went horribly wrong. Subsequent events take him and his wife, Marjory, on a journey of self-discovery and ultimately to a destination they would never have dreamt of.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Sherwood
• Release date: Dec 21, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393094852

James Sherwood

James Sherwood lives and works in Adelaide, Australia

Book preview

The Ordeal of William Bunsen: A Novella

James Sherwood

Published by James Sherwood, 2019.

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

THE ORDEAL OF WILLIAM BUNSEN: A NOVELLA

First edition. December 21, 2019.

Copyright © 2019 James Sherwood.

ISBN: 978-1393094852

Written by James Sherwood.

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Ordeal of William Bunsen: A Novella

About the Author

William Bunsen picked up the nurse-call button from where it hung on the side of his hospital bed and pressed his thumb on it. A buzz echoed from the nurses' station. When he lifted his thumb, the buzzing stopped. He twisted in the bed, bent forward and pushed himself up with his left hand. It was no help, though. Nothing he did lessened the discomfort between his legs. If he could, William would have got out of bed and found someone to complain to, but he was confined by a triangular cushion that wedged his legs apart. There was also a plastic tube between his legs, attached to a bag of urine hanging on the side of his bed; the other end of the tube disappeared into the dressings at his groin. To make matters worse, there was a workman on a ladder at the foot of his bed. The man measured the window that faced William, working at a leisurely pace and softly whistling a tune. He had walked in unannounced and with little more than a nod to William, had set about replacing the glass in the window. Now through the third floor opening a cold June wind blustered about the room.

William glared at the man's back.  Was the hospital trying to give him, William, pneumonia? Couldn't a man have some privacy in his hospital bed? Did this work have to be done then? He watched the workman with growing annoyance. He had been pleasantly surprised, on arrival at the hospital the day before, to find himself allocated a room on his own.  There were two beds but the one between his and the door was empty. At his time of life - seventy-two next birthday - he appreciated some simple luxuries and privacy was one of them. The man on the ladder stopped whistling, reached to his back pocket and took out a mobile phone. He held it up and looked at the screen. William shook his head. In his day, when he was a manager, if those things had been around, he would have banned them from the workplace.

He picked up the mirror that had been given to him earlier and finished combing his hair. Not much left, he thought to himself. Not as grey as his friend Frank, though. William had inherited a slightly olive complexion from his father and had always had dark hair. It was touching the tops of his ears, he noted and it needed cutting. He would see to that this week. He ran his hand along his jawline and, satisfied with the quality of his shave, put down the comb and mirror.  He shifted his thin frame in the bed slightly, wincing at the discomfort.

A young nurse he recognised walked into the room. She had greeted him on his admission and had helped him and his wife Marjory unpack and store his belongings. She was a cheerful girl with brown eyes and a round, almost chubby, face, dark hair and a ponytail that bobbed behind her head as she walked. She looked far too young to be working in a hospital. He squinted at her identity tag. It said her name was Nurse Wills.

Hello, Mr B, she said. She cancelled the call and hung the button back on its hook. You’re awake, I see. What can I do for you? Are you getting on alright?

William decided she was too junior to be cross with, so he modulated his tone of voice. He glanced at the workman, who had pocketed his phone and returned to examining the window.

I realise, Nurse, he said, speaking loud enough for the man to hear, that maintenance work needs to be done. But there is quite a cold draft coming in that window. Could this work not have waited until the room was empty?

She looked up at the workman who hesitated, half turned his head in their direction for a moment and then kept on at his work. Sorry, Mr B., she said. I think we've been trying to get it done like, forever, you know how it is and it was now or who knows when. I'll get you a warm blanket to wrap you up in, hey? She walked over to the base of the ladder and looked up at the man. Will you be long?

The man turned, glanced at William and then down at Nurse Wills. No, love, not too long. Don't worry. Nurse Wills nodded at him and left. The workman looked at William, a conspiratorial smile on his face. He twisted his head in the direction of the departing Nurse Wills. Not bad, huh? I wouldn't mind getting a sponging from her. He gave William a wink.

William frowned back at him. What is your manager's name? he said.

My what? This said over the man's right shoulder.

Your supervisor. Your manager. What is his name?

The man shook his head without looking around. I'm a private contractor, mate. I don't work here. Can't stand hospitals, myself. He scraped at the window pane.

William shook his head. What a dreadful attitude. He began composing a letter in his mind to the hospital management. And he would send a copy to a newspaper – the Adelaide Star, in fact. Sir, he would write, I refer to the crumbling level of service in our Health system. His thoughts were interrupted by Nurse Wills, who returned with a warmed blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders. He nodded. That felt much better.

Thank you, Nurse, he said. He moved and a pain caught him in his groin. He pursed his lips. He never thought a simple hernia operation would have been so painful and need all these bandages, let alone the urine tube running inside him. In fact, he had not been told to expect anything like that. He was keen to talk to the surgeon who had operated on him. William expected him to visit that morning. His last memory, in the room outside the operating theatre, before the operation, was of a nurse asking him his name and what he was there for and checking this against her paperwork, then the anaesthetist bending over him, followed by a needle prick on the back of his outstretched left hand. Then a veil of blackness had fallen over him and he awoke in his room, feeling very uncomfortable between his legs. And then a sleepless night. What bothered him was that the discomfort between his legs had remained. He had been told to expect soreness on the left where the hernia was repaired, but nothing more. He had felt with his hands under the sheets and encountered a swath of bandages around his hips, with a thick layer right between his legs. He felt gingerly, but the bandages were too thick to discern anything.

What