Wednesday, 22nd May, 2013
Yes, almost incredibly, this story, which began its latest phase five weeks ago, but which also started way back on the 11th of January, is still pootling along and sucking everything else in our lives into its benign whirlpool of influence...
Wednesday was one of those "flying" visits that I sometimes make in order to keep my sanity and some kind of control over the other things I need to do in my admittedly uneventful little life. Whilst one of us skittered around Sainsbury's, stocking up on the "perishables", the other (i.e. me...) headed off up the road and back to the hospital to metaphorically pop my head around the door and say "hi..."
This meant that the visit was short, but by no means sweet, although its main purpose - restocking the days on the telephone bundle so it would work again (those screens are fiendishly complicated for even a supposed technology aware person like myself...) - was achieved, and it was nice to have a little chat, especially as, despite what I had been led to believe, there had been no other visitors that day. It was also a good idea anyway, not least because she is my mother, but because the "procedure" was still scheduled for tomorrow (Thursday) and nobody likes to think that everyone's forgotten about the fact that they're going to be going through something of a personal ordeal...
Anyway, after a jolly fifteen minutes or so, I scarpered my way back to my car park rendezvous, and we headed home listening to a CD of 1920s dance music "inspired by" the release of the movie "The Great Gatsby" which had somehow made it into our shopping basket...
Thursday, 23rd May, 2013
Mum's morning telephone call to me at the office seems to imply that the left hand really doesn't have a clue what the right hand is doing and, in fact, might not be even all that sure whether there is a right hand at all. After asking if it was all right to have breakfast (because of the "nil by mouth" approach to gastroscopy) she was told that she "wasn't on the list" for any procedures today, and seemed not to know anything about it, despite the nurse on Tuesday assuring me that the ward would need to ring the department on Thursday morning to see if there was a slot available...
Hmmm...
Meanwhile, mum seemed quite cheery at the prospect of not seeing me on Thursday evening, even though I was planning on going, having just "popped in" on Wednesday because I was "passing by" anyway...
Perhaps not going would have been wiser, because Thursdays adventures in hospital-land left me feeling so frustrated and angry that I ended up ringing my sister from the car park for a bit of a ranty vent before I felt calm enough to drive home.
Let's start with the positives, shall we...? Mum watched a bit of "Bargain Hunt" and read her book for a while today. Both great leaps forward in the great scheme of things, but hardly award-winning achievements.
On the downside, she had a "bad accident" in her bed and got "shouted at" by a nurse for not making it to the toilet in time, even though, as mum explained to me later, she had actually been asleep when it happened.
Not that she told the nurse that of course... Anyway, because of this, she hadn't been allowed back in bed but had been made to sit in her chair all day, which isn't all that great for someone with her back problems, and consequently, she hadn't slept and was feeling "very tired..."
She had been for a scan, in "one of those tunnel things" but the planned and much talked about gastroscopy hadn't happened, although she had apparently been discussing "intermediate care" again with the Occupational Therapist, or the "Eye man" as she seems to think of him as.
I decided to have a little chat with a nurse, which is where, I'm sorry to say, my anger started. I might have been terse, perhaps even a little bit rude, but I'm fully aware of the "zero tolerance" policy and did my best to keep a lid on my exasperations during our "intense discussions" because, given the inconsistencies between what I'm told on various days, I was genuinely left with the distinct impression that nobody on that ward has the slightest clue about my mother's condition, and, to be honest, I'd never really felt any dissatisfaction with that ward before that night.
You know... "Aren't our nurses wonderful?" "They do an awful job under very difficult conditions..." etc., etc., etc.
And of course, most of them are, but occasionally one comes along and... Well, anyway...
First off, my mother has been signed off as "medically fit to be discharged..."
In what freakin' universe...???
Not only that, because she can walk with a frame eight feet to the toilet she is "capable of looking after herself" and doesn't need to go into any kind of community care, but can have a "home care package" set up for her.
The gastroscopy she had apparently been given, although the report was dated April 19th and therefore predated the stroke/seizures which, it seemed, nobody had any recollection of her ever having. Another one was deemed unnecessary, and the ulcer we were told we had was only a stomach inflamation (so the special diet was unnecessary for those three weeks then...?) and I was probably imagining that she might need to be put back on Warfarin because "sometimes they decide not to reintroduce it..."
What...? After a stroke...?
In fact, apparently, "in some circumstances Aspirin and Warfarin are prescribed together" I was told when I reminded the nurse the reason that mum had been admitted by an emergency ambulance in the first place five weeks ago.
Still, as I pointed out, she'd been pronounced "medically fit" and sent home several times over the past four and a half months, three and a half of which she had spent in hospital because she plainly wasn't, and I did wonder whether it was more the impending Bank Holiday weekend that had them so eager to have a clearout, especially of the patients with the unsavoury or unpleasant conditions which might have to be dealt with, and I had several other issues which, I think, come under the heading of "etc., etc." (although my sister did apparently take copious notes during my ranting...)
