A Hospital Christmas

A Hospital Christmas

I have always enjoyed Christmas. I know some people say the actual day doesn't live up to the anticipation, but I don't know about that; there is a lot to do, but if you get organised, and start nice and early, everything can be accomplished in good time, and I usually have a fairly relaxed day with the family.

One of the things I also love to do, is write letters. Because we lived in so many places, over the years I have "collected" friends - some have stayed closer than others, of course, but I have always enjoyed the challenge of keeping up with folks, and I am regarded by some people as a sort of "hub" -  "Tell Alexandra what we've been up to, " they say," and ask her to write to all the other people that we know, with our news."

And these are just the people I have got to know over the years!

Mum, on the other hand, does not write letters.  However, when she meets people, and gets friendly and chatting, over the fullness of time, she will say, "Oh, do give my daughter your address; she loves writing, and will keep in touch with you."

Needless to say, my list is now an extremely long one.  Apart from Christmas, if possible I make contact with people a few times a  year - Easter, and maybe in the summer as well. If I have been pressed for time, then Christmas is a wonderful season for catching up, and making amends for being a tardy correspondent. With the advent of e-mail, which is cheap - and quick! - I have been known to use it; but I still prefer a letter, or a card, chosen with care, dropping on the mat. Something that one has touched, and written on, always means more to me than a print out from the computer.

As Mum had been in hospital since 4 November, Christmas 2011 was proving to be a challenge. We visited Mum twice a day without fail, to take food to her and keep her cheerful. We never missed a single day (not for us the lines from Gilbert and Sullivan's aria for the Captain of HMS Pinafore.... "What, never?" "No, Never!" "What Never?" "Well, hardly ever!"), and the time had just flown.

I thought, if I could take in steaming dishes for dinner, then instead of just sitting with Mum and watching her eat,  I could also bring Christmas cards and writing paper with me. That year I wrote all the Christmas cards and most of the letters, sitting with Mum.  The nurses thought I was most industrious, but in fact it was quite a pleasure; it gave me a chance to talk to Mum about the people I was writing to and, at that stage, she could remember nearly everybody, and where they had featured in her life.

In the event, all the cards, letters and parcels were sent off in good time.

On Christmas Day,  I prepared the dinner for all the family; we ended up eating later in the day, but first we were at the hospital for Mum, with turkey, roast potatoes and all the vegetables she was fond of. I personally do not like brussels sprouts! but Mum and the rest of the family are keen on them, and it was quite easy to keep us all happy.

The Ward Manager had given us permission to bring in some instruments to provide musical entertainment for the patients, and it went down extremely well. We all donned Santa hats, wound tinsel in our hair and around our shoulders, and started off at the top of the central  aisle of the ward, working our way down past all the bays. I play the piano, but as a big instrument like that was clearly unavailable (a bit reminiscent of "..... I took my harp to a party - but nobody asked me to play!") we made do with acoustic guitars. We all sing; Wendy has a beautiful voice and can sing any descant you can think of. I love performing with Wendy; I stick to the melody and she adds the embellishments!

Patients and nurses joined in the carols, and we also performed some songs from the shows, a bit of country and western and threw in some music hall numbers for good measure.

Every patient on the ward had been given gifts from the hospital, which I thought was a lovely touch;  not everyone had visitors, but no-one was left out.  We also took a bumper box of crackers with us, and anyone who wanted to, or who could, shared a snap and a hat and a little novelty.

I have read that in earlier years, patients in hospital at Christmas would be treated to visits from consultants and senior medical staff, who would provide Christmas dinners and generally spend a lot of time on the wards.  I guess everything changes! but for us, this Christmas was fun, and certainly different from the ones we had celebrated up to then.

Mum Gives Us A Fright

Mum Gives Us A Fright

We'd made plans for Saturday, 15 July, when one of us could have a turn down at the Epping Ongar Railway. It does take some organising, as there always has to be someone with Mum, but we really look forward to having a few hours chuffing along with steam trains. I am not called a Railway Cat for nothing!

