Whilst working in a hospital in Australia I got to know an old man who was on a ward which the nurses used to call The Last Stop Saloon. It was one of those wards where people came in but never left. Not alive anyway.
The man had diabetes. His one leg was amputated, he had pneumonia and god knows what else. The doctors' had given him a couple of months to live.
My job was to check his vitals and blood sugar several times a day. Of course this was something I had to do on several patients throughout the day, but funnily enough I can't remember any of the other patients. But I do remember him. He was from London originally. A real character. Charming and stubborn, outspoken and sometimes a pain in the bum quite frankly.
I used to wheel him outside so he could have a cigarette, or just sit with him whenever I had a chance. Listen to his stories of his life whilst making sure the head nurse wouldn't catch him eating sweets and grapes - something that really buggered his blood sugars up. I knew it wasn't good for him. Of course I did, after all I was the one checking his bloods after his binges on sweet grapes, chocolates and bon bons.
Yet I couldn't see the point of not letting him eat all that sugar. He was dying after all. A sweet or two wasn't exactly going to change that fact.
One day he said the thing he missed the most was a beer. And so the following day I brought him a stubby, wheeled him out at the back of the hospital where noone could see us and gave him the beer and a fag. And how he loved it!
I remember thinking that's how it should be. Even in hospitals. Even when people are sick or dying. And quite frankly I think it was the best day's work I've ever done.