To me, it seems that nobody is addressing any of the fundamental issues of her actual condition, but seem quite happy to just pack her off home to become somebody else's problem, but when I mentioned that, the first part anyway, I was told that I really ought to speak to a doctor and they're only in between nine and five, strangely when the rest of us who have jobs might also have to be doing them, and the lady crying in the car park who I spotted as I left did rather help to retrieve my sense of proportion...
A bit...
I took a number, and am going to set my wolf pack (a.k.a. "Angry Sister") on them.
That'll teach 'em...
Friday, 24th May, 2013
The anger and frustration continues...
My sister rings me at work having just spoken to the same nurse as I did and been left with the same levels of anger and frustration that I was left with last night so at least it's not just me then...
"Interestingly" (and when I say "interestingly" I tend to mean that it interests me at least...), I get another telephone call from my sister later on, after she's had a chance to have a conversation with the consultant in charge of my mum's case. It is interesting, however, because he tells my sister almost the exact opposite of what the nurse on the war had been telling both of us. Mum is not "ready for discharge" and did, in fact, have a stomach ulcer, which is why they haven't yet been able to restart the blood thinning medication that she obviously needs.
The worrying thing about all this, of course, is quite how the hell the people who are dealing with my mother on a day-to-day basis could get it quite so wrong, and if they can get it quite that wrong, what the hell else are they getting wrong as well...?
After all, it is they that are continuing to treat her and, given that this whole cycle began because of an error in mum's prescribed medication, it does tend to leave you with little confidence in the entire system, which, coming from someone who has always been a staunch defender of the NHS and all that it does, is something of a worrying trend...
Incidentally, when I got home, there was a message from mum on my answerphone telling me that both one of the chaplains and her own church minister had been to see her today - the chaplain had even given her "communion" - and that there was no need for me to visit tonight which, given that I hadn't been planning on going anyway, was a bit of a bonus for the end of the working week...
Saturday, 25th May, 2013
After all those dramas, Saturday afternoon's visit is all rather low key, especially as I sneaked in late after a misunderstanding at home and the traditional Saturday traffic jams found us running rather behind schedule. To be quite honest with you, I wasn't all that eager to catch the eye of certain members of staff, either, so I grabbed my chair and squeaked my way along the corridor (because that surface does seem to bring out the worst in my shoes) and parked myself next to mum, who appeared to be fast asleep.
She wasn't, though, but she was very tired and "didn't really need any visitors" today, so my efforts felt much appreciated. The tiredness was apparently due to her being woken "at 3.00 am" to have a cannula fitted, so they could set up more magnesium drips, and it taking them "until 7.00..." to manage it... and then "made" mum sit in the chair all morning again...
Well, sometimes I have to take what mum says with a certain amount of salt, but you never know...
In other news, the consultant who had seen her yesterday had made it quite clear that she was not yet "medically fit for discharge" and the packet of Rich Tea biscuits I'd left with her had come in quite useful when the box of "official" biscuits got dropped at teatime the day before...
Nevertheless, mum remained very tired, and when I asked whether she'd been drinking enough, she requested some cordial so, before I made my excuses and left, (as should be written in an old song somewhere) "off I popped to the hospital shop" and bought some for her, whilst also capitulating on the "bit of white chocolate" that she had requested, but that I told her probably wasn't a good idea before getting it anyway...
So, the Milky Bar is on me...
Thursday, 23rd May, 2013
Mum's morning telephone call to me at the office seems to imply that the left hand really doesn't have a clue what the right hand is doing and, in fact, might not be even all that sure whether there is a right hand at all. After asking if it was all right to have breakfast (because of the "nil by mouth" approach to gastroscopy) she was told that she "wasn't on the list" for any procedures today, and seemed not to know anything about it, despite the nurse on Tuesday assuring me that the ward would need to ring the department on Thursday morning to see if there was a slot available...
Hmmm...
Meanwhile, mum seemed quite cheery at the prospect of not seeing me on Thursday evening, even though I was planning on going, having just "popped in" on Wednesday because I was "passing by" anyway...
Perhaps not going would have been wiser, because Thursdays adventures in hospital-land left me feeling so frustrated and angry that I ended up ringing my sister from the car park for a bit of a ranty vent before I felt calm enough to drive home.
Let's start with the positives, shall we...? Mum watched a bit of "Bargain Hunt" and read her book for a while today. Both great leaps forward in the great scheme of things, but hardly award-winning achievements.
On the downside, she had a "bad accident" in her bed and got "shouted at" by a nurse for not making it to the toilet in time, even though, as mum explained to me later, she had actually been asleep when it happened.
Not that she told the nurse that of course... Anyway, because of this, she hadn't been allowed back in bed but had been made to sit in her chair all day, which isn't all that great for someone with her back problems, and consequently, she hadn't slept and was feeling "very tired..."
She had been for a scan, in "one of those tunnel things" but the planned and much talked about gastroscopy hadn't happened, although she had apparently been discussing "intermediate care" again with the Occupational Therapist, or the "Eye man" as she seems to think of him as.
