Those of you who are fans on Facebook (and if you’re not, you should be!) would be aware that recently I almost met an untidy end after my prevailing clumsiness saw that I had a brief sojourn in the emergency ward. Contrary to popular belief, I hadn’t been experimenting with wet cement, hard fruit or wine bottles and no, it wasn’t a routine breast augmentation as has been speculated. Instead, in my partial insobriety I crash-tackled my friend’s naked boyfriend and bounced off the bed and landed on top of a champagne glass, the impact severing an artery in my right arm and damaging the ulnar nerve, thus rendering me two nights in hospital, in plaster after micro plastic surgery and with a claw for a hand for the next four weeks. Sure, I can see the tragic irony/glamour of falling on a champagne glass. We always knew my hedonism would kill me one day, but who would have suspected that it would be at the hand of the vessel and not the poison? It’s perplexing.

As the eternally optimistic writer that I am, I started to make light of the situation and began penning notes (with my non-preferred hand) about how one should behave in the home of hospital-grade bleach and squeaky shoes. They might not be the most pleasant of places, but with the right painkillers and a little information, the whole Twilight Zone experience can become tolerable. Pop an Endone, find a dutiful volunteer to give you a sponge bath and kick back in your hospital-cornered recliner, here’s how take the ‘ho’ out of ‘hospital’ (they let me escape!).

In an emergency.

So, you’re a lush who’s fallen over and impaled themselves or you’ve somehow managed to dislodge a bone from its socket on the football field or you’re an emo who got a bit carried away with their razor; whatever the injury, chances are the fluorescent strip lighting is going to be whizzing above your head as you are passed from one nurse to the next on your way to A&E. Although it might be uncertain what exactly you’re experiencing, having a general understanding of procedures will help you remain in control.

Remain calm. You’re in good care now so no matter how much you scream and contort, it’s not going to get you out. Breathe deeply, remain stoic and behave as royalty would in the situation. You’ll comprehend more of what is being asked of you and you’ll be able to convey your stomach contents, which medications you use and just how you wound up on a stretcher.

Speak out. If you’re wearing an Oscar de la Renta ball gown and you see a pair of scissors approaching, ask that you remove it yourself first. If in your state you are lucid and capable enough to do, then you have every right to, so long as it doesn’t put your health at further risk. Blood-soaked garments are so hot right now.

Be nice to the nurses. Sure, it’s frustrating that you’re incapacitated, however, the people in the scrubs are there to help you with you recovery. Remember: he who is most pleasant gets the most morphine.

Ask for help. There’s no point being a martyr and tolerating excruciating pain when there’s an abundance of opiates to be had. Why do you think junkies get the nods? Likewise, if you need to get up in the middle of the night to use the facilities, there’s no need to risk renal failure when someone can wheel your IV for you. Press the buzzer, that’s what it’s for. You might be an invalid but it doesn’t mean you’re invalid.

Eat the damn food. Yes, it’s an abomination. Yes, it lacks taste, texture and presentation. Yes, it’s a day old. Quit you complaining and stuff a plastic fork in it: hospitals aren’t known for Michelin stars and Michelin-starred restaurants aren’t known for x-rays and bedpans. Get used to it.

Planned stays.

In the case of scheduled surgery or a baby delivery, forward planning is essential for your stay to be most comfortable. Last-minute dashes rarely result in attention-to-detail and you could find that if you don’t watch closely enough, you’ll be wearing swimwear after you’ve had a piece of your anatomy removed.

Pack beforehand. Have your trusty overnight bag at the ready with the essentials: pyjamas; slippers; underwear; a dressing gown; face cleanser; dry shampoo; baby wipes; perfume; bath gel and deodorant. Notice the emphasis placed on cosmetics – you don’t want to wind up smelling like a German brothel in the summer. You want a nurse to sponge-bathe you, not hose you down with some turps.

Keep quiet. You might be bored out of your wits but it doesn’t mean you should spend your day yapping on the telephone or with the television blaring. Take in some reading material such as a good book or a newspaper, bring your iPod along and develop an unhealthy obsession with Sodoku. Think of it as a rainy day and you won’t get the blues.

Abide by the rules. Visiting hours are designated for the comfort of the other patients. Restrict your guests to the time and quantity specified and ask them to keep the racket down while they’re bed-side. You can’t escape from a nurse’s side-eye when you’re restricted to a hospital bed.

Say thank you. A hand-written (if possible) thank-you card is always a nice gesture towards those who have been charged with your care. Gifts of chocolates or biscuits ie. items that can be shared by all on the ward are generous but not necessary. Just don’t leave a special gift of a full bedpan without their knowing upon your departure.

For visitors.

Never the most pleasant of places to visit, it’s easy to make a behaviour blunder when placed in an unfamiliar or awkward situation.

Check first. Contact the patient or their family member and ask if they are up to seeing guests. Some might not have the energy (or be too vain) to receive visitors, so it’s best to check first. Only speak about the patient’s illness or surgery if invited to do so and keep the conversation light. In the case of cosmetic surgery, they might be saving themselves for the great unveiling, so respect their wishes and start you smear campaign.

Be sensible when giving gifts. Small floral arrangement, balloons and other ornaments are pleasant, but don’t go overboard. Where’s the heart monitor going to go if it’s competing with a replica WWII battleship?

Overt your eyes. No one is ever at their most glamorous when lying in a hospital bed, so expect the unexpected. If someone’s hospital gown is around their navel, it’s unlikely they’re aware. Adjust it yourself if you’re familiar enough with the patient or ask a nurse if you feel uncomfortable doing so. You know that curtain is going to fly open the moment you touch the gown, so it’s best to err on the side of caution so you don’t look like a perv.

And in case you need some empirical proof that I’m a method writer, see the my photo diary of my stay below:

I do believe there’s more for you to read: