ABSTRACT
Ward B is a busy acute vascular surgical ward in an NHS Hospital Trust in the UK. It is situated towards the back of the hospital on the second floor. As you enter the ward you find yourself in a dark, dingy, carpeted corridor leading to the nurses’ station. The corridor is so dim that the main lights are on even on a sunny August morning. There is no doubt that you are on a hospital ward though, as you pass by the kitchen, the sluice, patients’ bathrooms and the sister’s office. Then at the end of the corridor as you emerge on to the main ward, light from the windows in the bays bursts through, meeting you with sudden warmth. It is like walking into a bustling, noisy marketplace, only with that all pervading, warm, body odour smell, mixed with disinfectant. There are people everywhere. Blue uniforms, brown uniforms, white coats and suits: nurses, doctors, health care assistants (HCAs), pharmacists, physiotherapists and phlebotomists darting around in a seemingly haphazard way. There are patients in their pyjamas queuing for the bathroom, walking around, sitting in a chair or lying in bed. Buzzers go off incessantly, and the phone – there are two – ringing, ringing, ringing.
