Or, if you prefer, week eleven, part one…
We left off on the brink of another weekend (marking the end of week ten of these tedious tales) which, once again, we really hoped might just turn out to be the last in hospital for mum before heading home, but after our recent experiences, really none of us was holding our breath…
FEB 05 2011
It’s a soggy Saturday morning when I get up about 7.40AM (that’s a lie-in for me…) after a relatively good night’s sleep to write up my latest diaries about this whole sorry saga. Today is the day I have decided to have a day off from hospital duties and just try to relax instead.
It’s quiet – almost too quiet – as I watch old films and generally chill out (as I believe the youngsters no longer actually say) and hear absolutely nothing about hospitals or any of that kind of thing all day as the rain continually hammers down.
FEB 06 2011
An afternoon trip to see mum on our way back from the shops starts off happy enough, in fact, this is the first time in quite a while that mum looks and acts like her old self. Even the beloved comments upon it, saying that it’s good to see mum actually laughing at things, which neither of us has seen for a while. Things take a slightly more tetchy tone when the subject of the accumulated church collection money owing crops up, and, to prevent another descent into bitter disagreement, the beloved drags me away and we head homewards pondering on matters fiscal.
FEB 07 2011
A business trip to Oldbury finds me heading to mum’s flat early in order to meet m’colleague in a more convenient spot for him to give me a lift. This gives me a short opportunity to potter about with some minor furniture layout thoughts, and to check the mail etc. Hanging around there means I am spotted by a neighbour who comes out for a bit of a chat, and because mum’s church is also nearby, various cars keep pulling up whilst I’m waiting to ask how she’s doing.
When I get home mid-afternoon, a message from mum implies that, if her blood is behaving itself, she is to be sent home tomorrow, but, as ever, I’ll believe it when I see it.
A really pleasant hour with mum tonight. For the first time in a long time she actually seems ready to go home, and looks it too. Despite all the false dawns of the last few weeks I now realise how foolish it might have been for them to let her go any earlier. She also seems to be looking forward and is eager to be self-sufficient and is talking about cooking for herself again, all of which is very encouraging. Certainly mum going home is looking more of a prospect than it has in while.
Rang sis to attempt to formulate some kind of action plan for her travel arrangements, or at least to have a kind of planning session which ends up being quite a long chat about practical stuff, but neither of us is really absolutely and utterly convinced yet that the actual definite day that mum goes home is truly upon us, after all, care plans still need to be triggered, ‘i’s need to be dotted and ‘t’s crossed. Things, as ever, remain in a state of flux.
FEB 08 2011
The early morning call from mum seems to suggest that her release is not quite as imminent as we were led to believe after an early morning chat to a nurse, but you never know. Still, mum seems cheerful enough about it after another blood sample winged its way off to the lab and she’d spent another night wolfing down her Tic-Tac supply (“Bring more! More!”) and she has been dubbed the “Tic-Tac Lady” by some of the nursing staff as she manages to drop them in amongst the bedclothes when having her midnight scoff (so that’s where they’re all going). A later call confirms the lack of release, and demands Maltesers (which she also shouldn’t have, apparently). Onward ever onward. I ring sis to stand her down.
I head out alone in the evening for yet another hospital visit which proves uneventful. (I know… Where’s the drama? Where’s the conflict? I’ll be boring you all to death with this if I’m not careful…). It seems many of her friends have suffered falls lately, but this awareness of the woes of others is again a good sign, and even mum is aware of how much better she is feeling now than she was even a couple of weeks back. She’s also enjoying her food again and has finally realised how useful some of the “daft” things – like bringing her a notebook to write in – that we did a few weeks ago have turned out to be. To be honest our hour is mostly chat about how home life is going to be and a few things that’ll need to be done once she gets there, and explaining things that had to be done whilst she’s been away (like having all her paperwork at my house in case the worst happened…) and making sure we get things back in order (like sis sitting down and discussing her financial situation with her) once she’s back in circulation. I load up the telly again, deliver her contraband (cheese, Tic-Tacs and Maltesers – other sweeties are of course available) and bring some more washing home.
Basically we’re playing a waiting game now. I notice the aftermath of an accident as I drive back home, and I ponder about it for a while, as my sympathies go out towards someone else as they are being put by circumstance into their own ‘bubble’.
FEB 09 2011
Mum leaves it until lunchtime to ring me (although both the beloved and sis ring earlier to ask what’s happening) to tell me she’s been told she’s staying put until the magnesium settles above 0.7 (whatever that might mean…) and so the daily cycle of visits must continue. At least the doctor has convinced mum of the importance of this magnesium issue as it directly affects whether or not she will have further heart-rate problems. A nurse has promised her a shower and shampoo tomorrow, so that’s progress. Meanwhile apparently the Maltesers caused a blood sugar spike (qu’elle surprise!) so I really need to track down a slightly less sugary snack solution when I head out to restock on mum’s supply of tissues this evening.
The end of the working day brings a tsunami of depression because I start to realise that I can’t see an end to it. I just want my life (such as it was) back… is that too much to ask? After a bit of a strop, I rally and head out alone for another hour’s hospital chat. No matter how much I endeavour to reassure her, mum still seems to be obsessing about money although I keep telling her to relax about it. Her health and getting well are more important things to be thinking about, I feel. She’s happier today as she got a shower and her hair washed and generally feels as if she could cope with being at home now. She also made a few phone calls to friends in order to try and plan things like a hairdresser coming to the flat. All good stuff, although the dried fruit and nuts I took along do not seem to fulfil the desired “snacking” function. I tentatively suggest that I might have an evening at home tomorrow, but, as ever, we shall just have to wait and see…
And so ends day 74 of our wild and wacky misadventures. There’ll be more soon, I’m sure. Hey! You at the back there! Wake up!
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