In Which I Visit A Hospital Over The Heath

Hello there. Hope you're feeling well today.

I was asked by someone we know to travel with that person to the University College Hospital of Wales in Cardiff. Also known to locals as the Heath. It was really so that person didn't travel alone. Had no problems with it so I said yes. Goes without saying that the person's condition and the result of the appointment is a private matter, so I won't chat about it further.

The first thing to say about the hospital is judged purely on it's appearance it's the worst hospital I've ever seen. It seems to be modelled on Nineteen sixties/seventies council tower blocks just seemingly even more soulless. I wish I could've taken pictures to illustrate my point but to be honest I'd have been too conspicuous. It is big and it is busy.

No matter. As they say it's what's inside that counts and as we went in there was a small array of shops. A Boots, a gift shop, two coffee outlets, a Christian bookshop and of course a W H Smith which I went into to get a magazine and a bite to eat.

This is what I got.

The Most First World Thing I've Bought For A Long While

So obviously there are two things to say here. Firstly yes we're so close to buying the house I could almost lick the paint off the front door.

But secondly perhaps W H Smith should reconsider it's magazine stock policy. After all imagine you're stuck in a hospital for a while. Do you want visitors to give home magazines like this one along with the grapes and flowers? Or the gardening mags, or worse of all the food ones? It's as if you've been taunted in print. "Look what others can do whilst you're stuck in bed"

Really W H Smith don't think many people are going to get better reading them do you?

Anyway whilst I had my sandwich it was time to go with my companion for the appointment. As we were walking though I noticed this picture of Welsh hero and founder of the NHS Aneurin Bevan.

As paintings go - Not great

Anyway whilst the patient went in for the consultation I was left alone to my devices. Ironically the BBC soap opera Doctors was on the TV in the waiting room. Timing is everything.

I read the novel You by Carolyn Kepnes for a bit. Tried to listen to a downloaded documentary on Dusty Springfield for a little bit. But it didn't work. I was sleepy. Why is it that going to the hospital as a sort of prop for the actual patient makes me want to sleep nowadays? Or is it that the insomnia is just playing games on a Monday afternoon?

But after about an hour of tests and chats with the consultant the actual patient is out of the consultant's office. More tests are needed later month, but things actually seem promising. Relief all round.

So we leave the hospital designed by committee happier than when we came in. For whatever it's grim exterior, the point about the NHS is that you know there are human beings trying to look after your welfare within.

Until the next time.