Just a few thoughts on my release from Hospital on the 2nd of April 2009.

Having been strapped to a board for over an hour by track-side medical staff at Abbotts Bromley following a meeting with the circuit  in the ‘beach section’ and travelling to hospital complaining bitterly that it was my hip that hurt, I have gathered a couple of observations from the incident.

If you are mildly interested carry on reading if not pass this moment by, you are probably passed over by many interesting moments in your life which will never become clear to you, don’t let this moment confuse you.

I am indebted to Stuart Simms who as the ambulance door was being closed said ‘you’ve got nothing to worry about Malcolm, but you hit the ground that hard that you started a tsunami in Indonesia and 14,000 have drowned. Thank you.

On the way to the hospital I was in intense pain from my hip which I was sure was broken, I was strapped to the board underneath me and one of the straps was over my hip. The pain was intense but the ambulance personnel let me concentrate on this area as they had already assessed that my real problem was that I was unable to breathe correctly but I was so pig headed I didn’t have time to notice my more severe and life threatening injury. They had and they controlled the situation perfectly.

I felt I had broken my ribs but as far as I was concerned my hip was the problem.

The Ambulance crew had radioed ahead and I was rushed into hospital casualty and assessed. The problem now was that as usual they wanted to cut my boots and clothing off. O.K. my boots are a couple of years old now but the rest of my kit was brand new. I had to be stripped between inspections to salvage my kit, but loose my self esteem. I concluded that JW Racing must have some sort of deal going on with the NHS to boost clothing sales because for the rest of my stay in casualty staff kept asking me where my kit was whilst standing over me scissors in hand.

Very quickly I was sent for an x-ray and then returned to casualty. Things went quiet for a short while and then suddenly I was sent for an emergency scan again returning quickly to casualty. We awaited the results and in a few minutes the registrar entered my cubical with the result.

Nothing broken was the first thing that sunk in and made me smile, home soon. The next bit wiped the smile off everyone’s faces, I had punctured a lung.

Right no problem, an insertion into the rib cage and see how we go. I was happy with that but then all of the family started to leave saying you will have to stay in tonight and all sorts of nice things so that was ok. An extremely pretty blond nurse came up and said I will just take you into a more private room to carry out the procedure. I began to smell a rat, the nurse on my left a Doctor on my right and a Consultant at the bottom of my bed explaining what will happen next. Anaesthetic and slight sensation were a couple of the terms he used but I am thinking ‘I know I am important but how many people get rushed through casualty, emergency scans, private rooms, pretty nurses and my own Doctor and Consultant’. The Consultant finished with a confident smile, I looked to my left at the nurse’s face and I am sure she had a tear in her eye. I looked to the right and the look on the doctors face who was about to perform the procedure said it all.

I said to the Consultant ‘you convinced me, but these two tell another story’.

They began and I guess they made a good job of it as the procedure worked, I am grateful. I will not go through the details but it was medieval and they did the best they could but sometimes you just cannot use anaesthetic. This was one of those situations.

The private room was a good choice, I was loud.

Now I could breathe all the other bumps and knocks began to hurt and they told me that although my hip was not broken I did have four broken ribs.

It was late now so they took me up to a ward where I sat propped up on a bed taking pain killers, being sick and watching the staff work through the night.

The next morning I felt terrible, I had all the trauma of yesterday plus a night without sleep plus a barrow load of  Abbotts Bromley circuit over me. But the staff never stopped, sure they brought me painkillers and anti-nausea tablets but in casualty I had been patient number one but I seemed to have slipped down the pecking order somehow.

A nurse brought me some water and said wash where you can we will do the rest and pulled the curtains around my bed. I had just reached the parts where no-one needs to come in, when a nurse came through the curtain and started to talk to me. I was more concerned with a cold wet flannel and an extremely loose piece of skin which at this moment I did not wish to be viewed, than what she was saying but I slowly began to take the situation in. She wore a totally maroon uniform which no-one else did and as I began to cover my ‘concerns’ I noticed the badge which said Critical Care Nurse.

On reaching the Ward last night I had been given an oxygen mask to wear. To have a wash I had taken it off, she was not impressed. She gave me a deserved ticking off and pointed out that I was at risk from many complications. I quickly came to the conclusion that she should like all of the staff needed to be listened to.

As the morning progressed things began to calm down a little, John the chap next to me was a friend of Jeff Arber who rode moto-cross years ago but died about 7 years ago. That kept us going for a while but most the patients did not speak they couldn’t they were too ill.

Over the days I was on the ward I did talk to all of them, Rod was so ill all of the time and when he did come round a little he always apologised for making a fuss. Ernie was in his ninety’s and must have been a tall man in his day. He had boxed a little and he enjoyed me talking about how good he must have been with a reach like that but most of all he was concerned that he had not been allowed to fight in the war. He made aeroplane parts and was a skilled man but his friends had gone to fight and he had not been allowed. He carried what he thought was the shame of this all his life and I was unable to convince him of how important he must have been.

Joe never spoke unless you stood next to him and talked quietly. He was Hungarian and had taken part in the Hungarian uprising flying Mig air-craft. He had later settled here starting a business that employed over 30 people.

Whilst I was finding all of this out, the staff of Ward 4 worked tirelessly to help these gentlemen’s lives be a little more comfortable. My self-inflicted injury’s had no right to be on this ward with these men and my needs seem too petty to bother the hard working staff on the ward. Eventually I was well enough to leave and I was glad, I needed the rest. The work on this ward goes on for every 24 hours.

My thanks to all of the people who looked after me and made my recovery so speedy and thanks to all of my visitors and well wishers.

Thanks especially to the ward 4 staff for doing what they do. It opened my eyes to another world which I was privileged to share for a few days.

Malcolm Palmer