BBC Hospital Drama
Pilot Episode: "We All Live in a Yellow Submarine"
Scene 1: Exterior, grassy knoll atop a hill overlooking a harbor full of moored sailboats. Partly cloudy skies; 62 degrees F; noon
Middle-aged, American daughter-in-law wearing black, wool pea coat is walking past this patch of grass holding a rainbow striped umbrella. Her voice narrates while the camera shows the view and follows her down the street in the seaside English town of Poole, population 152k.
Today is Wednesday, which means my father-in-law, Mike, has been in the hospital down the road for 2 weeks and 1 day now. He wrote me news of his stay in a short email at the time he was admitted. My husband, Jeff, and I called him a couple of times and were struck by his uncharacteristically scattered speech. He's usually a very happy man who always offers a quaint anecdote and is full of British sarcasm. His saddened tone was a clear indication to me that he could use some company, so I flew over here as soon as I could.
Honestly, I'm not happy to be here. That's not cool to say, I'm aware. But I also know that coming to visit was the right thing to do. So many other people I know are also taking care of their ailing parents and grandparents, none of them are enjoying that process. Taking care of old guys is like taking care of toddlers -- they don't make any sense and are entitled as hell. Only you can't pick them up and put them in their cribs. So here I am, in England. And I'm trying to focus on positive things like the fun accents, cheese sandwiches, and weird flavored potato chips (roasted chicken and thyme! With a piece of fruit, these chips could be my entire dinner.) And trying to take care of myself so I'm not breaking down in front of Mike. He's very British, you know? Probably has never cried in his life. What kind of friend would I be to visit all the way from California only to sit by his bed bawling and complaining about the odors?
Hospitals are amazing places, when you think of the crux of their mission. But they are also dreary, smelly, and depressing. The area of town where I'm spending all of my time seems to consist primarily of medical buildings. Everyone walking and driving around is in a bad mood so no one returns my smiley, American greetings. I thought British people were supposed to be so cheerful and friendly!
Scene 2: 225pm same day. Interior, public hospital, fluorescent lighting. This ward is specifically for the care of people over 80 years old. It smells like pee and disinfectant, with overtones of "Terrible Cafeteria" when 6 o'clock rolls around. Camera pans in to a large room with 6 bays set up around the edges. Each bay contains a bed, a bedside table, bright blue privacy curtains which are all pulled back, and various IV stands and monitoring devices on wheels. Each bay also has a rolling table designed to swivel around in front of bedridden patients when they require the use of a hard surface. Standard hospital decor -- nothing fancy. Each bed is occupied by a very old, white man.
As the camera shows the patients, American daughter-in-law's voice introduces the characters-
In bay #1 is Anthony Reginald Heddington -- Tony. When asked for his name (by nurses, multiple times a day), he proudly states all three. Tony is the most pleasant character in this room, fond of the words "lovely" and "jolly good." Everyone here speaks slowly, but Tony especially so. He was raised in the country and hadn't been to the city at all until he joined the RAF. It was around 1950 and there were a few Teddy Boys among his ranks. That was the first time he'd ever seen a man cry, he said. "They got those boys into shape."
Tony's swivel table is filled with cookies, candy, and grapes. Every time I, or anyone else, helps him to do something he offers us a sweetie which no one ever accepts. Tony is pleasantly plump which serves to hide any wrinkles, so it's hard to imagine he's actually 90 years old.
Roll a clip from the previous night's dinnertime-
Tony calls out to Fred, in the bay across from him, "Is that a bah-naahh-nah on your tray?"
"Hmm. What's that?"
"Is that a bah-naahh-nah on your tray?"
"Oh, yes."
Then, drawn out like a small child explaining, "I like bah-naahh-nahs!"
"Would you like it then?" says Fred.
"Oh, yes please."
Then they both lay in their beds smiling at each other from thirty feet away. Neither has left their bed in days nor has any plans for how to exchange this banana.
The visiting American daughter-in-law looks from one man to the other and back again, pops up and says, "I'll get it for you." To which both men have a chuckle. There follows a string of "thanks" and "very good" and pleasant moans as Tony eats the banana.
Camera is back to the present, panning to bay #2. Voice-over continues-
This is my father-in-law, Mike, who may be our main character, but is hardly the star of the show. He's got a posh accent, from Birmingham, the same as Jude Law. He talks to anyone who'll pay attention, loves to joke around, but isn't obnoxious or loud about it as long as he's sober. He's very loving but has never, if I had to bet on it, told another adult he loves them out loud. I wish I'd asked my mother-in-law about that before she died. They were together, but never actually married, for 25 years.
He's got light, blue eyes, a bulbous nose, and horribly crooked teeth. He looks British, end of story. So does every other patient here! It's like 6 different versions of vanilla.
Mike was a child when London was being bombed in World War II and as such was evacuated a la "Chronicles of Narnia" to his aunt's house in the country. From there he went straight to boarding school at age 11. Let's just say "emotional intimacy is not his jam." He loves to tell stories about his professional dealings as a banker, and about anything to do with sports.
Camera continues on to bay #3 where a very skinny man covered in bruises and open sores sits staring out the wall of windows to his left. He's the only patient in the room not lying in his bed.
Voice over-
In bay #3 things start to get exciting. Of the 3 men named Peter in our cast, this Peter has revealed the most about himself through a steady stream of subconscious arguing with people no one else can see. He sounds like a chimney sweep from Mary Poppins, dropping h's and using colorful phrases. "YOU DIR-Y OL BLOKE!" And "WE DON'T NEED YOU WALKIN ABOUT!"
