Some years ago I was “dying” in the Royal infirmary because my appendix had exploded inside me and the poison was destroying my liver because the
poison was causing lesions to form all over the organ. My skin was turning yellow, I have read that a burst appendix should be operated within a
timeframe of two hours or death is likely.
After four days of tossing and turning and by now exhausted from the morphine and the pain, the poison had eaten through my large intestine and it had
to be truncated - my liver was wrecked and I was dying!
It took four days before I was operated on and by the time the operation got underway I was hallucinating terribly that I was being visited by the
cast of East Enders and as you can understand I was not at all a happy bunny (I hate soaps and TV).
A nurse while wiping my sweating face with a wet cloth said she would pray for me. I snapped at her and told her to save her prayers for a believer. I
might have been a little harsh but at the time my mind was racing, my eyes were lying to me and I could hear a full blown church choir in my ears.
When I was in recovery I did remember what I had said to this nurse and I apologised to her but she also apologised for offering a prayer for a person
who does not behold his life and his struggles to live to gods and religion. As far as I was concerned I had been thrown into a corner and left to die
and they thought a prayer would make it all better?
My point is that a dying person or a person seriously ill does not want or need a prayer; they need something that will rectify the situation in very
real terms. It is said that there are no atheists in a foxhole but I would hazard a guess and say that saying was created by a believer to promote a
religious agenda because an atheist even when facing death is not suddenly going to start praying to god - some might but not all.
Right after waking up a nurse then bumped the two tubes that were imbedded into my abdomen and she then threw a cloth at me and told me to have a wash
with the cloth she had hurled at me – right after waking up from the operation.
So now I started shouting the ward down and going nuts in the intensive care unit, demanding a phone while struggling with all the tubes that were
hanging out of me so that I could call my lawyer and that I was not going to take this crap. During this time I was handed a comb by this so called
angel of mercy and asked if I would like to comb my hair – I am as bald as a baby’s backside.
I retorted, “No thank you sweetie you need this comb much more than me because you have a hair style that is more a cast iron helmet, get out of my
sight you sadistic witch.”
After much ranting and raving and I eventually passed out.
I was on morphine at the time and had just awoken for a major operation that had unzipped me right across my stomach and now I had to fight against
victimisations from some sadist nurse because she was having a bad day.
Yes my solicitors got in touch and yes this nurse was severely reprimanded and yes I made a real stink about it to the extent I had a cosy chat with
men in suits from the hospital because I threatened to take my story to the papers.
Hooray for the British National Health Service
Save your prayers nurses just do your job.
[edit on 20-12-2009 by SmokeJaguar67]