Saturday dawned. Two carers, Vicky and Danielle, arrived at about 7.00 a.m. as usual, to get Mum up, washed and dressed, and sitting in the chair, all ready for me to come along and help her to brush her teeth (Mum doesn't like anyone touching her face or her teeth), and make a nice mug of tea and corn flakes for breakfast. 

Saturday proved more complicated. After about half an hour, I was asked to come and help.  In spite of being called, encouraged and cajoled, Mum was not waking up; she just lay in bed, and even when the carers tried putting their arms around Mum to help her to sit up, it was having no effect; she simply lay back on the bed and slept on.  Even my stentorian powers of a trained voice bellowing, "Come on, Mum, it's time to get up now!" had no effect.

The carers were very concerned, because they could hear a trace of a raspy sound as Mum breathed, and it was agreed they would ring the emergency service.  I was very impressed with the calm, swift way they dealt with everything. Vicky rang 999 and explained that Mum was totally unresponsive to them; she was asked to check Mum's breathing and report on the frequency. Within a few minutes, two paramedics arrived by car, and started to carry out tests on Mum; they were swiftly followed by two more paramedics in an ambulance, so she was getting the best attention.  

Soon Mum was carried out to the ambulance; I said I would go with her, and waited whilst the paramedics carried out some more tests. They also got a line into Mum, in case she needed any medication intravenously, and at last we were ready to go.  Mum was tightly strapped in on the stretcher, which was just as well, as we set off at a great lick, flying over the speed control humps on the way.  

Even for reasonably healthy people, the journey was very bumpy. Clinging on to my seat for dear life, I came out with:

"This is really uncomfortable!  I'll bet you hate the humps when you have patients with spinal injuries!"

The paramedic sitting with us in the back of the ambulance turned to me said, 

"Oh, of course, you won't know, will you?  We're blue lighted all the way to the hospital! And, yes, we do hate the humps. Especially when you have an old vehicle like this one.....!"

It was a blessed relief when the ambulance swung into the bay at the A&E Department. Mum was still showing no signs of stirring, so we were clearly headed for the right place, as she was wheeled into the "resus" area.

There were so many things going through my mind at that moment.  I answered all the questions about her general health and medication, and the doctors got on with running multiple tests on Mum.  Within a very short time, she had had an ECG, an X-ray, and enough phials of blood to satisfy the thirstiest vampire.  I was reminded of that wonderful line in The Blood Donor, one of the old Tony Hancock radio programmes from the 1950s and 60s, where Hancock asks indignantly, "A pint? Have you gone raving mad?..... Why, that's very nearly an armful!"

During all this activity, Mum started to stir, and woke up. It was such a relief; she became quite chatty and asked the doctors and nurses attending to her who they were and where they came from - when two of them said, "Italy," Mum was delighted, and went on to tell them we'd been there too, and how much we had liked it.  Mum was quite lucid, and answered various questions, telling them her date of birth and where she was born.  She couldn't understand how she had come to be in hospital, though, and I explained how worried we had been, when she wouldn't wake up.

It was decided to do a CT scan of Mum's head, and in the meantime, we were moved out of the Re-sus area, and taken to a bay in the Majors area of A&E.  You could not fault the care Mum was given, or the speed of its delivery.

At this point, I needed to get home for something to eat and drink. Another member of the family arrived, with toothpaste and toothbrush for Mum, so we managed to freshen her up and get her teeth cleaned, and then I could go home for an hour or so.

Whilst I was away, Mum had the CT scan, after which she became very sleepy once more; in the end, she slept in A&E for a further 2 hours. Whilst Mum snoozed on, the results came back from the lab.  There was no  obvious reason why Mum had been so unresponsive earlier; the blood tests were fine, the X-ray was clear, the ECG showed nothing unusual and the CT scan gave no cause for concern either.

I was ready to return to the hospital, when I got a call to say Mum was being discharged, and there would be a letter going to her GP, requesting further monitoring tests. I went back to A&E and ordered a wheelchair taxi, and Mum  was back home by 1.00 p.m. - just the right time for lunch, of course, except that we hadn't had breakfast yet!

