Hospitals have never been more essential than today. Few people want to become patients but there is a fascination, a mystique almost about them
Apart from providing an endless source of drama for television and film,
But what is our personal experience of hospitals?
If we are fortunate, minimal. My mother Gwen only spent a week or so in Cardiff Royal Infirmary in her 102 years and that was when she was 101.
I have been fortunate in having limited experience. The first was when, as a five year old, I fell off a wall in our mini front garden in West Ham, breaking an arm.
It was mending when we went on holiday but on the first day I fell off a breakwater and broke it again. Every day for a week my mother took me to Margate hospital.
Hospital featured too much in my short army career. Taken ill on leave, it was feared I had meningitis and was taken, not to a military hospital, but Cardiff Infirmary where it turned out I had chicken pox!
A year later, my army service came to a stop with many weeks in hospital. First in Aldershot and then in a military hospital in the Wye Valley. As at Aldershot, the nurses were The Queen Alexandra Nursing Sisters. Tough ladies.
The highlight of my hospital life in Wales was listening to an orchestra of German prisoners of wars' daily concert.
I finally was able, and fortunate, to be able to get back to work and enjoy a very long career - nearly sixty years.
After Rosemary died I had an uncomfortable three weeks in hospital in Llandough, recovering from a viral infection that led to selling the flat and moving to Sunrise.
Bob's view from Heath Hospital
Now I am back at Sunrise after three weeks in hospital in Cardiff's University Hospital of Wales, recovering from coronavirus, fully appreciating the magnificent care and treatment. And amazed at the skill, teamwork, the co-ordination and dedication.
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