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.