Another of my continuing diaries chronicling my mother’s current hospitalisation as we plod on through week nine of our little saga that started way back in November. Again I’ll apologise if you are tiring of them, but there are other funkier musings to be found in other parts of Lesser Blogfordshire if you look for them.
We left off with me in the process of redecorating mum’s flat for her suspected imminent release…
JAN 23 2011
Despite the fatigue, I have a lousy night’s sleep and wake up frequently and finally get up stupidly early. I then wake the beloved at 7:30AM on a Sunday morning and, after a brief breakfast, we head on over to mum’s flat again and spend the entire day wallpapering. By 5.30PM it’s all done and tidied and, whilst probably not up to anyone’s professional standards, it looks pretty good, and a heck of a lot better than it did, even if I say so myself.
We head to the beloved’s parents house to drop off some of the borrowed decorating equipment and they spontaneously feed us, and then, as we were passing by that way on our way home, we decide to pay a quick unexpected evening visit to mum.
The conversation is much as yesterday, wanting to know the outcome, worries about home cooking as it’s generally been another dull Sunday on the ward. The snapshots we took of the decorating are at least a distraction even if, when viewed on a tiny screen, I wonder how much can be seen. Still mum seems pleased enough, although it’s sometimes hard to tell whether she’s saying just what she expects we want to hear or not. Anyway, I optimistically set up the TV for another 3 day stint, and hear the tale of how one of the staff today accused mum of acting like a “spoilt child”, which, if true, seems a little unfair (although I can imagine it). Tonight’s tea (salmon and cucumber sandwiches) was apparently more successful as mum could actually taste it for once…
We head home before the hour was really up because we were shattered and forgot to take mum’s washing. Sis rings later on to ask how it went, which was nice, but the call turned a bit ranty as I poured out my fatigued frustrations of my recent experiences with the National Health “Service”.
JAN 24 2011
Mum rings to tell me that the doctor has been round and the latest is that she won’t be released before Wednesday, so the immediate crisis is averted. I call up sis to give her this information and find out from my elder niece that mum has not remembered her birthday, so a swift call to the hospital (with my anonymous pal doing his usual two-minute sales spiel – I got a shockingly huge phone bill last week) reminds mum of this, otherwise she’d have been annoyed about it later.
A short lunchtime call: Bring sweets and tissues tonight.
The beloved’s tales of other’s woes from work helps to put things a little more in perspective. Kind of. Nonetheless, and despite all that, I really didn’t want to go tonight. But we had to, and we did. Taking the pictures of the great-grandchild was possibly one of our better moves, and mum does seem to be starting to engage with people and think about what it might be like to be at home, so that’s an improvement. We started to list foods that she might enjoy eating, so all-in-all it wasn’t the dispiriting experience that I thought it might be.
JAN 25 2011
Business trip to London. Left the house 6:50AM, got home 10:00PM.
JAN 26 2011
Mum rings early to check that I got back safely. Her cough sounds dreadful, but, despite two of her fellow inmates being released yesterday, and she now has new faces to get to know, her own status remains as per usual, with a rumour that she’ll be sent home “early next week”. Meanwhile a trip to the Urologist seems to be on her agenda.
Sis rings mid-morning for a bit of a chat, telling me much the same with added insight from the ward’s nursing sister. Some of it proves laughable. When asked about what my mum should do about her daily requirements if a catheter becomes a permanent fixture, sis is told that mum should see her GP every day. “How should she get there?” sis quite reasonably asks. “How did she used to get there?” came the reply. “Well, she used to walk the half mile…”
We also consider the knotty problem of whether it is still too soon to consider mum selling up and moving into permanent sheltered accommodation. We both believe that she’s still too independent minded to be happy with this, but equally stubborn enough to make a snap decision that she may well live long enough to seriously regret.
The evening visit finds the beloved and I very wearily trudging in again but it’s happy enough. Mum has definitely started taking an interest in the world again, taken notice of things that we have mentioned and has even started writing lists and making plans for her post-hospitalisation home life. There’s a slight ‘bewilderment’ moment when we ask where the idea that they’re letting her home early next week came from, and for once the GMF gets slightly berated for failing to deliver a TV guide again, which we take as a healthy sign. I do set up the TV for a further 6 day stint, however, which might be pessimistic (but is still more value than daily card purchases – I really could have bought my own TV by now) but as she’s actually watching it and talking about the news again, it seems to be worth it.
JAN 27 2011
This morning, the beloved and I were mulling over the fact that, whilst mum’s life has kind of been in limbo for the past couple of months, in many ways so have ours. You can’t really plan for anything because you never know quite what’s going to happen. You can’t book a holiday or arrange any building work. You can’t book theatre tickets or even a night out in a restaurant. Even the odd pizza has gone past its sell-by date before we’ve been able to find any time to actually eat it, and baths are taken at the oddest times.
A short mid-morning telephone call from mum is okay though, with her feeling well enough having had a good night’s sleep due to her sleeping pill and an extra dose of cough medicine during the night.
An hour later another call: “A lady from Intermediate Care has just been and said “You’re not quite ready to go home yet, so we’ll come and see you again on Monday…” although the call is frustratingly cut off…
Our evening visit finds us running late due to train delays, a desire to eat and a need to stop and buy petrol en route. There is news that mum’s former schoolfriend Ann, who recently visited mum in hospital has died, and mum is now trying to get hold of a phone number to express her sympathies. As we consider this matter, mum’s church minister turns up bearing the very number along with him and stays for a chat about things like the law and jury service which rather distracts us from chatting to mum, but we are subtly and expertly put back on track. Those clergy can be quite impressive fellows to watch in action. I am slightly befuddled by the praying, but if it gives mum some comfort, then why ever not? Mum is also engaging with her fellow patients which has brought the added benefit of her being given a gift of some fresh fruit from one of them. I will go as far as to say that mum was so very much her old self tonight that I can finally glimpse some light at the end of this particular tunnel.
JAN 28 2011
Mum’s mid-morning call today is suitably gushing about her granddaughter’s plans, which I suppose should be taken as a positive sign that the old mum is returning. I do, however, resist the urge to point out that saying that “she’s done all right for herself” is a rather old-fashioned way of looking at things, which is what I might have done in the pre-illness world.
A late afternoon call requesting more tissues and telling tales of cherries and cough medicine is interrupted by a nurse bearing a message, and I am hung up on.
A hospital visit on a cold evening and the beloved is working late so we head straight in after I meet her train, and she does the weekly shop as I do the actual visiting. Mum is positively perky and says that she’s “looking forward” to going home. Her meals have been an issue today as somebody “lost” her meal orders, but a chat he had earlier with a junior doctor means that she believes that the consultant will be ringing sis (“Fat chance” I think). Still she manages to find the woes and wails of her fellow patients and their attendant noisy medical equipment irritating, which is a healthier sign of wanting to be out of there and, when talking about her future, is adamant that a nursing home would not be her preferred choice.
We head home and I wonder whether the sudden death of her friend has brought home to her how comparatively lucky she is…?
Glad to hear that your Mum is feeling a little more perky. I feel like a bit of an eavesdropper but your story is so well told & very familiar. I know how difficult it can be to stay strong in these circumstances. Good luck.
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