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