Mum Gives Us Another Fright (Part 2)

Mum Gives Us Another Fright (Part 2)

Mum stayed in hospital for another 24 hours. We were back with lunch and supper on the Sunday, and I was with Mum to hold her hand whilst another doctor inserted the cannula, ready for the blood transfusion.  Mum hated it, but once it was in, and bandaged to hold everything in place, it was more bearable.

We left Mum at about 9.30 p.m. - still the unit of blood had not arrived, but everyone was so exhausted, we had to entrust her to the care of the nursing staff.  In the end, we found out they had done a really good job.

The next morning, the lady in the bed opposite told me Mum had become very upset when the transfusion started, and the staff had been worried she would try to disconnect the line; there could have been "blood on the carpet," and not much going into Mum.  A member of staff sat with her for four hours, until the transfusion was complete.

When I arrived to give Mum her breakfast, the cannula had been removed, and she was feeling much happier. The doctor came round and said they results from the latest blood test showed her iron levels were up enough for her to be discharged to the GP's care; they would prescribe oral iron medication for her to take at home.  The pharmacist came up to see me; I explained the difficulty Mum has swallowing pills, and he could provide us with ferrous fumarate syrup.

We got home at about 6.00 p.m. on the Monday night.  Mum had dinner, and got back to bed, and then slept for about 14 hours.  This time we weren't worried; we reckoned she had been awake most of Sunday night through to Monday morning, and had had virtually no sleep for the rest of the day; she had also had a three and a half hour wait in the discharge lounge for an ambulance to bring her home. She slept peacefully and soundly.  She missed breakfast on Tuesday morning, but when she got up at lunch time, she was quite rejuvenated, and back to her old self - including, on occasions, alternating between Dr Jekyll and Mrs Hyde. It was  such a relief to have her home again, we were all happy to put up with her moods and her foibles.

Mum Gives Us Another Fright (Part 1)

Mum Gives Us Another Fright (Part 1)

Saturday evening, 16 September.

Mum had been up, bright and early - had breakfast, had her usual morning nap, and up again at lunch time.  I made her dinner - her favourite, cauliflower cheese ("With pepper?!" Mum always asks.  "Of course - with pepper!" I reply). We had a little sing afterwards, and then Mum felt ready to rest her leg (as she puts it) and have another lie down.   The carers came back at 7.30 to get her up for supper, but Mum was fast asleep, so we decided it would be best to let her sleep on for another hour or so - and I said, we'd get her up later on.

Well, later on came and went; the carers returned at 10.30 p.m. for what is normally the bed call, and still Mum was fast asleep; she would not - could not? - wake up. By now, we were all concerned, and the carers rang for an ambulance. This arrived swiftly; Mum was stretchered to the ambulance, and presently we set off for the hospital.  It was like a re-run of the 15 July; we got to A& E, Mum woke up and once again, the doctors ran all the tests on Mum.  This time, however, they were concerned about the results of the ECG, and the troponin blood test result was giving cause for concern. One doctor said, "For the moment, we'll treat it like a heart attack."

This really struck a chill of fear into us. I'd already been asked by the ambulance crew about a "Do Not Resuscitate" decision and, from the time when my husband died from a massive heart attack, I know precisely how violent the attempts to get someone back to life can be.  I just prayed we hadn't reached that stage, but knew I'd have to think about it.

More tests were carried out, including X-ray and further blood tests. One member of the family was with Mum all the time - we couldn't leave her alone, and in any case, she wasn't capable of telling the doctors how she was feeling.

In the end, two of us went a total of 25 hours without sleep.  It was really shattering but, at the time, you just keep going somehow, and let your body start asking questions about what you're doing to it, later!

At last the second Troponin blood test result arrived; it showed Mum hadn't had a heart attack, but the other worrying thing was that her iron levels were dangerously low.  She was admitted to a ward called the Medical Receiving Unit, and at last we could all take turns getting a couple of hours sleep.

I got back to the ward early on the Sunday morning; a young male nurse was feeding Mum corn flakes, and they were both doing pretty well - it was good to see Mum wasn't being left to her own devices!  I was happy to take over, and I also made sure Mum took her pills - that had been a step too far for the nurse; and I was also there when the doctor came on his rounds.

Because Mum's iron levels were so low, she needed a blood transfusion; the doctor said they would start off with one unit, delivered very slowly over four hours, and then check her iron levels; if necessary, they would continue with an infusion of iron, but it was a case of seeing how we got on.

With the doctor on one side of the bed, and me on the other, with Mum lying in between us, he then asked me about putting a Do Not Resuscitate instruction on Mum's file. I do understand that with someone of Mum's age, teams may be reluctant to do everything they can, to recover someone from a heart attack; but I did not want to rush Mum into expiring faster than she might do otherwise!

I said, "I understand my mother hasn't had a heart attack? and I certainly want you to do everything you can to help her!"

