Having A Run-In With Authority (1)

Having A Run-In With Authority (1)

With Christmas behind us, and the New Year also duly celebrated with Mum in hospital, 2012 was clearly going to present some major obstacles to be overcome.

We realised Mum could not go back to her old home - there were too many stairs and it was too far away for it to be practical for one of us to be there with her all the time.

Equally, because of work commitments, it was going to take longer than I guess anyone wanted, to achieve a smooth move; we were not going to be rushed.

Physiotherapy continued, but because of Mum's fear and reluctance to make an effort, progress was slow.  She was fitted with a moon boot, but found it very painful to wear. Her left hip had stopped hurting her so much, but her right knee could still cause her gyp, and she kept saying that at 92, she couldn't do so much; however, after all these protests, on another day she would suddenly be convinced she would soon be able to get back to walking five miles a day!

Mum certainly used to be a great walker.  Before her accident, she would often walk from her maisonette in Southsea to the hospital - and that really was a long way! I'm not sure if she just wanted to save the bus fare, or simply enjoyed a day in the fresh air. She would take rests on the way, get talking to people and then tell me she had got their address, and wanted me to write to them.  (As I've mentioned before, this is how my Christmas card list got longer and longer, every year!)

I kept encouraging her to believe that if she could only conquer her initial fears, she would indeed be up and walking again. I was careful not to be too specific or ambitious about distances, but I reckoned the more we could convince her to try and have confidence to weight bear, the greater the chance we would have of success.

Although progress was slow, she did seem to be getting the idea; that is, until one morning, whilst I was with Mum after helping her to finish her breakfast, the Doctor came on the ward round, closely followed by his entourage of Ward Manager and senior nursing staff.

He arrived at Mum's bed; she did her usual "Good morning! And where are you from?" routine - Mum always asks where people come from. He hardly looked at her, and just kept his eyes down, reading through her notes.  (This of course was before the "Hello, my name is......." campaign that took off in 2013, and encourages health care professionals to introduce themselves properly to patients).  At last he spoke to her, and asked her how she was feeling.

"I'm fine, thank you," said Mum, very brightly and hopefully, "and I'm looking forward to getting out of hospital, and walking again."

The Doctor perused Mum's notes for another moment or two, and then delivered his prognosis:

"You will never walk again." He was almost smiling as he said it, and as his words sank in, I saw the look on Mum's face.  She was so crushed, and I thought, "How can you say that to someone?"

Without stopping to think, I came out with, "How dare you say that?  Only God decides what will happen to us, and whether my mother will walk or not.  Who do you think you are?  God?"

It was a fortunate that Mum's bed was the last one in the six-bed room on the round.  The Ward Manager's face was a picture: shock, horror, disbelief that this crazy woman had dared to confront the Doctor with such a rebuke.  The nursing staff swiftly closed ranks around the Doctor and hustled him off to the next room, without so much as a backward glance at me, or at Mum, who was still looking stricken.

She said, "I will walk, won't I?"

"Of course you will," I assured her. I could not know at that time whether that would be true or not, but what on earth is the point of causing distress to a lady of 92? Hope springs eternal, and should not be extinguished.

Years later, when Mum was attending an appointment at another hospital, we came across this Doctor again.  He was charm personified, and I thought perhaps he had decided to change his manner, and the way he interacted with patients;  then I realised he had not recognised Mum, and had not got a clue who I was.  Just as well, really!