Have we reached the final part? We left off part way through the twelfth week, with my sister having left her faraway home and firmly ensconced in mum’s flat, waiting to assist her with adjusting to the world outside the hospital again. Mum’s release is supposedly “imminent”. Will there be one final twist in the tale of our sorry saga before it reaches it’s inevitable conclusion?
FEB 15 2011
Day 80. Sis rings 9.20AM. Mum and the GMF have been pestering her for hours already to try to get her to persuade me to ring the Social Services. I explain that I think this is pointless because we are only just into office hours and people need to be allowed to do their jobs. Mum leaves 2 messages in similar vein whilst I’m talking to sis, and rings me again two minutes later and seems less than chuffed when I explain my position. All-in-all this is not an encouraging start to the day.
Then it all goes very quiet and I’m left to stew in my own juices and hover next to the phone in the expectation that it will ring at any moment which doesn’t help me to focus on my work. I imagine that sis is doing an afternoon visit as the GMF is reportedly unwell, but I sit at home quietly getting annoyed about the sense I’m getting that my mother and the GMF seems to be of the collective opinion that the continuance of her hospital stay is somehow all down to me and my less than proactive nature, and that she would have been home weeks ago if only I’d made a phone call or two. Nothing to do with her health or any doctors at all then…?
Strangely today the NHS is getting a mauling in the news for how it cares for the elderly, but I’m starting to think that that’s going to turn out to be my fault as well. I feel like I’m unravelling.
Meanwhile, from the tone of her post-visiting phone call, sis seems to be getting frustrated by it all, but it’s not as if I didn’t warn her. I think I might have said this before but, welcome, as the saying goes, to my world. She’s had a frustrating day getting nowhere and things have taken a darker turn. It seems that because sis failed to appear with any cheese for mum a small riot started to brew up and was only avoided when a nurse mentioned that there was some in the fridge left over from the latest meal service. I noticed for the first time only a couple of days ago mum’s missing or broken tooth because it’s taken that long for her to smile, but sis hadn’t seen it during her stay after New Year either, so this is obviously a recent thing that neither of us knew about. Mum has also been accosted/molested by her new neighbour in the next bed today which has led to altercations and remonstrations. Hell really can be other people.
FEB 16 2011
Sis rings 9.30AM(ish) after having been talked into calling Social Services and now knows that mum is “on the list” for release and due a visit today. This would seem to represent a step forward in the “imminent departure” stakes, but, as ever, the cynic in me refuses to believe it until she’s actually sitting inside the car. We have, after all, been here before.
A later call, which turns into a lengthy chat about many issues, some of them which don’t show the better sides of my nature, tells me that the Social Worker has been to see mum this morning and that she will “definitely” be home before the weekend (although she was “definitely” going to be home before Christmas, so I’m still not holding my breath… Maybe I should start digging a trench? They never actually said which Christmas, of course…).
Mum rings and tells me that she’s had 3 visits this morning. Firstly the Social Worker (which I knew about), then the Care Team Nurse who says that she will see her “at home” next week, and finally from the Intermediate Care Worker who has given her prescription for a bathroom stool which will need collecting sometime. Things actually do seem to be in motion at last…
The afternoon brings the less than gratefully received (by mum anyway, as she hates change) news that she is to be relocated to a rehabilitation ward, presumably ready to be let back into an unsuspecting world, and a more positive call later tells me to check that she’s actually been moved before leaving for my visit, how wonderful the GMF is for doing her packing, and that she felt more comfortable with the frame rather than the pair of sticks – someone came from the destination ward to check this apparently - and so the sticks are gone.
Dashing around before it was time to go for the evening visit so I didn't get a chance to call first, and optimistically went to the “wrong” ward, but, as I met my sister by the lift, it wasn’t just me. Just under an hour with mum waiting in limbo to be relocated and none too pleased about it. The Social Services still think it might be “a few days” due to it being a ward where people are assessed on their ability to cope alone. There may be exams… Still, the GMF has packed her bags for her (with only a few slight omissions), and there was some chat about planning life at home and we kept trying to distract her from the subject of the “unfortunate” neighbour. I did also get an acknowledgement that my now regular observation that we really must let things unfold at their own pace was probably right.
A latish call informs me that the move to the new ward is complete and that this latest ward is very nice. As ever, it’s fear of the unknown that makes her awkward, I feel.
FEB 17 2011
A morning call from mum tells me that she’s had a good night’s sleep and has managed to transfer her TV across by herself. You are expected to do more for yourself on that ward, apparently. We discuss the fact that I might not see her today to take advantage of my sister’s presence to take the pressure off, unless of course the decision is made for her to go home, which, of course, would be another matter entirely.
Sis rings at 4.00PM to tell me she’s collected the prescribed stool (from a different supplier I knew nothing of) and tells me of the many calls that she has received today (including an elderly lady ringing her as a wrong number at 5.00AM and then pressing redial a further 4 times… Sigh!), and that she has made arrangements to stay up north a little longer if necessary due to all the continuing delays in mum’s release. Other matters are discussed, and we have a moment of fiscal panic when it dawns on me that the TV will run out tonight and I wasn’t planning on visiting and, for a second, it looks as if I will have to go after all, but sis finds enough coins in the dark depths of her purse to save the day. The cost of failure would be more than we could bear…
After my evening in, a phone call from sis to discuss yet more issues and worries about mum’s future home life, mostly about whether mum’s prepared to put the effort in with things like improved diet and so forth, but both of us are still none the wiser and befuddled when we sign off. All I know at the moment is that if mum really doesn’t make any effort to help herself and ends up in hospital for the third time, I genuinely, genuinely don’t know if I can cope with it again.
