Hiccups In Rehab

Hiccups In Rehab

Every morning, I was at the hospital bright and early, helping Mum to get her teeth brushed, followed by sitting with her whilst she ate her cornflakes. We would have a chat until about 10.00 a.m., when I would leave her with a daily newspaper, a good programme on the t.v., and jam sandwiches for lunch. It wasn't every patient who got home-made strawberry jam or ginger jam sandwiches! I would then go back home and get on with preparing the dinner and catching up on the housework.  Time really flew.

Mum liked a few chocolates to nibble on, and one day I left her with a large, 24 piece tray of Ferrero Roche chocolates; I thought she would dip into them occasionally, when she felt like it.

When I got back to Mum later that afternoon, she was looking decidedly peaky.

"I don't feel very well," she said. "I feel awfully sick."

She certainly wasn't up to eating her dinner.  I spoke to the nursing staff, and we agreed I'd stay with her for an hour or two, and see how she was feeling after that. In the end, Mum wasn't sick; we talked about this and that, and I told her how the pussy cats were getting on, and how much they were missing her. She washed her hands and face, and we talked some more, and it all took her mind off the nausea.

It was whilst I was trying to be entertaining - and distracting - that I noticed a large square plastic box sticking out of the rubbish bin.  It was the empty container that only that morning had held 24 chocolates. Mum had scoffed the lot.

I asked her, "Mum - you know I left you a tray of chocolates this morning....?"

I'll never know exactly what she remembered, but suddenly she looked as though something had clicked in her mind.

"Yes," she said, "you gave me some of my favourites.  I only had one or two.  They were lovely."

"Mum, I think you had more than just one or two..... I think you ate the lot!"

"No, I didn't!" She was adamant.

Well, it was no good arguing. By the time I left, although she hadn't fancied any dinner, her tummy had clearly settled down, and she felt fine again.

This was another occasion when it was clear her mind was playing tricks; it also was one more sign that I couldn't rely on as fact, what Mum said she had done, or believed had happened to her. It was a lesson for me, too; in future, I would have to go on what I knew to be true and, on a practical level, not to leave out too much of anything for her to gorge on.

Heading For Home (Part 1)

Heading For Home (Part 1)

After nearly three months, at last the day came for Mum's move to the rehab hospital, where we hoped she would receive more physiotherapy and be encouraged to regain as much mobility as possible.

I was very impressed with the hospital; more like a hotel than a medical facility, Mum was given a beautiful single room, with en suite bathroom, and flat screen television.  As a child in East Africa, I wasn't brought up with television, but I do think some of the programmes are brilliant, and since she returned to England, Mum has become a t.v. enthusiast. Once settled in her room, she was in her element, following Murder She Wrote with Angela Lansbury as Jessica Fletcher; Midsomer Murders with John Nettles and John Thaw as Morse.  She watched any and all animal programmes on the go, and another favourite was Homes Under the Hammer, in which the presenters follow people who have bought houses at auction, and see how their plans for doing up the properties have turned out.

After she got divorced, Mum did a lot of that. In the  1960s, living abroad, and as a (newly) single woman, it was extremely difficult for her to obtain a mortgage, but eventually she got one, and managed to move in to a very modest house in Durban and, even though she was working full time as well, found the time to turn it into a little show place.  She has always had good taste, knows what furnishings and fabrics will "go," and was quite a dab hand at painting and decorating.  Slowly she worked her way through several properties, taking a year or three to refurbish them, and then selling them for a small profit, until, at last, she was able to buy the place she finally settled in.  It wasn't big, but my Grandma could join her there, and they could help each other.  Mum carried on working, Grandma did the shopping and helped around the house.  By then, I was back in England, so they were also company for each other.

After Mum's move to rehab, life also became easier for me. The hospital was only a short drive from home, so although I was still taking in Mum's food every day, it was a matter of just a few minutes' travelling.  I didn't know I was born!

I was also present when the physiotherapists visited Mum, and took her to the treatment room.  Mum had been given a moon boot, which she found very uncomfortable to wear, but when she did agree to put it on, she was encouraged to hold on to parallel bars and walk a few steps.

I knew she wanted to walk, but the combination of fear about her ankle not being strong enough to bear her weight, her fear that her heart was weak, and sometimes sheer determination not to co-operate, meant  progress was painfully slow.  Sometimes, too, the physiotherapists would come into Mum's room very early in the morning, and breezily suggest a session in the gym.  Mum's response was that it was too early (probably true for her - 8.30 a.m. was for Mum, getting up in the cold light of dawn!) and the Physiotherapists said that, if they could, they would come back later. I am sure their intentions were good, but that rarely, if ever, happened.  There were some 30 patients on the ward, all needing treatment and, as the day wore on, it was clear Mum had missed her slot.
 
Nevertheless, it was a good place to be; and the whole atmosphere was geared to the thought of getting back home.

