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.
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| Wendy and Uncle John enjoying dinner at The Forest Lake Hotel 3 March 2019 |
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