Yet another of the continuing diaries (which I know are being - albeit reluctantly - followed by one or two of you) chronicling my mother’s recent hospitalisation as we now come to the events of week ten of this little saga that began on a frosty Sunday morning at the end of November.
We left off on the brink of another weekend that circumstances might well cause to be the last in hospital before heading home, mum seeming a lot more chipper, and more importantly, making progress both mentally and physically it would seem…
JAN 29 2011
I actually managed to sleep (relatively) late today. Mum rings up slightly before 9.00AM to tell me that she’s had a good night and is looking forward to being at home soon. We briefly discuss a little more painting that I might need to do at her flat, but not today. However, as I try to dig out my old computer desk to donate to her, another call comes in – can I dig out a magnifying glass so she can attempt the (hush now…) “Daily Mail” crossword…?
I then had a bit of a change of heart about the painting, and so we packed the car with the decorating gear as well as the computer desk and headed to the flat stopping on the way only to get more gloss paint, and then we spent some time painting the remaining doors and setting up the computer upon it’s new home. The magnifying glass, alas, was nowhere to be found. We then battled our way to the hospital through Saturday traffic for an uneventful natter and then took another age getting home.
Sis rings in the evening having spoken to mum and impressed at how improved she is.
JAN 30 2011
I don’t think sis will ever quite comprehend how complicated a simple phrase like “You still need to change that melted microwave plug” made my Sunday afternoon. The awful traffic on the way to the flat, and the need to visit two incredibly busy shops in order to track an actual plug down to buy, as well as the simple frustration of getting my knackered mind to actually do this relatively simple task meant that it was two hours after I left home before I arrived at the hospital, and I wasn’t in the calmest frame of mind.
At first the visit went well, and the TV guide was much appreciated, but mum and I ended up having something approaching a full-blown row (right in front of the GMF I might add) when it came to discussing how seriously she needs to take the process of dealing with the representatives of Intermediate Care as they plan her future at home, which, as it followed swiftly on the heels of our discussion of how “sweetness and light” when dealing with people will make her life a lot happier once at home, it was something of a bitter irony, and I headed home furious (with myself mostly) for letting my frustrations boil over.
In an effort to calm myself down, I rang sis for some spleen venting and some conscience salving and also to make sure she stays ‘on message’ in the ‘helping mum to help herself’ stakes.
JAN 31 2011
Mum’s mid-morning call (it appears that she is still speaking to me) finds her of the opinion that her release is imminent, although I am yet to be convinced. The catheter seems to be likely to be a six-month thing at least, and this seems to have been finally decided now, and mum also seems to have come to terms with the notion.
The call to announce the release doesn’t actually come of course, but sis rings late afternoon to tell me what she’s managed to find out a little more from the ward sister about mum’s condition, but she doesn’t think that the care package will be in place for two or three days yet.
The beloved returns from work starting with a cold and I’m feeling none too bright myself as I set out into the burgeoning freezing fog for another visit. At least today I am able to keep it civilised as we discuss the post-hospital world and the discussions that mum had today with the woman from Intermediate Care. The walker-frame that she is currently using to get around the ward is hers to keep apparently, although the training in dealing with a catheter at home in emergencies is still to happen, and, thanks to mum, I have been threatened in my absence by a nurse for daring to suggest that my mother is anything less than a model patient. This wasn’t what I meant at all, but proves to me how I can say one thing and my mother hears something utterly different.
Same old, same old.
A little advice on how you catch more bees with honey has turned into something that stings me back. Ah well, at least it’s starting to seem like old times again as I head wearily on home.
FEB 01 2011
A quiet day on the calls front. In fact it’s so very quiet that I start to worry about it.
Mum is quite chatty during another solo evening visit, despite the lady in the next bed having constant conversations with an ‘invisible friend’ which (apparently) kept mum awake for much of the night. A woman from Social Services visited today to sort out some kind of timetable for the carers and to talk about food ordering. I’m supposed to have heard from her too, but this didn’t come to pass. A former colleague of mum’s had visited in the afternoon and they were talking about planning an outing, so, on the whole, it was all fairly positive, and we were able to consider mum’s social life and how to approach it after her release for a while.
The main stumbling block still seems to be finalising the issue of the catheter, but after that we should be ‘ready for launch’, as it were. Mum is, however, running out of supplies of tissues and sweeties, neither of which I have brought along having been unaware of this, although I did remember to return her latest set of washing. I tried to get to the hospital’s “little shop” when I went out for another TV card, but it had just closed for the day, so I just had to leave it for the day and promise to bring supplies tomorrow. For once, mum just making one of those seemingly pointless telephone calls that she does might have actually proved useful.
More tomorrow (I bet you can hardly wait…)
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