We Fly To Brisbane on Saturday
Well, it's been a difficult few days, to say the least.
As I was not Uncle John's official next of kin, the nursing staff really couldn't tell me any more than Uncle John was "stable." Even when I spoke to him on the phone, with all the problems he had with his deaf aid, it was very difficult for him to hear what I was saying.
I asked the nursing staff, if they could ask Uncle John for his permission to tell me what had happened to him, but I understand the reluctance of some people to do that. Even though Uncle John knew he was talking to me, of course they didn't know how close I am to him!
One day, though, I was lucky; a very helpful nurse was willing to pose the question:
"John, are you happy for us to tell Alex what has happened?"
And, loud and clear, came back Uncle John's reply: "Yes!"
At last I was able to get the full story; and, later on, I was able to speak to one of Uncle John's doctors.
The news was not good, and we are all so sad and shocked by it.
Uncle John has cancer of the bile duct; it is also in his liver. The drain he had had inserted was to make him more comfortable, and the Doctor told me the plan was to insert another stent internally. However, this would be purely palliative; the operation was scheduled for Wednesday.
He explained that sadly, because of the nature of this illness, it is not until clear symptoms present themselves that the diagnosis is made; this is the reason it is usually caught late.
I asked, "Does Uncle John know?"
"Yes, he knows."
We agreed I would ring again on Thursday at 10.00 a.m. Brisbane time, so that he could update me. The Doctor was so sympathetic, and he also realised it meant us ringing him at gone midnight UK time; I said, "Don't worry about that! I am an owl!"
I asked, "If it's possible, could you please give him a hug from us, and give Uncle John all our love?"
"I'm sure that can be managed," he said.
The next 48 hours found all of us really anxious; it's horrible being so far away, and wanting to ring back earlier and see how Uncle John was doing, but I kept my impatience in check.
In the meantime, Wendy started to investigate flights, accommodation in Brisbane, car hire, etc., which kept us occupied; we had a choice of leaving at the at the weekend, and getting to Brisbane on Monday, 25 March, or waiting until 28 March, which would mean arriving on the Saturday.
It was a relief to ring the hospital again on Wednesday at midnight; I was put through to another doctor, who was also looking after Uncle John.
He had got through the operation very well, and the plan now is that he will be discharged from Princess Alexandra at the weekend; there was a palliative care team meeting scheduled for later in the day, to see what the next step would be. I asked if Uncle John might be going to stay with his son, and the Doctor paused for a moment, and then said, soon Uncle John would need a lot of care. From that I understood he might go straight to some sort of home. I remember Aunt Marguerite was in Logan Hospital for some time, until she died in 2003.
I said Wendy and I would fly to Brisbane in the next day or so, and were trying to decide when to book the flights; and then I asked the $64,000 question:
"I know it's crystal-ball gazing... but do you have any idea of how much time Uncle John might have?"
"A month?" the Doctor said.
"So - it will be better to leave this Saturday, and arrive on Monday?"
"Yes."
"We're hiring a car. If he is well enough, might it be possible to take Uncle John out for little trips, say, to Forest Lake? Of course we'll check with his health team....?"
"Yes, that should be alright at the moment."
The message was clear; we had to get going as soon as possible. Wendy was listening to the conversation, and got started straight away on organising my visa, the flights, accommodation, car hire, parking... Wendy is so experienced, she achieved it all overnight and now, on Friday, we are all prepared and ready to go first thing tomorrow morning.
I have also been gently talking to Mum, introducing the seriousness of Uncle John's illness. Now came the time to tell her, because he is so ill, Wendy and I are going to see him for one last time.
Mum's immediate reaction was, "Can I come, too? I'd like to see him, too."
"Ma, Uncle John would love to see you - but it is such a long way, and you can't really walk now, so it would be very difficult to arrange it."
Somewhere in her head, Mum has still got the ability to understand that some things are impossible.
I said, "We'll take lots of photos out to him, and we'll talk on the phone; Wendy's got that wonderful television telephone, (Skype!) so you will be able to see him as well!" and that satisfied Mum.
