Sunday, June 30th, 2013
A lengthy conference call to my sister after yesterday's visit does little to alleviate my concerns, but at least it got a few things out of my head and into the world, even if one or two of my comments did little to improve things at home, but, happily, Sunday turns into a "hospital-free zone" of a day which I mostly spend catching up with documentaries that have lurked on the DVR for far too long.
Monday, July 1st, 2013
We break into yet another month and the second half of the year with little change in prospect and, perhaps as a consequence of this, I spend Monday in a very dark place mentally, which possibly does me few favours with anyone I come into contact with, but, hey... even I'm allowed to be a little bit moody from time to time, I hope.
I spent much of the day absolutely dreading my evening visit, because I really, really didn't want to go today, and when I set off I feel enough like a broken toy that when I actually get there, the chap who greets me with a friendly "Did you hear about your mother's fall? She banged her head..." gets a rather flippant "It might have knocked some sense into her at last..." before I manage to process quite what it is he's telling me...
Mum has indeed had a fall overnight and cut her head and bruised her elbow after getting up in the night to go to the loo without calling for assistance. A nurse comes over to explain what happened whilst subtly implying, in a very friendly way, that it's all her own fault for not buzzing the buzzer. Still, as we all put it at various points during the hour "It could have been worse..." and they've observed her regularly for signs of concussion and aren't aware of any other concerns...
The chat is fairly amiable. We discuss the fact that mum missed out on some friend's Diamond Wedding Anniversary celebrations; "Macbeth" and other Shakespeare; and I read her a card which she received from a neighbour. Most of the chat is about whether or not mum's ever going to get home and the poor lady in the bed opposite who was released to go home at 10.00am but is still waiting for her prescription to arrive at well past 7.00pm...
I head home exhausted and confused and wondering why it is that mum can always be far more pleasant with me after she's had a bit of a shock. Typically, I arrive home to a message that tells me that she forgot to give me the washing to bring with me.
Tuesday, July 2nd, 2013
A lunchtime call from my mother tells me that the flowers have arrived (huzzah!) and that people seem very pleased with them despite all my efforts to sabotage the process. Mum, meanwhile feels "better than yesterday" and still a bit wobbly on her legs (and still sounds more than a little woozy if you ask me). A doctor said that they were still trying to solve the mystery of her digestive system, and that the biopsy results are still not back having been sent off to a special somewhere for analysis.
Meanwhile she hopes to see me tomorrow, and, of course, it's always when she's sounding most vulnerable that I feel the most guilty, and promise myself that I'll try and be more understanding. Although with the feelings of rage, anger and depression that all ran through my mind after the weekend and the previous week, that sometimes proves damned difficult to actually achieve.
Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013
A low-key. mid-week visit which is mostly uneventful. I arrive on time, but my visit is of no surprise after having been recognised by the father of one of the other long-term inmates, despite me finally having found the time to scrape the stubble from off my chin. "It knocks ten years off you" I am told, and they are kind enough to lie that I don't look it when I mention that I'll be fifty next year. This was all after I'd settled in, because after I immediately upon arrival asked mum what had been happening, the reply is "not a lot" so at least there have been no more misadventures.
Mum claims to have mostly been sleeping, and, judging by that and her lack of aggression, I suspect that the fall has knocked her recovery and confidence back far further than she would care to admit. There is, apparently, still no talk of her being released to go home, or of her biopsy results, but the occupational therapist who took her on a "long" walk to see the infamous flowers where they lurk in the staff room, as ever, said that she's doing "very well..."
I try to keep mum up-to-date with the tennis game which was still going on as I arrived, but the telephone connection is sporadic, but I am able to work out that the local lad is still in the tournament.
which seems well received, assuming she heard me. The ward seems very busy and noisy this evening, and the nurses have already intimated that they might all be in for a noisy night.
Other things have occurred. There was another midnight attempt to fit another cannula to mum's arm last night, and one of the Church Ministers visited, saying that he much appreciated mum's weekly calls asking after his wife's well-being. Mum had forgotten to ask about the big party, but had received a letter from her wartime evacuee friend, which I read to her.
There's a small "moment" when she asks if I've brought her any crisps (I hadn't) but on the whole it all remains rather amicable, even though she talks rather too loudly about other patients having alcohol, smoking and drug related problems, and I head off into the night carrying the oft-mentioned washing.
Meanwhile she hopes to see me tomorrow, and, of course, it's always when she's sounding most vulnerable that I feel the most guilty, and promise myself that I'll try and be more understanding. Although with the feelings of rage, anger and depression that all ran through my mind after the weekend and the previous week, that sometimes proves damned difficult to actually achieve.
Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013
A low-key. mid-week visit which is mostly uneventful. I arrive on time, but my visit is of no surprise after having been recognised by the father of one of the other long-term inmates, despite me finally having found the time to scrape the stubble from off my chin. "It knocks ten years off you" I am told, and they are kind enough to lie that I don't look it when I mention that I'll be fifty next year. This was all after I'd settled in, because after I immediately upon arrival asked mum what had been happening, the reply is "not a lot" so at least there have been no more misadventures.
Mum claims to have mostly been sleeping, and, judging by that and her lack of aggression, I suspect that the fall has knocked her recovery and confidence back far further than she would care to admit. There is, apparently, still no talk of her being released to go home, or of her biopsy results, but the occupational therapist who took her on a "long" walk to see the infamous flowers where they lurk in the staff room, as ever, said that she's doing "very well..."
I try to keep mum up-to-date with the tennis game which was still going on as I arrived, but the telephone connection is sporadic, but I am able to work out that the local lad is still in the tournament.
which seems well received, assuming she heard me. The ward seems very busy and noisy this evening, and the nurses have already intimated that they might all be in for a noisy night.
Other things have occurred. There was another midnight attempt to fit another cannula to mum's arm last night, and one of the Church Ministers visited, saying that he much appreciated mum's weekly calls asking after his wife's well-being. Mum had forgotten to ask about the big party, but had received a letter from her wartime evacuee friend, which I read to her.
There's a small "moment" when she asks if I've brought her any crisps (I hadn't) but on the whole it all remains rather amicable, even though she talks rather too loudly about other patients having alcohol, smoking and drug related problems, and I head off into the night carrying the oft-mentioned washing.
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