"Oh, yes," the doctor agreed, "we aren't putting her on an end of life pathway....."!!

I was  horrified.  "I should hope not!" I protested, "We're all going for Tea at the Ritz on Mum's birthday next month!"

Quickly he backtracked. "Oh, no, we are actively treating her......"

That's what worries me about these instructions on patients' files. You might say "yes" to one thing in a particular circumstance, but you do not want someone else in authority taking it upon themselves to make life and death decisions on behalf of your loved ones.

After the doctor had left, Mum looked at me, clearly upset.  She said, "Is this the hospital where they do you in?"

"No, it is not!" I said firmly.  "It's the hospital where you're going to get the best treatment - and then you're coming home."

So the moral of this particular little episode is:  Hospital staff should always remember patients may seem deaf, daft or demented, but they can still take in what is being said about them at their bedside. And it can cause a lot of distress.

...And Something More About My Grandma - The Last Of The Old Victorians

.....And something more about my Grandma - The Last Of The Old Victorians

My Grandma was born in 1893; for me, she was a wonderful link with the past.

Her father, Wilson Silver Thompson, was born in 1860, in Ulverston. He was in love with a young woman called Jessie and wanted to marry her, but they had a falling out, with the result that to get over his broken heart, my Great-grandfather went off to sea for several years, in steam-assisted ships.

He reached Brisbane, and wanted to settle in Australia, but then came the news that his mother was very ill, so immediately he started the journey back to England.  He got home in time, and before she died, his mother introduced him to Elizabeth Fraser; the legend has it that she put Elizabeth's and Wilson's hands together in hers, and said, "It would make me very happy."

Wilson and Elizabeth were married for 10 years, and had four children: three girls and a son, Henry. Sadly, he died in infancy, but Maud, Alice and Win all survived, and lived long lives.  My Grandma said she had been told that when her mother found out she was expecting another baby, her reaction was always, "My arms will be full again...." so I think she must have been a very loving lady.

When my Grandma was 6, her mother died of erysipelas, leaving her father a relatively young widower, with three young daughters to look after.  His next course of action was to remarry - and he chose his first love, Jessie.

It was Jessie who decided that she did not want to bring up three children from her husband's first marriage; he could keep one. Wilson told Jessie she could choose which daughter would stay at home with them, and her logic was impeccable. Maud, being the eldest, could remember her Mother; that could prove awkward. Win, the youngest, was still quite the baby, and was probably too much trouble; my Grandma, Alice, at 6, was old enough to do more for herself and, most importantly, she could not remember her Mother. Maybe it was the shock of Elizabeth dying so young, but whatever the reason, my Grandma was always sad that she had no personal memories of her mother.

Maud and Win were sent to live with a maiden aunt and uncle - Elizabeth Fraser's brother and sister. From all accounts, their home life was spartan and, even allowing for the way of life at the time, the sisters were not allowed much freedom.

On the other hand, my Grandma did not have a happy childhood either, living at home with her father and stepmother. Jessie resented her husband's previous life with Elizabeth, and my Grandma was not well treated by her - she was physically beaten for misdemeanours, and heavily bruised on many occasions.  As she got older, her father discovered what was happening, things improved; but life was still hard for a little girl.

Maud and Win never married. I know many young women never found a husband after the First World War, but I fear Maud and Win put much of that misfortune down to the fact that they had not been allowed to remain at home with their father. My Grandma was the only one to get married -otherwise I would not be writing this blog! She also had three children: Austen, who was born in 1917; my Mum, Phyllis, born in 1919, and my Uncle John, who was born in 1923.

In 1938, still only 20, Austin died of pneumonia, and in 1943, my Grandfather had an accident at work. He fell hit his head; he was conscious, and taken to hospital for observation, but in those days, not many investigations were carried out/ There was internal bleeding, and he died a few days later.

My Mum had married my father in 1941; in 1943, he was a prisoner of war in Germany, so it was just my Grandma, my Mum and Uncle John who stuck together as a family, and carried on.

The war ended in 1945; I was born in 1946, and then followed bitterly cold winters in 1946 and 1947.  My father was offered a job out in East Africa, and so it was decided that the best idea would be to go abroad, escape the weather and rationing, and get some sunshine in our bones.

Despite all that life had thrown at her, my Grandma was determined to make the best of everything; her glass was always half-full.  When her son John also decided to take up a Government job abroad, Grandma was game to go with him.  She started a whole new career as a governess, teaching children at home until they were old enough to be shipped off back to boarding school in the UK.

She was ready for anything. She was a truly inspirational lady.

And this is a poem I wrote as a tribute to her:

The Last Of The Old Victorians

The last of the old Victorians.....
With her, they broke the mould;
Advanced in years she may have been,
But she was never old!

Adventurous to the last degree,
Intrepid as she flew
In jumbo jets and steam railway sets,
But fear she never knew.