It's been a bit of a drama organising care for Mum, but the support we've received over the past few days, has been quite overwhelming. Wendy and I can be away for a week or so, knowing all will be well at home.
Friday, 22 March 2019
Sunday, 17 March 2019
Uncle John Gives Us A Fright
Uncle John Gives Us A Fright
It's not practicable to go to Australia for the weekend, and I can't arrange cover for someone to look after Mum for longer than 48 hours, so it is Wendy who flies to Brisbane every year, to spend a couple of weeks with Uncle John, and introduce a little bit of normal family life into his day-to-day routine.
He has a "unit" in Marsden, where he is quite self-sufficient; he goes for lunch in the dining room, and otherwise caters for himself, but he does admit to being lonely. One of the problems is due to his deafness; although he has a deaf aid, when he is sitting at a table with five other chaps eating their meal and chatting away, his deaf aid is not the type that can filter out extraneous noise, which means Uncle John can't hear individual conversations. It does make for a lonelier life. If you can't hear what people are saying, apart from being isolating, folk can also get irritated with you, if they have to keep repeating what they have just said.
I remember my Grandma telling me that, when she became profoundly deaf, her father said, "Alice, your disability is very annoying!" - as if my Grandma could help it! The truth is, hearing people are not always patient.
Back to Uncle John: when Wendy is with him, they have great time together. Wendy hires a car (Wendy will never knowingly be without wheels!) and they drive to various places of interest, and they enjoy lovely lunches at the Forest Lake Hotel - steak usually - or else Wendy will cook for them both in the apartment she rents in Brisbane. It works very well.
In February, Wendy flew out as usual; Wendy thought that at first, Uncle John seemed a bit less energetic than he was last year, although of course we are all 12 months older! and soon she and Uncle John had picked up a nice routine, and after some days of good company and a few outings, Uncle John was back to his old self.
It was a sad time when Wendy had to leave; Uncle John knows Wendy doesn't get much leave, but she spends as much of her holidays with him as she can. He also knows she will be back again next year.
Once Wendy arrived home, I rang Uncle John, to let him know she had landed safely, but he did not pick up the phone. It rang and it rang and it rang, and although I kept trying over several days, still I got no answer. Wendy said it could be because the ear-piece of his deaf aid was uncomfortable, and he often takes his deaf aids out, so he wouldn't hear the phone ringing; this was a feasible explanation, but I was still a bit worried not to have made contact for so many days.
Four days ago, I woke up at 3.00 a.m. and had this niggling feeling that I really must investigate further; I was sure all was not well. After ringing Uncle John's number once more, and still getting no answer, I rang the Warden at Marsden, and asked if he knew if Uncle John was alright? It was an awful shock when he said, "No, John's in hospital. His neighbours have said they've heard the phone ringing a lot..." The Warden didn't know what was the matter with Uncle John, only that he had been taken to Logan Hospital.
Then followed some more investigative work; I rang Logan Hospital, and got through to someone in administration. After some while, the lady said, "Oh, John Woods has been discharged!"
"Can you please tell me where to?" I asked. "I know he isn't back home in Marsden, because I've spoken to the Warden, and he is certainly not in his Unit."
More checking and looking up ensued, and eventually the answer was found: "He's been transferred to Princess Alexandra Hospital."
Well, all sorts of things were going through my head! Uncle John is nearly 96, and at that age, I know anything can happen.
"Is that a specialist hospital?" I asked, almost dreading the worst.
"No," she said, "it's just bigger."
She gave me the telephone number, and my next call was to Princess Alexandra Hospital.
At least there, they could tell me pretty quickly which ward Uncle John was on, and they put me through. I spoke to a helpful nurse, who said he was back on the ward, but he was asleep. A bit later on, I rang again ask if I could talk to him. Another nurse took the phone to Uncle John, and I heard her ask him if he "...wanted to talk to Alex?" and I was quite shocked to hear his very drowsy reply, "No, not at the moment..."
Even in whatever sort of a state he was (and, at that point, I didn't know anything about what had happened to him). Uncle John was still very gentle and polite!