With everything that had happened in the morning, all the other calls for carers to come in had been cancelled; now that we were back home so much earlier than we had thought possible, I rang Vicky at Home Sweet Home Care, to ask if there was any chance at all of someone coming in to help get Mum washed and dressed, and bless them, within half an hour, another carer called Debbie arrived, whom Mum knows well, and she carried out the complete morning call routine. Home Sweet Home really live up to their name, and  Mum is never looked at as just "a slot to be filled on the rota..."

And so we carried on as usual.  We had breakfast at lunch time; Mum had her afternoon nap as she always does, and then we had tea and cake at supper time.  At all events, we had a totally different Saturday to the one planned - a case of "The best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft agley!"

Although she seemed a little bit dozier than she normally is, it isn't that unusual for Mum to have "I'm tired" days, and we are still no wiser as to why she was totally unresponsive to all blandishments  in the morning.  Maybe her brain had switched off in some way?

Whatever the cause, at the moment we don't have an answer - and we don't like mysteries!

It's Not What You Say, It's The Way That You Say It......

It's Not What You Say, It's The Way That You Say It.......

In spite of having dementia, Mum can learn new things. 

It's Not What You Say, It's The Way That You Say It.....

My daughter Wendy has a pussy cat, called Artemis. Mum knows nothing about Greek mythology, and there is no way she would learn or remember that name, so I had to think of a way to help her. A simplified version of the name would do so, along with some miming, I set about trying to get the name to stay in her memory. I hit on the idea of pretending to hold a palette, and mimed mixing paints and then making extravagant brush strokes in the air.

Mum enjoyed this as a game; we have played charades in the past.  

Alex:  "What am I doing?"

Mum: "Oh, you're drawing!"

Alex:  "Right! And what do you call people who make drawings?"

Mum:  "Artists!" 

Alex:  "That's it! And that is what Wendy's pussy cat is called - Artist."

And so Artemis became Artist in Mum's head; and that was close enough.

When Mum is drinking her tea, we help her to finish it by suggesting she has one mouthful in turn for all the pussycats. As I've mentioned before, we do "rounds," mentioning all the cats in turn; occasionally, Mum forgets the name "Artist." 

If you then say, "Have a drink for Wendy's pussy cat - what is she called?" Mum may or may not come out with the right name - it is a bit hit and miss, and can sometimes elicit all sorts of strange, totally unrelated names: "Liverpool....." "....Australia...." "......Morrisons..." (Where did that come from?!)

If, however, you phrase it with a bit of a lilt, and emphasis on certain words:

"Let's have one for Wendy and Al's pussy cat; what's her name?" Mum will invariably say, "Artist!" 

Great praise all round for her good memory, and another mouthful of tea goes down.

Mum's Matchmaking

Mum's Matchmaking

My Uncle John is Mum's brother, and he lives in Brisbane.  Since his wife (Aunt Marguerite) died in 2003, he has been very lonely; he has no grandchildren.  He manages very well, still drives and looks after himself in a retirement unit, but he would love to have a nice lady friend, to enjoy outings with, take out for lunch and maybe go to the cinema with occasionally.

Mum is aware of his situation, and tries her best to get him matched up with any lady that comes into her life.

Scene:  Mum is being taken to the bathroom by a young carer.

Mum:
My brother's looking for a wife, you know....

Carer:
Is  he?

Mum
Oh, yes.  Since his wife died, he's very lonely.  He hasn't got anyone.

Carer
That's a shame

Mum
You'd be a nice wife for him.  He'd like you, and you'd have a lovely life with John.

Carer
But I'm afraid I'm married already.

Mum
Oh, that doesn't matter!

Alex (who has been listening to this exchange, and decides to rescue the carer)
Mum, this young lady is a bit young for Uncle John, you know.

Mum
Why?

Alex
Well, he's 94 now......

Mum (pausing to think for a moment)
Well, I know he's fond of Wendy, and she goes out to see him all the time....... He could marry Wendy.

Alex
Mum, Wendy does love Uncle John, like a grand-daughter would, but she is his great niece! She's a close relative, and in any case, she is 50 years younger than Uncle John.

Mum (looking at Alex - and a light bulb moment happens)
Oh, I see..... Well, he can marry you, then!

Young carer and Alex collapse into laughter.  Mum still thinks she has had a brilliant idea!