FEB 18 2011
Day 83. A Friday. A social worker rings me and tells me that mum can be sent home early afternoon tomorrow if they’ve got the meds and the ambulance sorted. The carers are in place for 8.45AM, 11.45AM, 4.30PM and 8.15PM. The thing that’s delaying it until tomorrow is the ambulance availability issue, and so, when I suggest that either sis or myself can collect her in a car, enquiries need to be made to look into the possibility of the release happening today, possibly around 6.30PM. The Social Worker rings off so that she can call the ward to check. I briefly ring sis to put her on standby and try to keep the line clear, but then mum rings and I have to tell her to go away as I’m waiting for a call. The care package is for transfers, meals, commode hygiene, catheter care and mobility issues, so that all seems fine and dandy. Ten minutes later and it seems we’re good to go for this evening and we’ll need to ring the ward before we set off, just to check everything is in place and possibly arrange for a wheelchair to be available. I then (of course) forget to ask one vital question, “Has the care package also been brought forward?” and so have to wait for another call back, which, when it comes, gives me some further useful information like contact numbers for the carers. In the meanwhile, sis has gone out for one “final afternoon of peace” and tells me that mum had complained at me cutting short her call; “He says he’s waiting for Social Services to ring!” “That’s because he’s waiting for Social Services to ring…” sis replied. Mum has also cancelled the GMF from doing his afternoon visit, as usual jumping the gun as she hadn’t been told at that point that her release wasn’t due until at least 6.30PM, and, despite not actually being dressed yet, she’s packed her bags. Will she never learn? Later on she changes her mind and the GMF visits after all...
It all goes very quiet during the afternoon. Too quiet. Still, I’m able to get on with my work (despite sudden power outages really not helping), so it’s probably a good thing. Sis rings me after she returns from her peaceful afternoon and the situation remains at “go” and so we formulate a plan of action and exchange the various details we’ve individually accrued. There needs to be a call made before we leave just to check that everything’s still on track and sis volunteers to do that and indeed, at about 5 o’clock she does, and we are still at “go, go, go!”. Surely, it's too late now for things to change...?
I load up the car with all mum’s valuables that I’d removed from the flat for safety (and witness one of those two cars nose-to-nose with neither of them willing to back up moments which goes on for five minutes – but that’s another story…) before heading to the supermarket for a swift shopping session to get mum bread, milk, cheese and other perishables to see her through the weekend. Oh, and in a moment of inspiration, one of those plug night-lights for the flat. I also grab sis and I some sandwiches as we’re unlikely to get much chance to eat in the coming hours. Sis and I meet in the car park and transfer mum’s things (including her Christmas presents) safely to the more secure boot of her car and, after a brief moment to reflect on matters, we take a deep breath and head inside.
Mum is sitting in her chair, fed, dressed and just about ready to go. Sis delivers the socks she was asked to bring and mum’s outdoor shoes are then slowly (and with difficulty as mum’s feet have swollen from underuse) added to complete the ensemble. After a few ‘I’s are dotted and ‘T’s crossed, mum is placed into a wheelchair and, bidding farewell to some of the rather excellent staff on that particular ward, with a hope that they won’t be seeing her back there any time soon (which I think was meant in the best possible way…) we head back out into a corridor to anticipate going into the great outdoors. Sis fetches her silver car (“Thunderbird 1”) and we transfer mum into it and I load up my green car (“Thunderbird 2”) with the luggage and her walker, and follow along behind them (after having returned the wheelchair). Strangely, memories of that same road ten weeks ago, heading in the opposite direction after the ambulance was called, come flooding back to me as I drive along. It’s funny, that. I’ve driven that way many times in between, but it was only tonight that it all came back to me.
I arrive at the flat in time to hand mum her walker for her to attempt the epic walk up the corridor to her home, and an evening of readjusting her to the ways of the world and her old/new environment. After an hour or so, I leave sis and mum to it as they anticipate the arrival of the first of the carers, and head home and back to relative normality. I make a swift call as I arrive as I’d forgotten to mention a couple of things, and sis tells me that the carer has just arrived. Later on, as I doze in front of the telly, there’s another call. This time it’s mum, happy enough and safely tucked up in her own bed at last.
So, after all that I’ve told you about, mum is finally home.
Now the fun really begins…
But that’s another story! I’m rather hoping that this is the end of our sorry little saga for a while, although, as regular readers will know, mum has been home before during these events, so nothing is certain. This has been a very personal journey that I’ve been sharing with you, and I know that one or two people felt that they were being a little intrusive as they read it, but I hope you haven’t been too appalled at my indiscretions. I tried to keep it honest, and, perhaps at times I was rather TOO honest, but I’m hoping that these diaries will prove to be a useful document for me (and hopefully for my sister as well) to refer to over the coming months and years to help keep a sense of proportion and reality as the memory of a rather difficult time begins to fade. For those of you who have joined me along the way, thank you for your interest, and I hope, truly I do, that we won’t need to be adding any further chapters any time soon.