As I'm not his next of kin, I asked if it would be possible for someone to ask Uncle John - when he was properly awake - if he would give his permission for them to tell me what has happened, and give me news about his progress?
At least I was given a little information: he had had a drain inserted. I didn't know where the drain had been placed, and I remember back in 1938, his and Mum's brother Austin was so ill with pneumonia, he had had drains inserted in his lungs. Shortly after that, Austin had died, so this news really worried me.
The nurse reassured me Uncle John was fine, and coming round gently from the anaesthetic; it was also a relief of sorts to learn later, the drain had been inserted in his liver.
It just seemed so hard that all the time Wendy was with him, Uncle John had been as fit as a flea, and now we are all so far away, he is ill, and we can't visit him. One of the nurses was very sympathetic, and understood how much we love him. She said, "It's good to know he's got people close to him!" and I replied, "We do love him - even if we're a long distance away in miles, he's very close to our hearts!"
I rang again when it was morning in Australia - the 10-hour time difference between the UK and Brisbane is confusing! - and he had had breakfast - porridge - so he was doing well. The nurse took the phone to Uncle John, and we tried to have a quick chat, but he needed fresh batteries for his deaf aid, and if was difficult for him to hear me. At least he knew I had called, and was thinking of him!
Later on, in the evening in Brisbane, I rang once more; this time, Uncle John had got new batteries, and we were able to have a short conversation, and he had a quick word with Mum, too. Of course, Mum does not realise Uncle John is in hospital - I tried to tell her something of what had happened, but it was too complicated to get Mum to understand, and I did not have many details to relate.
He sounded much more like himself, and I told him we are all thinking of him, sending him all our love, and that I would ring again soon. I asked him what had happened to him, but he was quite vague, except he knew he had been moved from a much more intensive care ward to another ward - I'm guessing he was in an Intensive Care Unit after the operation, and now back on a general ward.
Grandson Al said the most common cause that would involve Uncle John having a drain inserted into his liver would be gallstones, or a blocked bile duct. Statistics listing complications are reassuringly very low.
I know how busy the nursing staff are, so I decided not to try calling again until Monday; but in the meantime, I wrote a card for Uncle John, (with a cat on the cover, naturally!), and posted it to him C/o Princess Alexandra Hospital. It caught the Saturday morning collection, and I hope it might arrive before he's discharged. I enclosed three photos of him and Wendy enjoying a meal at the Forest Lake Hotel on 3 March - he looks so well and happy, and we all hope it won't be long before he's back home and completely well again.
It's not practicable to go to Australia for the weekend, and I can't arrange cover for someone to look after Mum for longer than 48 hours, so it is Wendy who flies to Brisbane every year, to spend a couple of weeks with Uncle John, and introduce a little bit of normal family life into his day-to-day routine.
He has a "unit" in Marsden, where he is quite self-sufficient; he goes for lunch in the dining room, and otherwise caters for himself, but he does admit to being lonely. One of the problems is due to his deafness; although he has a deaf aid, when he is sitting at a table with five other chaps eating their meal and chatting away, his deaf aid is not the type that can filter out extraneous noise, which means Uncle John can't hear individual conversations. It does make for a lonelier life. If you can't hear what people are saying, apart from being isolating, folk can also get irritated with you, if they have to keep repeating what they have just said.
I remember my Grandma telling me that, when she became profoundly deaf, her father said, "Alice, your disability is very annoying!" - as if my Grandma could help it! The truth is, hearing people are not always patient.
Back to Uncle John: when Wendy is with him, they have great time together. Wendy hires a car (Wendy will never knowingly be without wheels!) and they drive to various places of interest, and they enjoy lovely lunches at the Forest Lake Hotel - steak usually - or else Wendy will cook for them both in the apartment she rents in Brisbane. It works very well.
In February, Wendy flew out as usual; Wendy thought that at first, Uncle John seemed a bit less energetic than he was last year, although of course we are all 12 months older! and soon she and Uncle John had picked up a nice routine, and after some days of good company and a few outings, Uncle John was back to his old self.