We had home visits from an occupational therapist who viewed the room Mum would be in; there had to be enough space for a hoist, and they would also provide a glidabout commode, which  forever after has been referred to as The Glider..."   (coming in to land!); it was also good that Mum's room was on the ground floor, as it would be easy for carers to wheel her into the downstairs bathroom for toiletting and washing.

Gradually, everything fell in to place. The other very important piece of furniture we needed to buy, was a good bed.  There was no financial help for this; the reasoning was, you would have to have some sort of a bed anyway, so it was up to the family to provide it.

Although the OT said a single divan would be fine, we quickly realised that if Mum was going to be hoisted in and out of bed, and perhaps given bed baths, it would be to everyone's advantage if she had a bed with controls to enable it to be raised up and down. I didn't want anyone putting their back out whilst attending to Mum. After checking all the options, we bought a hospital bed, but one with wooden head and footboards, so it didn't look cold or as clinical as the metal framed beds you see in hospital wards; it also had a controller to change the positions and height electronically.  Not being very keen on trying to assemble the bed ourselves, we also paid for the company to send an engineer to do it for us.  He was quick, efficient, and we ended up with a bed installed safely and ready for Mum's return home.

On The Move Again

On The Move Again

Going back to the first weeks of 2012, and the last positive conversation I had with the Social Worker in the hospital when she said he had managed to find a bed for Mum in the rehab hospital, we started to make preparations for the time when Mum could come home.  Once the hospital administrators knew Mum was going to be transferred  (I got the feeling, anywhere else would have done!) the heat was off us. We were just relieved to have that extra time for Mum, where we hoped she would get some more physio, tailor-made to her capabilities.

It was also a time of apprehension: we were promised a "full care package" would be put in place - four calls a day, "double-handed," to cater for Mum's needs. The Social Worker said - on more than one occasion - "You won't have to do anything!" but I found it impossible to see how anyone could think Mum would live with us, but somehow exist in solitary splendour, isolated from the rest of the family, with everything done by the carers.  For a start, I knew Mum would need to go to the loo more than four times a day! and if she was going to be hoisted to transfer her onto a glide-about commode, I would not be able to do that. As for someone else making her food - well, I'm very particular and  I don't like anyone messing about in my kitchen.

I cook properly, from basic principles; I buy everything fresh, peel all the vegetables and prepare the dinner on the day.  I don't own a microwave! and it was clear carers would never have time to make a proper meal from scratch. I was quite prepared to take on the cooking, the washing and ironing, but it was an anxious time wondering how things would work out with toiletting, etc. Well, that was another day to get to, and one of the problems to be faced in the future.

In the meantime, we all carried on with visiting Mum twice a day in the hospital, and taking in her food. With the prospect of a move in sight, Mum was pretty cheerful, and whilst she tucked into her dinner, I was able to have chats with the other patients on the ward. Some of them had visitors only rarely, and they were very lonely.

One lady had been admitted to the ward after a bad fall, and was clearly very unwell.  The medical staff did their best for her, and she did improve, but it soon became a case of one step forwards, then two steps back.....

She had a niece, who was extremely fond of her aunt; unfortunately, she lived a long way away, and it was difficult for her to visit often. When I asked her permission to sit with her aunt, she was delighted I had suggested it. She also said, if we wanted to say a few prayers, her aunt would really appreciate it. Wendy joined me sometimes, and together we would tell her what we had been doing - shopping, working, and what the weather was like - any sort of gentle chat to let her know there was someone present, who was happy to spend time with her.

One evening, the nurse on duty said they had contacted her niece; we realised she was dying, and Wendy and I stood by her bed, holding her hand and saying prayers. We hoped she knew she wasn't alone, and was being thought of and prayed for.  The next morning, when I went back with Mum's breakfast, there was an empty bed in the corner.  Having spent so much time on the ward with Mum, we were really made aware how many people are alone, with few or no visitors when they are in hospital.

I enjoyed talking to one lady in particular - we shared a love of literature, and quoted poetry to each other.  When I wasn't there, she would also listen to Mum; it soon became clear that Mum was talking a lot about her past, but turning things that had happened to her, on their head.  She would praise people who had been awful to her, and talk really unkindly about others who had done so much for her.  It seemed sometimes here was a complete "about-turn" in her attitude to people she knew.  She would talk about my father, and anyone listening would get the impression he was a paragon; I knew differently.  He had been an appalling husband, and my mother had endured years of his flagrant behaviour.  I often think that perhaps his cruelty affects the way Mum thinks now, and contributes to the way she confuses good things and bad things; many memories she has from long ago are not happy ones.

This lady tried gently to warn me, how difficult things might become, when Mum was living with us. During times when we were not on the ward, she listened to Mum "going on" about us, saying how little we did for her, which clearly was the opposite of what was actually happening; she said, if Mum was in one of her derogatory moods, and I was not able to reason with her, it could be emotionally and mentally very upsetting, and I might end up feeling as though I was living in a prison, from which there would be no escape.

