Making Progress (2) - Things Begin To Improve

Making Progress (2) - Things Begin To Improve

As Mum got used to the carers - and there were some she would be really rude to, and some she would be like a lamb with - we decided to try to encourage her to stand briefly, and try transferring from the bed to the glider, and from the glider to the chair, or back to the bed.  This would mean the dreaded hoisting would become redundant. We all felt Mum had good upper body strength and could use her arms to lift herself up and "twiddle" round 90 degrees or so, to land in the right place.

During the time Mum was in hospital, the Physiotherapists had also tried to encourage Mum to walk, and use various aids, but this was, at the most, once a day, for half an hour. Half an hour of intense concentration trying to walk made Mum terribly tired, and on some days, she missed the slot altogether.

Because the carers came so regularly, four times a day, and for half an hour on each visit, there were more opportunities to try new things, and more time for Mum "to have a go."

We realised that if Mum was on the bed, and managed to stand up, but then had to turn 180 degrees to sit on the glider, that was a long way round for her to go. Until she was safely ensconced on the glider, there was also an "ocean of space" on either side of her, and that frightened her.

She was convinced she would fall on the floor, so I devised a system we called "The Triangle."  The bed formed one side; we brought up her arm chair very close to the bed, on the slant, for the second side, and the glider provided the third side of the triangle. This resulted in a tiny space for Mum to stand up in and, apart from sitting either on the glider, sitting on the chair, or back down on the bed, there was really nowhere else she could go. In this situation, she could feel secure that she would not land on the floor.

The carers were also on standby, to lend a supporting hand.

"Mum," I would say, "if you can just try to stand up - for a couple of seconds - then, if you feel you can't do it, you can sit back on the bed again."

"Come on, Phyllis......" the carers were right by Mum's side.  "You can do it!"

"Mum - if you can just manage it the once - you'll know how easy it is, and you'll be able to do it again in future.  Just think what that will mean!"

"What will it mean?" Mum looked around at me, and the carers.

"It means I'll be able to take you to the loo, whenever you want to go. It means we'll be able to get you sitting in the wheelchair, which means we'll be able to go out for a walk.  It means we'll be able to order a wheelchair accessible taxi, and take you shopping!"

"I'll try, then."

And try she did. And after a while, hallelujah, Mum got the confidence to push hard down with her hands on the bed; as she pushed down, so her bottom lifted off the mattress, and she was momentarily standing.  With great shouts of "Well done! Well done!" - which quickly changed to "Now, twiddle round!  Twiddle round!" Mum got the hang of it, and twiddled round, plonking herself down on the glider.

That really earned her a round of applause; and everything I had said was proved true. It opened up a whole new range of possibilities for her, not least of which was the joy of knowing she could go to the loo whenever she wanted. It just showed what a bit of imagination and ingenuity could achieve.

Of course, the downside was that sometimes Mum woke up in the night and called for the glider; it was like having a baby to look after all over again. Because I'm an owl, I was usually up in the early hours, and so I'd get the glider and take Mum to the bathroom and then make sure she was comfortably settled back in bed afterwards. However, I soon realised there were other times, when Mum couldn't sleep, she called for the glider as a distraction, and for something to do. Then I had to be really firm, and remind her she was NOT in hospital; there was no team of nurses working the nightshift, and if I was going to keep active and look after her, I needed my sleep as well.

Mum could be quite stroppy; she'd snap at me, "I don't need anyone to look after me. I want to go back home, and look after myself."

There was no point arguing; I'd just leave it, and, come the morning, hope Mum would have forgotten about it. Over time, Mum's demands became less frequent; she still wore a pad in bed, and began to accept it was there to keep her dry overnight. And I began to sleep better at night, too.