It was a sad time when Wendy had to leave; Uncle John knows Wendy doesn't get much leave, but she spends as much of her holidays with him as she can. He also knows she will be back again next year.
Once Wendy arrived home, I rang Uncle John, to let him know she had landed safely, but he did not pick up the phone. It rang and it rang and it rang, and although I kept trying over several days, still I got no answer. Wendy said it could be because the ear-piece of his deaf aid was uncomfortable, and he often takes his deaf aids out, so he wouldn't hear the phone ringing; this was a feasible explanation, but I was still a bit worried not to have made contact for so many days.
Four days ago, I woke up at 3.00 a.m. and had this niggling feeling that I really must investigate further; I was sure all was not well. After ringing Uncle John's number once more, and still getting no answer, I rang the Warden at Marsden, and asked if he knew if Uncle John was alright? It was an awful shock when he said, "No, John's in hospital. His neighbours have said they've heard the phone ringing a lot..." The Warden didn't know what was the matter with Uncle John, only that he had been taken to Logan Hospital.
Then followed some more investigative work; I rang Logan Hospital, and got through to someone in administration. After some while, the lady said, "Oh, John Woods has been discharged!"
"Can you please tell me where to?" I asked. "I know he isn't back home in Marsden, because I've spoken to the Warden, and he is certainly not in his Unit."
More checking and looking up ensued, and eventually the answer was found: "He's been transferred to Princess Alexandra Hospital."
Well, all sorts of things were going through my head! Uncle John is nearly 96, and at that age, I know anything can happen.
"Is that a specialist hospital?" I asked, almost dreading the worst.
"No," she said, "it's just bigger."
She gave me the telephone number, and my next call was to Princess Alexandra Hospital.
At least there, they could tell me pretty quickly which ward Uncle John was on, and they put me through. I spoke to a helpful nurse, who said he was back on the ward, but he was asleep. A bit later on, I rang again ask if I could talk to him. Another nurse took the phone to Uncle John, and I heard her ask him if he "...wanted to talk to Alex?" and I was quite shocked to hear his very drowsy reply, "No, not at the moment..."
Even in whatever sort of a state he was (and, at that point, I didn't know anything about what had happened to him). Uncle John was still very gentle and polite!
As I'm not his next of kin, I asked if it would be possible for someone to ask Uncle John - when he was properly awake - if he would give his permission for them to tell me what has happened, and give me news about his progress?
At least I was given a little information: he had had a drain inserted. I didn't know where the drain had been placed, and I remember back in 1938, his and Mum's brother Austin was so ill with pneumonia, he had had drains inserted in his lungs. Shortly after that, Austin had died, so this news really worried me.
The nurse reassured me Uncle John was fine, and coming round gently from the anaesthetic; it was also a relief of sorts to learn later, the drain had been inserted in his liver.
It just seemed so hard that all the time Wendy was with him, Uncle John had been as fit as a flea, and now we are all so far away, he is ill, and we can't visit him. One of the nurses was very sympathetic, and understood how much we love him. She said, "It's good to know he's got people close to him!" and I replied, "We do love him - even if we're a long distance away in miles, he's very close to our hearts!"
I rang again when it was morning in Australia - the 10-hour time difference between the UK and Brisbane is confusing! - and he had had breakfast - porridge - so he was doing well. The nurse took the phone to Uncle John, and we tried to have a quick chat, but he needed fresh batteries for his deaf aid, and if was difficult for him to hear me. At least he knew I had called, and was thinking of him!
Later on, in the evening in Brisbane, I rang once more; this time, Uncle John had got new batteries, and we were able to have a short conversation, and he had a quick word with Mum, too. Of course, Mum does not realise Uncle John is in hospital - I tried to tell her something of what had happened, but it was too complicated to get Mum to understand, and I did not have many details to relate.
He sounded much more like himself, and I told him we are all thinking of him, sending him all our love, and that I would ring again soon. I asked him what had happened to him, but he was quite vague, except he knew he had been moved from a much more intensive care ward to another ward - I'm guessing he was in an Intensive Care Unit after the operation, and now back on a general ward.
