Sunday, May 12th, 2013
As I wearily dragged myself through the rain to make yet another of my daily hospital visits on Sunday evening, it was with the resigned and fatigued air of someone who really didn't want to go, but, surprisingly, Sunday evening was to prove to be something of a "turning point" in so far as great changes were afoot and positive thoughts were about to be had.
The most obvious immediate difference was that mum had been moved off the side ward and back amongst the general population and, whilst this had been the cause of much trepidation recently, she seemed to be thriving upon it. As I rejigged the TV to reflect that it was now actually her in that particular bed, she tried to persuade me that there was money left on the phone by the previous occupant - there wasn't - but I used the "free calls" option and called my sister for her (mum had no problems remembering that number, I noticed...), and was able to sit back whilst they had their first direct conversation in a couple of weeks.
Mum's mid-visit "toilet break" was different, too. As I was scooted away expecting the curtains to be drawn, I noticed mum being walked to an actual cubicle which was the first time I'd actually seen her on her feet again since the seizures that so nearly killed her occurred nearly three weeks ago, so that was a definite sign of improvement.
There was even time for a little bit of banter with the staff as they indulged in a bit of good-natured argument over who was working the Christmas shifts this year. The middle of May and they're already planning for Christmas. This not only reminded me how much of this year has already been chewed up and swallowed by my endless visits to the hospital, but also made me realise that if mum is still here at Christmas time, I will have had a complete nervous collapse myself by then.
However, amidst all the banter, I also overheard some comments being given to another family who were strolling to and from the waiting room in an all-too familiar manner and with those familiar grim expressions that my sister and myself had so recently been wearing. I got the distinct impression that here was another family going through their own "longest day" much as we had so recently done ourselves, and it's still too heartbreaking to see.
I wanted to tell them not to worry, that it was all going to turn out to be okay, but, of course, I couldn't really tell them that, could I...?
Monday, May 13th, 2013
Another working week, and another evening visit. Same old, same old.
The day was significant because of a telephone conversation with my sister in which I was able to be fairly optimistic in only that basically pessimistic way that I seem to manage so effortlessly. That said, when I ventured out on my regular evening visit, I was so worn out that I hadn't got the first notion of what I was going to find to talk about for an hour.
Upon arrival, mum was reluctantly sitting in her chair and looking pretty exhausted, and the skin of her feet wasn't looking too good, I thought, and an improvement to her circulation is possibly why she was sitting there, even though the staff will insist that "seeing her out of bed" is something that will give me some sort of great joy and is therefore for my benefit (or is my fault, depending upon your point of view).
To be honest, Monday was not a high point in staff/me relations. Once mum had informed me that she'd been on a long journey to the "psychiatric department" for an x-ray upon her stomach, I went off to try and discover the results only to lurk by the desk long enough for someone to emerge from the staff room, spot me there and refuse to even tell me which staff had been treating my mother that day.
"She's in this room, but she's having her tea..."
I wasn't even allowed to ask who I might need to ask for later, and I seethed my way back to mum's bedside having also had my request for a jug of water for her pretty much ignored. Mum had been "nil by mouth" for a while before the x-ray (or, perhaps, scan... it remains unclear) and they'd forgotten to give her any water since which might have explained the vagueness she was feeling.
The ward was also suffering from having a patient on it who appeared to be suffering from "wandering nutter" syndrome which might sound callous, but when someone is walking around asking everyone they can see for "a light" for their cigarette, and had been doing it non-stop for most of the day and even during the previous night, I do start wondering whether a "sin bin" or some kind of restraints might be necessary, even though I'm sure that it's not NHS policy.
Tuesday, May 14th, 2013
On the way to Tuesday's visit, we actually managed to organise ourselves enough that we were able to find the time to sit down in a "proper" restaurant and actually have a meal. Granted, it was a "diner" and we had burgers, but it was a far better meal than anything we'd managed to arrange for ourselves in what seems like weeks of weeknights, although my telephone buzzing with work-related stuff which had come up after I'd left, and the hideous ordeal of trying to park in that part of town didn't make it the most relaxing hour and a half of my life.
However, we arrived a smidgeon early for the visiting hour and lurked in the corridor even though I knew the entry code, and then admitted ourselves bang on time - I'm still a stickler for punctuality - and made a scrambling dash for the few available chairs as the room they are generally stored in seemed to be occupied. Later on, as we were shooed away for one of the two "toilet breaks" mum required this visit (that unfortunate aspect of her illness having flared up again), someone made a grab for them and I had to dissuade him from walking off with them, being as they are like gold dust in such circumstances.
Other than that and the visitor in full highland dress, it was an uneventful evening. Mother made vague reference to her liver now being a cause for concern, but none of the staff mentioned anything about it, and that they the physiotherapist is continually checking mum's eyes, which seems unlikely, but you have to believe what you're told. Yesterday's scan results are still not available I am told, and mother did attempt to read her book for a while today, even though she was firmly tucked up in bed when we arrived and wasn't interested in the newspapers we'd been bringing along with us.
We did, however, manage to work it so that mum was able to telephone my sister again which seems to please her, and we were sent on our way with another bundle of soiled washing and a requirement to pop into mum's flat to pick up some alternative night clothes, a visit which will have to be crammed into tomorrow's schedule somehow...
Strangely addictive.
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