I've known for a long time now, that when Mum gets talking, she always comes across as being so certain of her facts, so definite about what has happened, that people listening to her will believe what she says is true - even when we know it is nonsense! I was sure the lady on the ward was right, and understood how Mum was, and that it would be frustrating knowing how positively wrong Mum could be; but I hoped I would find ways of coping with it.

I remember quoting to this lady, "Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage..." and she nodded, and said, "Ah, yes, Richard Lovelace......"

She knew I was quite settled with the decision that Mum would not be transferred to a care home, but felt she had to warn me on how I should be prepared for Mum's moods to fluctuate wildly. On another day, after Mum had been letting rip about a few people, she said, very simply, "It is a very heavy cross you bear."

All I could think was that I would pray for the strength to bear it.

Mum Celebrates Her 98th Birthday In Style

Mum Celebrates Her 98th Birthday In Style

The table for Tea at the Ritz was booked months ago.  Apart from very rare occasions, we always go on a Saturday, and of course it's not every year that one of our birthdays falls on that day. Happily, this year, October 28 was a Saturday and, as usual, I requested the 5.30 sitting - this gives us nice time during the day for Mum to get up and dressed, have breakfast, have a nap.... eat some lunch, and then get ready for the wheelchair accessible taxi arriving at 3.00.

I've just realised that although these days centre around our time partaking Tea at the Ritz, there is actually an awful lot that has to be done first!  I am always positive, but I still get nervous in case something goes wrong at the last minute.  With two fairly recent episodes still fresh in my mind, I am concerned in case Mum has another time when she just does not wake up from her nap... or else she could turn into a stroppy three year old - although with a trip to the Ritz in the offing, that is unlikely! However, it's not until we are safely ensconced in the taxi, all dressed up with somewhere to go and bowling along, that I can really relax.

Last Saturday went like clockwork. Mum was so excited and pleased to be going to her favourite hotel; she was awake, chatty and co-operative.  She was reminding us how she was born on her mother's 3rd Wedding Anniversary, so my grandma had said Mum was like an extra anniversary present.  It all went so well; for me to get ready, it's usually it's a case of "I have about 10 - 15 minutes, to complete a 6 months' dockyard job!" but on Mum's birthday I had plenty of time to do my own hair and make-up, and get dressed in my finery.

Mum did need more help than usual to get herself up from the chair and into the wheelchair, but even so, everything was accomplished in good time, and we were all on our way just after 3.00.

Because of Mum's great age and disability, when we arrive at  the hotel, arrangements are made for us to drive into the courtyard; this is really helpful, and means that no matter what the weather may be doing, Mum is always warm and in the dry, and we can wheel her straight into the hotel.

We were given such a warm welcome and enjoyed a glass of champagne until it was time to be seated in the Palm Court. It all went so smoothly - within a couple of minutes, a ramp was laid over the three steps, and Mum was wheeled up to the table and settled down; we had a table looking directly at the harpist, and Mum could hear all the music being played.

I always make a special request for a plate of very plain sandwiches - just white bread and butter, with cucumber and a little salt; Mum has never tried any of the more adventurous varieties before. To my amazement, Mum sampled a couple of the more "interesting" sandwiches - actually cheddar cheese and chutney on  tomato bread) and pronounced them very good!  She ate really well.

About half-way through our tea, the harpist played a familiar introduction to Happy Birthday, and we all burst into song. When we had finished, the other guests in the Palm Court gave Mum a great round of applause.  It was such a wonderful, heartfelt atmosphere, and to round everything off, Mum was presented with a Ritz birthday cake and a book about the Hotel.  She was so delighted, and it was a pleasure to see her so animated, and responding naturally and normally.  (It also made me remember: this is the same lady who, six weeks earlier, had been in hospital, with a doctor standing at her bedside, asking me about recording a DNR on her file; and then assuring me she would be treated actively, and they were "..... not putting her on an end of life pathway.... " I should think not, indeed!)

At last, Mum's birthday tea came to a close, and we prepared to leave at about 7.20 p.m.  There was time for more photographs in the foyer, and then our lovely taxi driver, John, was ready to take us back home. He has driven us many times before; he is so kind and helpful and it's wonderful to be able to sit back and let someone else do the driving.

Once we were back indoors, and Mum settled back in her chair, she could talk about nothing else - how kind everyone had been, what a tasty tea she had had, and how lovely the Ritz Hotel book was, and she would enjoy reading it.

She was also ready for some more to eat! The outing had obviously whetted her appetite, so I rustled up a mug of tea and more cake.  It didn't matter we were all to bed much later than usual; the clocks went back an hour at 2.00 a.m. (and no, I didn't stay up to change all the clocks!) which meant Mum got an extra hour's sleep anyway.

This afternoon in Piccadilly, there had once again been "....magic abroad in the air......" and when midnight struck, I saw our carriage turn back into a pumpkin, and glimpsed the flick of tails as the coachmen disappeared into the night; but it had been a marvellous day, and really taken us out of ourselves.