From the way she sounded on the phone, we were terrified that mum had had another stroke (although ultimately she hadn’t) and basically told her to ring for an ambulance immediately. The beloved and I then dashed around the house grabbing our stuff and got into the car and I drove like a madman towards my mum’s flat, fully convincing myself that “this” was the proverbial “it”.
Despite variable mobile phone signals we managed to call 999 ourselves and confirm that mum had been able to make a call herself and be reassured that help was indeed on the way. I’m not sure whether you would agree that getting her to ring the ambulance herself was the wisest move, and looking back I’m not convinced myself, but at the time I just thought that there was more chance of an immediate response if she told them what she’d told me in that very ill sounding voice, and, if things got worse, the computers would have the right address without me adding to the confusion and maybe delaying things.
We arrived at mums in surprisingly quick time, and mum was already being attended to by two rather fabulous paramedic ambulance crewmen, who had already decided that mum needed readmitting to hospital. A neighbour was sitting with her, as mum had managed to pull the flat's emergency call cord and some of her rather wonderful neighbours had come down and got her to her feet. Later on mum would tell me that she’d taken 20 minutes to climb out of the bath (I would later find that the clamp-on extra bath handle had slipped off in the process) got a nightdress on and crawled across the floor to call for help, and also managed to unlock her front door, and her neighbours had come down and at least got her into her armchair.
The paramedics got mum into the ambulance on a bitter cold evening and explained that they were going to do a few more things and we should head off to the hospital ourselves, which, after pausing to lock up the flat, we duly did. The ambulance arrived at the hospital with its blue lights blazing at around the same time we did, the traffic not being quite so chaotic at that time on a Saturday night, and, after mum had been safely delivered to the resuscitation unit, the paramedics took the time to reassure us that the flashing lights were not due to any sudden deterioration in my mum’s condition, but just protocol, and I really did appreciate them taking the time and having the care to do that.
Another long, long evening followed in the resuscitation unit until mum was admitted back onto the assessment ward that she’d first been on two weeks earlier at around midnight, which is when, of course, all the “midnight parking/clamping angst” that I mentioned in my previous post was addressed. Eventually, after a long and worrying evening, and various long phone calls to both my sister and the GMF, mum was finally settled in a bed and we said our goodnights and headed home in the thickest fog seen in these parts for many a year, getting there about 2.00AM and we gratefully went to bed and even managed to grab some sleep.
DEC 12-13 2010
The next morning, the phone rang about 8.00AM. During her crisis the night before, mum had left a rather alarming sounding message on her neighbour’s answering machine. That neighbour had been out for the evening and had got the message at about 11.30 when she got home. Naturally, she’d worried all night and left it as long as she dared before ringing me.
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| You may find it hard to believe, but, Once upon a time, there was a Princess... |
I wearily returned to the cycle of hospital visiting that afternoon, but it was a very low point for both of us. Mum was having a lot of “bowel problems” which become a humiliating issue for her. It’s very hard to see her like this when you remember the person she used to be. Those who have only known her in recent times won’t even be aware of how glamorous she used to be in her youth, and how dreadful an emotional fall it must be for her.
As I got hastily ushered out of the curtained areas by nurses having to deal with things they truly do not earn enough to do, I kept getting horrific visions of my own future which are, quite frankly, terrifying. For once I was genuinely feeling a certain amount of empathy for her plight. It must be truly terrifying to be sitting there with your body breaking down so that you no longer feel you can reasonably depend on it. There must be so much of a sense of loss when you realise that all those people you knew who used to hold your hand and tell you it would be alright, people like your mum and dad, or your husband are all gone now. Now you can’t even trust your own bodily functions to behave themselves and strangers are having to clean you up.
God, it must be awful.
God, it must be awful.
Eventually, mum asked if I would leave. Apart from the horrible humiliation of what's happening, it can’t be easy to be seen like that, either.
I didn’t see her again until the Monday evening when things seemed a little brighter. She had been moved to another ward where the tea flowed more freely. The beloved and I had a few problems co-ordinating our visit that night as she had to work late and then we had a lot of trouble tracking each other down when she disembarked from her train at an unfamiliar station somewhere near to the hospital. She also had a touch of ’flu which meant that she needed to keep a reasonable distance from mum whilst I visited, so she chose to be left waiting in the chilly car that evening.
DEC 14-16 2010
Work announced that we needed to have a meeting in Wales the following Monday. This might have caused a problem if they chose to let mum home that day, but we started to prepare ourselves subtly for that possibility.
