The Odd Patients

By Stephen Box

The Odd Patients was written as a short novel during a 7-day course of antibiotics required immediately prior to heart valve surgery, only being revisited to inject actual experiences during those first 48-hours post-op. Having been alerted to the prospect of a one-in-three chance of not surviving surgery I needed a positive focus to steer me through this prospect, with survival at its core. Alternatively, should I fail to survive, I needed to plot where I was with each of the books mentioned, The Way, Blind Ambition Has A Price, and Prejudice In Love, to help my family to complete them having spent some four years developing the ideas presented. Thankfully my surgery erred on the side of success allowing me to finish them myself. Each is a labour of love dealing with real social issues in today’s world.
Having to come to terms with the reality that my career as a senior banker was to be essentially truncated at 57-years old because of health issues, writing books and my blog (www.univest.blog) based on my years of global experience helped to fill my downtime. Each time I thought I could return to my love of international project finance for developing economies I was quickly thwarted by another health issue, including cancer. I am a bear with a sore head when down so there are many people I could acknowledge for their support.
Within all my books the primary characters are based on real people or an amalgam thereof, who I know, or have known over the years most of which are truly exceptional people, and a privilege to have met. There are cameo roles for people who had a profound effect on my life. And the events and encounters are all based on real experiences over the years. In this book Roz is based on a real ‘Roz’ I knew in the mid-1980’s. I had a dream just months before my surgery in which I met her, quite by chance, on the streets of London. Why I had this dream, I don’t know, but I remember those days with fondness, and hope she found the happiness she so deserves. Andrea is the amalgam of a magazine editor I know, and a woman who left her education at a private girl’s school confused about who she was, using self-arm as a statement of her frustration. It took her until she was 30-years old to find herself. Even the lovely Avanka was the wonderful head of catering for a previous hospital stay. And Siobhan was reined back using the name of Brünhilde (as in Wagner’s Die Walküre) when she over asserted her matronly ‘charm’.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781984592644

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 by Stephen Box.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 05/06/2020

Xlibris

800-056-3182

www.Xlibrispublishing.co.uk

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Contents

About this Book

Day 1   Monday

Day 2   Tuesday

Day 3   Wednesday

Day 4   Thursday

Day 5   Friday

Day 6   Saturday

Day 7   Sunday

Day 8   Monday

Day 9   Tuesday

Day 10   Wednesday

Day 11   Thursday

Day 12   Friday

Day 13   Saturday

Author Bio

About this Book

The Odd Patients was written as a short novel during a 7-day course of antibiotics required immediately prior to heart valve surgery, only being revisited to inject actual experiences during those first 48-hours post-op. Having been alerted to the prospect of a one-in-three chance of not surviving surgery I needed a positive focus to steer me through this prospect, with survival at its core. Alternatively, should I fail to survive, I needed to plot where I was with each of the books mentioned, The Way, Blind Ambition Has A Price, and Prejudice In Love, to help my family to complete them having spent some four years developing the ideas presented. Thankfully my surgery erred on the side of success allowing me to finish them myself. Each is a labour of love dealing with real social issues in today’s world.

Having to come to terms with the reality that my career as a senior banker was to be essentially truncated at 57-years old because of health issues, writing books and my blog (www.univest.blog) based on my years of global experience helped to fill my downtime. Each time I thought I could return to my love of international project finance for developing economies I was quickly thwarted by another health issue, including cancer. I am a bear with a sore head when down so there are many people I could acknowledge for their support.

Within all my books the primary characters are based on real people or an amalgam thereof, who I know, or have known over the years most of which are truly exceptional people, and a privilege to have met. There are cameo roles for people who had a profound effect on my life. And the events and encounters are all based on real experiences over the years. In this book Roz is based on a real ‘Roz’ I knew in the mid-1980’s. I had a dream just months before my surgery in which I met her, quite by chance, on the streets of London. Why I had this dream, I don’t know, but I remember those days with fondness, and hope she found the happiness she so deserves. Andrea is the amalgam of a magazine editor I know, and a woman who left her education at a private girl’s school confused about who she was, using self-arm as a statement of her frustration. It took her until she was 30-years old to find herself. Even the lovely Avanka was the wonderful head of catering for a previous hospital stay. And Siobhan was reined back using the name of Brünhilde (as in Wagner’s Die Walküre) when she over asserted her matronly ‘charm’.