Grandson Al said the most common cause that would involve Uncle John having a drain inserted into his liver would be gallstones, or a blocked bile duct. Statistics listing complications are reassuringly very low.
I know how busy the nursing staff are, so I decided not to try calling again until Monday; but in the meantime, I wrote a card for Uncle John, (with a cat on the cover, naturally!), and posted it to him C/o Princess Alexandra Hospital. It caught the Saturday morning collection, and I hope it might arrive before he's discharged. I enclosed three photos of him and Wendy enjoying a meal at the Forest Lake Hotel on 3 March - he looks so well and happy, and we all hope it won't be long before he's back home and completely well again.
 |
| Wendy and Uncle John enjoying dinner at The Forest Lake Hotel 3 March 2019 |
Monday, 11 March 2019
Mum Gets A New Sling
Mum Gets A New Sling
When she first came home on 28 March 2012, Mum was hoisted in and out of bed, but then, as she became confident to weight bear long enough to "twiddle" herself round and sit on the chair or glider commode, she did not have to use the hoist - and therefore had no need of the sling either - at all.
It's only been the last year or so that Mum's strength and confidence waned, which then necessitated the use of the hoist, and ever since Mum has had be hoisted on a regular basis, the carers have used the original slings that were provided nearly 7 years ago.
When she first came home on 28 March 2012, Mum was hoisted in and out of bed, but then, as she became confident to weight bear long enough to "twiddle" herself round and sit on the chair or glider commode, she did not have to use the hoist - and therefore had no need of the sling either - at all.
It's only been the last year or so that Mum's strength and confidence waned, which then necessitated the use of the hoist, and ever since Mum has had be hoisted on a regular basis, the carers have used the original slings that were provided nearly 7 years ago.
To begin with, although she really didn't like being lifted in and out of bed, and up from the chair to the glider, Mum got used to routine and coped with it. However, after a fairly short time, the texture of the material used for the sling became a problem. The "body" of the sling obviously has to be strong enough to take the weight of people much heavier than Mum, but it is quite harsh, and then there is the binding that goes all round the sling, which is even harder. After the carers had positioned Mum in the sling, and hooked it up with the straps to the hoist, as she went up in the air, the edges of the sling began to press and cut into her flesh, especially around the top of her legs. No matter how carefully the carers tried to make sure that the sling was placed perfectly evenly around her thighs, it was still such a painful manoeuvre, that Mum would cry out, "You're hurting me! You're hurting me!"
This clearly couldn't go on, and so Mum's lovely Occupational Therapist (OT) Kerry came to see her, to assess what sling would be better for Mum, and a lot kinder and gentler on her skin.
Another sling was chosen; after it was delivered, Kerry came round to see it "in action." It was certainly better than the original versions, and we agreed to continue with it, and see how Mum got on. Alas, after a short while, it became clear it was still too hard and uncomfortable for Mum. She is nearly 100 years old, and her skin is so sensitive, she needed a bespoke sling to suit her needs.
Kerry then organised two separate visits from reps from mobility equipment supply companies. Both brought samples to show what slings they had, but the second gentleman who came to round had grasped the problem and clearly had the most choice to demonstrate what was available. Kerry was very thorough, checking every sample. Eventually, a beautifully soft sling was chosen as being perfect for Mum. It was very strong, but made of a far superior material, and as she was lifted up, the sling gently folded itself around her like a cocoon. Mum was hoisted up and down several times, without making a single protest.
This was a great result, so Kerry went ahead and ordered one for Mum. It was agreed that if, after a trial period, it was still proving successful, she would order a second sling, so that if one had to be washed, Mum would not have to revert to the old originals.
Most of Mum's carers had not seen this particular type of sling before, but Kerry showed two ladies, who are with Mum on a very regular basis, how to use it; soon the instructions on technique were relayed to everyone on the team, and it has turned out to be the best sling Mum could have.
It is wonderful that Mum has a very conscientious OT, who is always determined to achieve a good result for Mum, and make sure she is kept happy and comfortable every day.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)