In America we have people living on the streets because they are mentally ill. Here in Britain, they put them into hospitals to be cared for, which is great! Yay for not dying in the gutter. However, it's a challenge to be put beside them when you're trying to rest and recover from an illness yourself. His rants are unpredictable and loud. Mike has no more patience for Peter's yelling and false accusations.
Roll a clip of one nurse standing at the threshold of the room, explaining to another nurse how to distinguish between the 3 Peters. She says, "In bay 3 is Captain Peter because he thinks we're on a ship!"
Camera flips to show Captain Peter standing up and pounding his walker onto the ground like a judge's gavel. "OHHHLRIGHT, LISTEN UP EVERYBODY!" and then he warns of impending dangers, talks about things that've happened in the past. He tells a fractured tale of how his wallet was stolen, how the rain flooded his living quarters, and how he was in the television business with a famous actress we may have heard of.
Sometimes his stories lean more toward harrowing.
Roll a clip from a previous day where Captain Peter is yelling about personal boundaries, "OOOHLRIGHT NOW! PULL UP YOUR TROUSERS! I DONE TOLD YA'! I DON'T WANT SEX! I DON'T WANT SEX FROM THOSE WHAT IS ONLY DOIN' IT FOR THEMSELVES!"
Commercial break. Aaaaaannnnd we're back!
Scene 3: interior. same as Scene 2, but the other side of the room-
Camera pans the expanse of windows out of which Captain Peter is staring from his bay on the left side. To the right of the window we catch a glimpse of an impossibly ancient looking fellow also named Peter. Fighting with the bedcovers, his skeletal body is topped with a shock of Einstein hair. His toothless mouth hangs agape, making it difficult not to wince when you first see him. A few members of his family walk in. When she first sees him, Peter's adult granddaughter turns away, covering the painful grimace on her face.
One of the family members says, "Two days ago he wouldn't stop talking away." But now he can't form any words, only slight groans. Another one jokingly asks if he was ever in a nudist colony which they didn't know about, because he spends every waking moment writhing in his bed, pulling off his hospital gown, the sheets, a blanket, and anything else that's put over him. So much of these nurses' energy is spent trying to get him to stay covered up. They call him Naked Peter (when the family isn't around of course.) Besides not liking clothes, he is obviously in terrible pain.
American DIL voice over -
Naked Peter's son, daughter, and one adult granddaughter had a talk with a nurse where the family agreed stopping all treatment was the right thing to do. Peter stopped eating anything and when he wriggles his legs out from under his covers, I notice his right toes turning dark purple.
This man's imminent death and the discussion of it between his family and the staff was distressing to Mike and I, even if Mike couldn't hear the exact words without his hearing aids. I found it hard to talk about other things while that dialogue was happening. Mike wished aloud for somewhere else for the two Peters to go besides this ward-- one to a mental ward and the other to hospice. We've really got a mixed bag of nuts in this room, haven't we?
Camera pans to the right.
Speaking of variety, in bay #5 let me introduce you to another Peter! This is Normal Peter, who's only normal in comparison to the other two. Normal Peter is essentially comatose. I've never seen him open his eyes. He eats his dinner sitting up. He gets changed and wiped down by a nurse everyday. But his eyes stay closed. Sometimes he has on glasses, although I couldn't tell you why, or even how they get on his face. He looks like Tom Hanks in Castaway, but 50 years older and wearing a diaper. Other than a terrible, rattling cough, I've never heard him make a noise, and he actually looks quite peaceful lying there.
Camera pans to the right and we see the last inhabitant of ward A.
In bay #6 lies Frederick who's totally bald with a big nose and dark eyes. His skin looks like the leather on an old cowboy boot that's been polished up to be the dark tan of a brown beer bottle. On his swivel table sit four bottles of Coca-Cola, a can of something that looks like beer, and sour cream and onion Pringles, all of which his son dropped off quickly on Tuesday night. Maybe it was the junk food delivery which made him cheerful, but Fred was humming and singing to himself off and on all that night. But on Wednesday, when Naked Peter's family walked in, evidently Fred's lower half was exposed and he was angry and embarrassed that no nurse had helped him remedy the situation. For the rest of the night he kept his privacy curtains closed all around him and I didn't see or hear anything else from him.
The nurses and support staff are generally kind and good, although there is usually at least one of the ten who's new and scared of everything.
Before you get excited that there are ten staff for 6 men, you should know there's a room of 6 female patients next door, and multiple single room occupants also on the ward. The staff is overworked to say the least. One of these single room guys is a screamer. Any time, day or night, he may wake up and start screaming at the top of his lungs "HELP ME!" "HELP ME!" Mike agrees with me this shouting is unsettling (sarcasm) as it sounds like someone is being tortured to death down the hall. Captain Peter and The Screamer are often yelling simultaneously. Tony catches my eye and says, "We don't need a ruddy television in here! This is very entertaining." The next three or four times it happens, he says the exact same thing to me again. The first night I was visiting, fresh off of my 14+ hour journey across the Atlantic and bone tired, the absurdity and cacophony of the situation was almost more than I could bear. I left the ward a little before 7, when visiting hours were almost over, and dove straight into a bottle of gin.
Stay tuned for the next episode of our show, coming soon
So intense. But also I love the details and the format you've chosen to share.
As they say across the pond - carry on! xo
Wow wow wow. All new sensory stimulation