DAY 1

Monday

H e sensed his body floating in a monochromatic kaleidoscopic vortex. There was pain in his chest. He could vaguely hear someone calling his name.

‘Daniel, can you hear me?’

His mind was fuzzy. There was something in his throat which he instinctively tried to cough out, but it wouldn’t move. His chest felt heavy as though weighted down, with fiery pain akin to severe sunburn, and what felt like a hole seeking an Ironman arc reactor unit. Trying to open his eyes, his ears were informing him that there was something humming above him, and he could hear much pinging to his left. He tried to focus his eyes in the low-level fluorescent lighting. A nurse was standing looking at him through a caring smile.

‘Daniel, my dear, can you hear me?’

He tried to nod in response.

‘Daniel, your surgery was successful, and you are now in the intensive care unit. I will be caring of you. Do you understand?’

He nodded again.

‘Good. I want to take some vital readings, and then we will put you back to sleep for a few hours to allow your body to adjust to your new heart valve. You’re in good hands, so please try to relax.’

He watched as she busied herself taking various measurements from the array of instrumentation streaming, flashing or pinging information at her. He could feel pressure on his upper arm as an automatic sphygmomanometer was going through the procedure of determining his systolic and diastolic blood pressure. Eventually, he felt something momentarily enter his ear and blipped as it registered his body temperature.

‘Daniel, my dear, everything is fine. I will now put you back to sleep, but I’ll be back later.’

She injected something into the catheter in his neck. He felt a warmth flow through his body as he retreated into slumber.

Three floors above him, Andrea Sinclair is performing one of her now regular tantrums as nurses try to calm her and contain her to her room. She was recovering from a bacterial infection for which she spent her first six days on various IV drips; thus bedbound. Now mobile, she appears to have psychological problems that frequently tax the nursing staff as she refuses to be compliant with their demands. She is almost ready for discharge but cannot be left alone to finish her convalescence. Her female partner of five years is at work from early in the morning during the week and cannot take time off to care for her. Her father pays the additional costs of keeping her in hospital until he can find a solution. She has a history of self-harm as a teenager. Although this stopped when she started university, she is considered too unstable to risk her returning to self-harm or any other detrimental activity. As with all private hospitals she has her own lavish room, but she does not enjoy being left alone for any length of time.

DAY 2

Tuesday

W hen he awoke, he was still in the intensive care unit. The cubicle was quite small and looked out into a low-lit area with a row of medical staff facing him but observing data on various monitors around them. Not much physical activity but monitors were still pinging and displaying various data received from the attachments to his body. An oxygen mask had replaced the tube in his throat; he could feel the coolness of the oxygen passing over his sore throat. He was very thirsty.

He tried to look around. His nurse had registered his consciousness so stood watching him.

‘Daniel, good morning. Can I get you anything?’

He was frustrated already. How was he supposed to answer her question with a dry, sore throat and his mouth covered by an oxygen mask? He nodded to see if this would get her attention.

‘Would you like a drink?’

He nodded again.

She reached for a drinks bottle with an angled straw in the top. ‘Let me raise your head, and then you sip slowly. Take your time.’ She used the electrical backrest to raise him about thirty degrees, then she cupped the back of his head with her hand, passing the straw under his mask into his mouth.

He sipped and then took more sips until he felt his throat well saturated.

He could now see his surroundings. Monitors were carrying out their duty observing his condition, and there were tubes and wires in his chest, left side of his neck, and left arm dripping fluids into or out of his body. The wires were part of a temporary heart pacemaker should the need arise to stabilise his heart rate.