She said, "When you reach my age,
You know the worst may never be."
She did not rise to meet disaster,
But accepted stoically

Everything that life threw at her;
And though at times she cried
When memories engulfed her,
Usually she just smiled.

She was the one who went abroad,
Adventurous to the core;
Who learned to smoke at 52,
And shocked the family bore

By her outspoken truthfulness;
She never held it back,
But said what she thought - it came out pat -
Perhaps she lacked a little tact!

But you could always turn to her;
She was always on your side,
Encouraging, suggesting,
"Take that helter-skelter ride!"

The last of the old Victorians.....
With her, they broke the mould;
Advanced in years she may have been,
But she was never old!

A Prayer

A Prayer

As Mum's moods and dreams are still in my mind, it got me thinking about my own future, and I do hope and pray that as I get older,  I shall be like my Uncle John (Mum's brother), and my Grandma (Mum's mother).  My Grandma lived until she was nearly 92, and died after a fall and breaking her hip.  This was in 1985; she was living abroad, and I remember when Wendy and I went out to visit her, one of the nurses in the hospital where she was recovering from an operation to fit and Richards Pin and Plate, said to me:

"You don't see you Grandmother as a geriatric, do you?"

Was I indignant?  I was!  I remember snapping back, "She's my Grandma. She may be old, but she's not geriatric!"

The nurse sighed and retreated. Obviously, I was not seeing things clearly.  On the other hand, maybe the nurse wasn't looking at Grandma properly.  Grandma might have been laid up after the fall, but she was still full of fun. She was an incorrigible flirt, too. She had a very charming, young (well, 40-ish) physiotherapist who came every day to get her up and walking with a zimmer frame, and he really encouraged her to get going.

Some days were harder than others, but, my word, Grandma did try to persevere.  She stood up in the frame one day, and looked him straight in the eye.

"If I get walking again," she said, "would you go dancing with me?"

Looking straight back at her, he said, "When you get walking again, I'll take you dancing!"

No-one tried harder than Grandma, or was more encouragable.

Uncle John is a real chip off Grandma's block - he's now 94, but with the same naughty sense of humour, a willingness to learn new things - every day is an opportunity, every day is a gift. Wendy goes out to Brisbane every year to spend a holiday with him; like his Mum, he is fun.

My Prayer

I pray that if, when I am old,
And inhabit a world of my own,
It will be a happy place;
Filled with fond memories and
Flowers, picked on sunny days, that
Warm my heart with the sudden awakened
Dreams, that spring
From the hint of old perfumes;

And not a world filled
With sad demons of regret,
Real or imaginary; or
Of old wounds, left unhealed,
To grow and fester in
A confused state of recollection.

If my thoughts be misplaced,
Let them hide and tease,
Dancing in gentle shadows,
Where the sun dapples on soft grass
Beneath a sturdy tree, where
I can lean back against its
Rough bark and dream, contentedly;
And where the world becomes
My world again; and I am who I am,
And where and what I want to be.

Messages From The Other Side

Messages From The Other Side

Mum has always been a bit "fey" - she gets feelings about things, and tries to interpret them - not always correctly!  I am also not averse to listening to a "still small voice," which I trust will guide me wisely and safely through difficult times.

Since she has has lived at home with us, there have been occasions when she is convinced there are - or have been - other people in the room,  when we know no-one else has been in.  It often happens during the day, when she is awake, sitting in the chair and reading a paper, and she will announce, "My Mother's here."  We gently remind Mum that, although her Mother's - my Grandma's - spirit may well have been near her, her Mother died in 1985; she is buried in Liverpool;.

Sometimes Mum accepts a simple explanation; at other times, she is adamant she has seen her Mother, and has talked to her.  On other occasions, she says, "Oh, well, it was my other mother!"

Mum only had my Grandma as her mother, but it may be she gets confused with her Mother's childhood.  My Great-grandfather was married to a lady called Elizabeth Fraser; they had three girls - Maud, born in 1891, Alice (my Grandma) born in 1893, and Win, born in1896.  Sadly, after ten years of marriage, Elizabeth Fraser died, and a year later, my Great-grandfather  married Jessie Stephenson.  So in one way, my Grandma did indeed have two mothers; and by all accounts, her step-mother was not the kindest of women.

Sometimes Mum also has dreams which can be distressing; if I can hear she is in the middle of a night terror, I will go to her, and stay until she calms down and is happy to get back to sleep again.

This inspired the following poem:

Messages From The Other Side

My mother hears voices
Of people long gone
They whisper in her ear
Things that have passed
Or are yet to come

Strange people swirl
In the rooms of her mind
As fearful thoughts
Filled with menace
Take hold and grip

Until gentle words lead her
To a kinder pace
Where benign visitors combine
To sooth and calm
She trusts them to keep her safe

They tell of lottery numbers
And how "the big one"
Will come up and be hers
It brings her joy
And she lives in constant hope