I decided to have a little chat with a nurse, which is where, I'm sorry to say, my anger started. I might have been terse, perhaps even a little bit rude, but I'm fully aware of the "zero tolerance" policy and did my best to keep a lid on my exasperations during our "intense discussions" because, given the inconsistencies between what I'm told on various days, I was genuinely left with the distinct impression that nobody on that ward has the slightest clue about my mother's condition, and, to be honest, I'd never really felt any dissatisfaction with that ward before that night.
You know... "Aren't our nurses wonderful?" "They do an awful job under very difficult conditions..." etc., etc., etc.
And of course, most of them are, but occasionally one comes along and... Well, anyway...
First off, my mother has been signed off as "medically fit to be discharged..."
In what freakin' universe...???
Not only that, because she can walk with a frame eight feet to the toilet she is "capable of looking after herself" and doesn't need to go into any kind of community care, but can have a "home care package" set up for her.
The gastroscopy she had apparently been given, although the report was dated April 19th and therefore predated the stroke/seizures which, it seemed, nobody had any recollection of her ever having. Another one was deemed unnecessary, and the ulcer we were told we had was only a stomach inflamation (so the special diet was unnecessary for those three weeks then...?) and I was probably imagining that she might need to be put back on Warfarin because "sometimes they decide not to reintroduce it..."
What...? After a stroke...?
In fact, apparently, "in some circumstances Aspirin and Warfarin are prescribed together" I was told when I reminded the nurse the reason that mum had been admitted by an emergency ambulance in the first place five weeks ago.
Still, as I pointed out, she'd been pronounced "medically fit" and sent home several times over the past four and a half months, three and a half of which she had spent in hospital because she plainly wasn't, and I did wonder whether it was more the impending Bank Holiday weekend that had them so eager to have a clearout, especially of the patients with the unsavoury or unpleasant conditions which might have to be dealt with, and I had several other issues which, I think, come under the heading of "etc., etc." (although my sister did apparently take copious notes during my ranting...)
To me, it seems that nobody is addressing any of the fundamental issues of her actual condition, but seem quite happy to just pack her off home to become somebody else's problem, but when I mentioned that, the first part anyway, I was told that I really ought to speak to a doctor and they're only in between nine and five, strangely when the rest of us who have jobs might also have to be doing them, and the lady crying in the car park who I spotted as I left did rather help to retrieve my sense of proportion...
A bit...
I took a number, and am going to set my wolf pack (a.k.a. "Angry Sister") on them.
That'll teach 'em...
Friday, 24th May, 2013
The anger and frustration continues...
My sister rings me at work having just spoken to the same nurse as I did and been left with the same levels of anger and frustration that I was left with last night so at least it's not just me then...
"Interestingly" (and when I say "interestingly" I tend to mean that it interests me at least...), I get another telephone call from my sister later on, after she's had a chance to have a conversation with the consultant in charge of my mum's case. It is interesting, however, because he tells my sister almost the exact opposite of what the nurse on the war had been telling both of us. Mum is not "ready for discharge" and did, in fact, have a stomach ulcer, which is why they haven't yet been able to restart the blood thinning medication that she obviously needs.
The worrying thing about all this, of course, is quite how the hell the people who are dealing with my mother on a day-to-day basis could get it quite so wrong, and if they can get it quite that wrong, what the hell else are they getting wrong as well...?
After all, it is they that are continuing to treat her and, given that this whole cycle began because of an error in mum's prescribed medication, it does tend to leave you with little confidence in the entire system, which, coming from someone who has always been a staunch defender of the NHS and all that it does, is something of a worrying trend...
Incidentally, when I got home, there was a message from mum on my answerphone telling me that both one of the chaplains and her own church minister had been to see her today - the chaplain had even given her "communion" - and that there was no need for me to visit tonight which, given that I hadn't been planning on going anyway, was a bit of a bonus for the end of the working week...
Saturday, 25th May, 2013
After all those dramas, Saturday afternoon's visit is all rather low key, especially as I sneaked in late after a misunderstanding at home and the traditional Saturday traffic jams found us running rather behind schedule. To be quite honest with you, I wasn't all that eager to catch the eye of certain members of staff, either, so I grabbed my chair and squeaked my way along the corridor (because that surface does seem to bring out the worst in my shoes) and parked myself next to mum, who appeared to be fast asleep.
She wasn't, though, but she was very tired and "didn't really need any visitors" today, so my efforts felt much appreciated. The tiredness was apparently due to her being woken "at 3.00 am" to have a cannula fitted, so they could set up more magnesium drips, and it taking them "until 7.00..." to manage it... and then "made" mum sit in the chair all morning again...
Well, sometimes I have to take what mum says with a certain amount of salt, but you never know...
In other news, the consultant who had seen her yesterday had made it quite clear that she was not yet "medically fit for discharge" and the packet of Rich Tea biscuits I'd left with her had come in quite useful when the box of "official" biscuits got dropped at teatime the day before...
Nevertheless, mum remained very tired, and when I asked whether she'd been drinking enough, she requested some cordial so, before I made my excuses and left, (as should be written in an old song somewhere) "off I popped to the hospital shop" and bought some for her, whilst also capitulating on the "bit of white chocolate" that she had requested, but that I told her probably wasn't a good idea before getting it anyway...
So, the Milky Bar is on me...
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