‘We should soon be able to replace your mask with a nasal cannula as your breathing appears to be normal. I’ll give you a button. If you need anything, feel pain, or feel unwell, press the button. Do not be afraid to call for help. We’re here to provide you a speedy recovery, so do not hesitate to call for help with anything. Do you understand?’

He nodded.

‘Unless you call for help, I’ll check in every half hour to see how you are. Just relax to allow your body to recover from the surgery.’ She left.

This will be one long, boring day, he thought to himself. He could not feel much of his body other than what felt like an Ironman void in his chest.

Daniel was not a man who could quietly sit and do nothing. He always had more projects on the go than he could reasonably handle. His interests and enthusiasm for life meant he was always active, although he had retired from his executive position some two years earlier because of ill health.

He knew his aortic valve was causing regurgitation in his heart for some six years; a hereditary problem. Advances in heart valve technology persuaded him to leave surgery for as long as possible. However, in the past few months he noted a deterioration in his health and energy levels. He was persuaded to have a heart MRI scan, which revealed that the level of regurgitation was stressing his left ventricle and scarring was evident. Such scarring left unchecked could result in a terminal heart attack. He was urged to act.

He needed to occupy his mind. What subject could occupy him without the need for pad and pen or computer; all currently located in the safe in his wardroom upstairs?

After what he thought was an eternity, a man appeared. It was Professor Ramesh, his heart surgeon, followed by his nurse who removed his mask.

‘Good afternoon, Daniel. Your surgery was a complete success yesterday. The new aortic valve seated very well, and the scarring we noted on your left ventricle on your heart scan was indeed a small amount of myocardial fibrosis. We have dealt with this, so there should be no further progression of this problem. We were right to act, as fibrosis can be terminal when it takes hold.’

He examined the progress chart. ‘This is good, Daniel. You are healthy and strong. We should have you back on your feet in a couple of days, and you should be able to return to your active life once the surgery has healed in about six to eight weeks. Be encouraged Daniel, we caught this before it could have lasting consequences. You should feel more active than you have in the past year or two.’

‘Do you need anything else from me at this time? I hope to remove the tubes from your body in the next couple of days, probably early Thursday morning as I have a long operation scheduled for tomorrow.’

‘No. I’m okay thank you. Just need something to occupy my mind.’

Professor Ramesh placed his hand on Daniel’s shoulder. ‘I know how active you are, but you need to be patient for today. We will have you out of here in the morning if all goes well. And sleep whenever you feel the need. Your body does most of its healing when you’re asleep, so listen to your body, but you’re the last person I need to tell this with your acute sense of self. Don’t get restless. This will not help. And eat whenever you feel ready. We need to return you to normal function as soon as possible. We have already agreed pain management, so you should be okay.’

As an afterthought ‘The nurse will ask you at some time today to get out of bed and walk on the spot whilst she takes some reading of how your body is responding to the trauma of the operation. Note, gentle walk; no jogging.’

He ignores this attempt at a joke. ‘What time is it?’

The professor looked at his watch. ‘12:20. Lunchtime. Why don’t you try to eat something? I appreciate your throat may be a little sore, so they have soup, but try to take some softer solids like scramble eggs or fruit as we need to get your bowels moving. Constipation is not good for you during recovery. The menu you have is for heart patients, so you can have whatever you like. See you Thursday morning.’

‘Thanks.’

The nurse handed him the menu. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes to see what you fancy.’

DAY 3

Wednesday

D aniel was now sitting up in bed, still with tubes extending from his chest and arm, but he could now breathe normally albeit the nasal cannula was still in place but proving difficult to keep in place as he moved his head. He had taken a little breakfast of scrambled eggs and juice.

His wardroom upstairs was ready, and he was soon trolley’d from ICU to his room after disconnection from the various machines monitoring his body, albeit reconnected upon arrival. The reconnection time seemed interminable. He felt chained to some sci-fi tentacled machine determined to control his every function. But the room was more substantial and had a large window overlooking the