DAN MACKAY: Getting some shut-eye on a symphonic Raigmore ward
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The Real Mackay by Dan Mackay
It was the schoolteacher who started it. Or rather his wife. When his snoring got too much, she made him go see a doctor. And now here he is on Raigmore’s Ward 3C practically cock-a-hoop!
It’s the first time in 20 years, he tells us, that he can breathe through his nose. His surgery has been a success after that seemingly irreversible facial knock and blockage he sustained all those years back.
His wife will doubtless be hoping for a good night’s sleep. At long last!
I didn’t realise it at the time but there is an entire science surrounding the subject of snoring: its causes, the studies of vibrating membranes in the upper airways and also the early indicators they might flag up about one’s overall health in general.
Some perpetrators are probably entirely oblivious to the effects their loud, repetitive nocturnal grunts have on loved ones. That said, I’ve no doubt many of those long-suffering partners have not hesitated to give feedback… maybe not always in the kindliest of terms!
Strangely, I did enjoy my brief post-op sojourn on Ward 3C. I met some really nice guys. All strangers to one another at first, we were soon able to break the ice and, before we knew it, had long discussions about the state of the country, where it has gone wrong – always in comparison to the good old days of our youth.
Always at the heart of every conversation were processes of change. Changes to communities, the council services they once could expect, changes to policing, banking, shopping. The changing faces of our town centres: their boarded-up buildings. The sad absence of independent retail outlets.
We talked about the advances associated with so-called progress. The impact of computers in our daily lives. Our use of credit cards and online services. The challenge of accessing the institutions we once relied on – the frustrations of using overseas call-centres!
We talked, as they say, till the cows came home. I think I was the first to say, late that night, that I had to get some shut eye. So, I retreated behind my screen to stretch out and switch off. The chats on the ward continued a while longer.
Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a dodgy symphony of competing snores!
There was Charlie, the retired policeman and gentle giant, who sounded like he was snogging a grizzly bear somewhere deep in the woods.
Or George, whose every second sentence was full of laughter. His snore had an almost melodic perky trumpeting.
Roy was in a league of his own. He was the sort of bloke, I must say, that you took an immediate shine too. But, I swear, he sounded like he was hunting submarines! The man’s snores sounded like sonar – or, to be more precise, those asdic pings you’d hear in war films. I kid you not.
So, one minute he’d sigh and then there’d be an echoing ping. As the hunt for the sub gathered momentum the pings got louder and more frequent as he closed in the kill…I fully expected to hear the order to drop depth charges!
Eventually a calm reverie befell the nocturnal grumblers.
I imagine the nurses were probably glad to see us all discharged the next day.
