11th May: ‘I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple’. Isa 6.1

Due to the joys and sorrows over the past four weeks I felt I had seen all that the NHS could offer in terms of the 'patient experience': the acts of kindness, the 'going above and beyond', and the inefficiencies that leaves one's jaw open like a guppy fish at feeding time. 

Tonight, I encountered an item altogether unexpected but, before that, “the call”.

The painful, watching paint dry, waiting of the past few days—or was it years—was interrupted by a call at 6pm from a diffident doctor enquiring gently as to my identity. 

Once it was established I was-who-I-said-I-was, I was told to hot-foot it to a hospital that had hither to been denied the delights of my alimentary canal. Ben reprised his Uber driver role, and off we went. 

The doctor had re-iterated the diagnosis of 'some sort of lymphoma', and told me that, because of COVID, I would have to be admitted via A and E: "Just give them your details and they will refer you onto the hematology ward." 

I arrived to a scene reminiscent of those fleeing Mount Vesuvius's eruption. The 'customers' were queuing round the block. Feeling confident of my predestined place in the kingdom of the hospital, I made my way to the front of the queue, much to the displeasure of fellow invalids. 

Having committed the worst sin in England, I approached the world-weary security guard. Here was a man who'd heard it all before. Here was a man fine-tuned to people pulling a fast one. Here was a man who was not going to allow some prat in red trousers and a gilet to subvert Britain's social morays. "You'll have to wait like everyone else!" followed curtly by, "Oh, and you can't wear that mask in here." 

He then handed me a mask with all the disdain of someone disposing of a nappy filled with nuclear waste. 

At last, I was allowed to pass under the thermometer of judgement, but had to stand on the blue COVID circle "until called!"

Once called, I discovered that 'high-grade lymphoma' would be my 'expelliarmus' command. 

"Go straight-through sir". "Stand by the double doors, you'll be called in a minute". Indeed I was, and I felt the 'hard stare' of nearly 80 people in A and E.   

Over the next couple of hours I was in HDU, I watched the Ambulances going in and out all bearing the legend of Moses conquering the snake; "whoever looks upon the snake will live". Well, here's hoping.

After being bled and injected I was off to a 'higher place'. The top floor awaited me, and we approached my predestined spot: NHS vinyl became carpet. 

Here was the most “unexpected item”: carpet leading to a ward—as the Lord's train filled the temple, a tasteful monochrome shag pile filled the corridor. What could this mean? 

Perhaps this was it, the end was nigh! Or, as I saw the sign that read ‘X Suite’, rather than ‘ward number Y’, I thought maybe this train has two classes of passenger? Before now, I only knew the simple pleasures of NHS Steerage. 

But here was… First Class. 

No, "can we call you 'Robert'?" This was "Sir" territory (I had to stop myself tipping the nurse after she showed me the television and bathroom facilities!) Trimmings aside, the bed still catered for the incontinent and I, again, only managed three-and-a-half hours.