The beloved’s ’flu was now so bad that she was not going to work (and remained bedbound for the rest of the week) and the next few days proved difficult for all of us. I know this because some of the thoughts I wrote down in the depths of the night are occasionally less than charitable:
“I am just fecking sick of it. Sick of trying to juggle work and hospitals and home visits and food and fecking Christmas…”
“I know it’s not fashionable but I resent every brain-mashing fecking minute of it…”
“I resent that there is no one else... That I’m expected to step up to the plate, because it simply isn’t me…”
Ah well, at least I’m being honest about it.
Occasionally, at the darkest moments (of which there are plenty), I did imagine that any notions that society might have these days about the deification of “motherhood” might have to be rethought if they had my mother. Small problems seemed to escalate that week. I got angry with the hospital because mum’s water infection that had been diagnosed three times since we first went to the (not a) Walk-In clinic – once by her own GP during her five days at home - still seemed to be being pretty much ignored in the hospital. I got my sister to ring and play a tiny amount of havoc. According to mum, the night nurses seemed to be getting more impatient with mum’s hourly visits to the lavatory throughout the small hours and she was starting to worry that she was losing control of her continence. Because of the sudden admission at the weekend, she also didn’t have her walking stick with her to make it easier to go on her own, and I remain flabbergasted that no-one in the hospital seemed to be able to provide one for her. These nocturnal visits then got even more complicated by the addition of a Magnesium drip being prescribed, so she couldn’t then go alone anyway, although the nurses I saw were always rather fabulous with her, so I began to suspect that any crabbiness was born out of mum’s own frustration rather than any intentional unpleasantness.
Occasionally, at the darkest moments (of which there are plenty), I did imagine that any notions that society might have these days about the deification of “motherhood” might have to be rethought if they had my mother. Small problems seemed to escalate that week. I got angry with the hospital because mum’s water infection that had been diagnosed three times since we first went to the (not a) Walk-In clinic – once by her own GP during her five days at home - still seemed to be being pretty much ignored in the hospital. I got my sister to ring and play a tiny amount of havoc. According to mum, the night nurses seemed to be getting more impatient with mum’s hourly visits to the lavatory throughout the small hours and she was starting to worry that she was losing control of her continence. Because of the sudden admission at the weekend, she also didn’t have her walking stick with her to make it easier to go on her own, and I remain flabbergasted that no-one in the hospital seemed to be able to provide one for her. These nocturnal visits then got even more complicated by the addition of a Magnesium drip being prescribed, so she couldn’t then go alone anyway, although the nurses I saw were always rather fabulous with her, so I began to suspect that any crabbiness was born out of mum’s own frustration rather than any intentional unpleasantness.
Eventually, I returned to the flat to get the stick, alongside some other items, for her. I crept in, did my collection thing and flittered away like a shadow in the night, unfortunately forgetting to lock the letterbox in the post room correctly. I also managed to bring the “wrong” notebook, which led to an unfortunate row during one visit, as my fatigued and frayed temper finally snapped.
When mum still failed to be sent home, another online order needed to be received at the flat, so I returned, only to find that she was so very confused by the times that I’d missed the delivery anyway, and her own mind was so out of it when she made the order at home those few days, that she ordered two of everything. I quietly rang the customer helpline and cancelled the order, which led to another row as mum was now worrying about getting Christmas cakes and suchlike, and my protestations that she shouldn’t worry fell on deaf ears.
This was also the period in which my own back chose to start to spasm after last week’s fall, which didn’t help my own mood.
Mum then started throwing up one night and was swiftly shifted into a “private” side ward and, with the addition of such lovely things as commodes into the routine, and more peaceful night’s sleeps, things started to improve a little.
DEC 17 2010
I arranged to have a day off from visiting as I had a prior evening engagement, my one and only Christmas event of the season, a drink with a few former colleagues. This got severely curtailed as the snows returned and the general consensus of those of us with any distance to travel was to try and get home. My “partying” lasted precisely one hour. Before this I had my hair cut at the same place my mum goes to have her hair done and they send her their very good wishes which was terribly nice of them. I then headed alone (and stupidly early) to the pub where I battled amongst all the office parties to find a lonely table for one to eat at, and – hang the expense - upgraded my solitary chicken burger to a “gourmet” one (I suspect it meant extra cheese).
On my way home through the blizzard, which ironically faded as I got nearer to home, I saw many terrifying sights in the snow of ill-dressed partygoers with bizarre hair presumably on their way out for the evening, and I had to remind myself once again that it was very nearly Christmas, as, despite all the “best wishes” and handshakes as I left the pub, I had somehow failed to make that connection.
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