THE WHOLE SORRY SAGA (PART TWELVE)

The diaries chronicling my mother’s recent hospitalisation continue (although I’ve been trying to keep them in more manageable bite-sized chunks of late). As we left off yesterday, it would appear that, between the efforts of all sorts of various factions, we seem to be coming to the point of actually achieving some sort of possible release strategy by a kind of ‘drip-feed’ process…

FEB 02 2011

This morning, as I took the beloved to work, we mulled over the happy prospect of possibly getting our “normal” evenings back some time soon, as well as discussing the need not to let my mum take too much advantage of the situation and play the “illness” card too frequently. We shall have see about that, but the fact that we even feel able to be having these chats just prove to me that we really are seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

However…

Mum’s call around 11.15 comes after a meeting with a new doctor, from the Endochrinology department who insists that she won’t be being sent home until they’ve sorted out the magnesium levels in her blood. One step forward, two steps back. My hospital visits will have to continue for a little while yet, and I now have another list of shopping requirements in advance of this evening’s visit.

Sis rings to confirm this news and to tell me that they’ve discussed the knotty issue of my recent financial burden from all these events, which might mean that mum offers to pay me back some pennies, or, if I’m not prepared to accept that, maybe offering to take me out for a meal…

Shudder!

I ring the beloved to tell her the latest developments on the “now-not-going-home” announcement, and we’re both feeling rather disappointed about the continuing endlessly unchanging situation, although it is all rather ironic that this happens on “Groundhog Day”.

Social Services ring mid-afternoon, primarily to discuss “key-safes” which I suspect might prove complicated given the nature of the residents’ committee at mum’s flat. Mum herself rings shortly after this to request (of all things) some cheese, and calls again later, after the Social Worker has visited her, although the whole issue of the key-safe seems to now be getting unnecessarily complicated.

Another lonely journey out into a dark and soggy evening for my latest hospital visit. It’s a happy enough hour chatting about the day’s events. Matters fiscal and the whole seemingly massively over-complicated matter of this key-safe takes up much of the time, as do my own shortcomings. This is due to my reluctance to interfere in the first instance by contacting the managing agents of the flats, and seems to disappoint mum greatly, even though I maintain that me ringing them up in addition to Social Services will probably only confuse matters.

Mum’s fellow patient across the room is being moved to another ward which makes mum a little sad, but she has her contact numbers and seems to have made a new friend. I take a punt and buy another six days TV (so she’s almost bound to be released tomorrow now…) and finish the hour explaining the little I have managed to learn about Endochrinology.

It’s an education this hospital lark.

FEB 03 2011

The feelings of fatigue and the sense of endlessness of the situation are making things seem a little bleak and hopeless at home at the moment. Mum’s early morning call this morning is mostly to tell of how much she appreciated the cheese last night. The 11.15ish call is to remind me that I have a Radio Times in the car for her, request more cheese tonight, and to tell me she’s chatted to the nice new doctor and she’s definitely not going home today, although sis may finally get the telephone call from the doctor that she’s been trying to get for a while now. Later on, after I’ve just been summoned to a work meeting early next week (as ever, brilliantly timed), I get a call from that jolly nice Social Worker who is trying to sort out things with Age Concern and the managing agents which mostly seems to involve me needing to be at certain places at certain times and writing various cheques.

Whoopee!

Age Concern ring and will fit the key-safe first thing tomorrow as long as they can be met by my chequebook (with me tagging along, I suppose) to pay for it. I venture out in the gales for my usual evening visit, which starts off well enough despite strange new occupants on the ward with “odd” ways. Cheese and the solution of the key-safe problem are happily discussed, but things take a more frustrating turn when I explain the business trip that has been thrust upon me.

The “petulant child” emerges when it transpires that mum might not get things completely her own way when it comes to her departure from hospital. She seems to think that if she (metaphorically) snaps her fingers, then I should come running. Bitter experience, and the fact that I have a job to do, has taught me that these things are seldom instantaneous in hospitals and several hours may well elapse before all the paperwork and drugs are in order and she would finally be good to go. Of course the hospital staff’s jobs always trump mine in mum’s eyes as she thinks I should happily sit there waiting for a whole afternoon because it’s not fair of me to expect that they (i.e. those with important work to do as opposed to the pointless way I choose to waste my days) aren’t able to narrow down timescales and give me even the roughest of estimates about such things.

I suggest that the GMF might just attend during his normal visiting times to keep her company for a while on such an afternoon, but she says she wouldn’t ask him to do that because “he’s done enough” apparently - again trumping my own feeble efforts – although I, of course, would still be expected to.

I do feel compelled to point out that it’s my job that is currently providing the cash that I’ve been forking out hand over fist to keep things going during this whole saga, but I resist it. Instead I try to get her not to worry about anything, tell her that it’s everyone else’s problem, not hers, but I think I fail to convince her, and I leave feeling utterly frustrated with her.

Again.

I get home and the beloved is incredibly supportive and prepared to fight my corner even if I won’t. Later on sis rings – I suspect in response to her own dealings with mum tonight - and we have a long chat about all sorts of stuff (some of it less than complimentary), and including some details about her telephone conversation with mum’s doctor which has proved quite enlightening at least…

FEB 04 2011

Out early to battle through traffic and grotty old weather to meet up with the chap from Age Concern who is actually on time (which surprises me) and has his own family issues to contend with up in Scotland, so it’s not just us (although I never really thought it was…). He tells me that they are available for all sorts of odd jobs which might be useful to know some day and I leave him fitting the safe as requested, and very impressed with how pleasant these people who do charity work can be. It does at least put my own sense of futility and my growing sense of bitter cynicism about this whole saga in some kind of perspective.

Mum’s ten o’clock call is much more “understanding” in tone. I suspect sis may have had “words”.

On occasions, like tonight, the evening visit can be a much more pleasant affair, and whilst mum is still understandably worrying about all sorts of things, my mantra is currently “until you’re actually in your home, there’s nothing you can do about any of it, so try not to worry” which even the nurse agreed with as she took mum’s blood pressure. I cut mum’s fingernails and we talk about the care situation and matters financial, both of which fall precisely under the scope for which the mantra is designed. I decide to have a day off from all visiting tomorrow, and this is generally well received. Like I say, I think someone has had “words” with her.

Which brings us to the end of week ten of our unfolding tale, with still more to come, it would seem… I keep hoping (for all our sakes) that I can round this all off pretty soon, but like the climax of an action movie, the unexpected problems just keep on coming and there’s always one more twist in the tale…