Looking After Mum With a Bad Cold/Chest
On Thursday, 3 October, Mum woke up and was pretty well; there were a couple of times when I noticed her nose needed a wipe, but nothing out of the ordinary! and she was really chipper, washing her hands and brushing her teeth. Then she ate all her breakfast, drank all her tea, and was very chatty - it was a really good morning!
The ladies came to get Mum into bed for a nap - again, everything was as usual, and I was happy to go off for a couple of hours to a Poetry afternoon; I certainly wouldn't have gone if I had known how quickly Mum would go downhill.
When I got home, Mum was up, but clearly unwell. She was very croaky, and it was frightening how fast everything had progressed. The carers had come back at 4.30 and got her sitting in the chair, so at least she was up, and had eaten some dinner (after saying she didn't want anything, in the end, she didn't do too badly!) and had her tea, but she was very tired, so at the next call, at 7.30, Mum went back to bed. The ladies said they would be back for the usual bed call, and see how she was then; but at 10.00 p.m., Mum was still sound asleep - she didn't even rouse when they were turning her and checking her pad was good for the night, so we all hoped a good sleep would do the trick and she would be as right as rain in the morning.
Because I was so worried about Mum, I couldn't sleep, so I made good use of the time, ringing various authorities in Brisbane, including The Office of the Public Guardian, to see how their investigation, about why Uncle John's son is trying to isolate him, is progressing. I was assured it is continuing, but I stressed that with Uncle John's diagnosis of terminal bile duct and liver cancer, time is of the essence; if all the searches go on for too long, it will soon become academic, because Uncle John will no longer be with us! The lady I spoke to then suggested I write Uncle John a letter, and we shall see if that, at least, gets through to him.
I then rang the Nursing Home, and asked if I could have a quick talk with Uncle John, but the message was the same: There is a letter on file from Uncle John's son, and he will not allow anyone to contact his father without his express permission.
It is just terribly sad. Mum keeps asking why she can't speak to her brother, and I also suspect Uncle John still has no money of his own, to ask someone to buy a 100th birthday card for him to send to her.
I kept checking on Mum, making sure her temperature didn't go up - in spite of her being unwell, she wasn't running a fever, so eventually I gave in and went to bed myself.
Come Friday morning, the lady carers washed Mum, dressed her in nice clean clothes, and talked to her, but Mum was still out of it. She slept on, and we agreed to see how she was at lunch time.
I was very worried because the last thing we want is for the infection to go on her chest, so I rang the surgery early in the morning; the receptionists know Mum - and her age - and took down all the details about how quickly this illness had come on, and promised to get the Doctor to call us as soon as possible.
In fact, as soon as the morning surgery was over, the Doctor arrived. We had already had the lunch call, and Mum was still not up; she slept through the Doctor examining her, listening to her chest (not even the cold end of the stethoscope woke her up!) and took her blood pressure. Her chest was very "crackly," and the Doctor said she would prescribe a ten days' course of antibiotics for Mum, with the proviso that if she was not improving by Sunday, we should call 999.
By then, Mum had been in bed for around 20 hours, and I knew that was far too long. It's all very well being tired, and I know sleep is a great healer, but you can have too much of a good thing, and we had to get Mum going, and try to clear her chest.
This is where Home Sweet Home Care also really proved their worth. We rang the Office, and they were able to rearrange calls so that we could have help to get Mum up as soon as possible. The carers arrived, and Mum started to wake up, so they gently hoisted her, and got her settled in the chair. We put lots of pillows around her, so she was really comfortable.
In sitting up, Mum was also able to cough and clear her chest; we washed her hands and Mum brushed her teeth; I combed and plaited her hair. It was terribly slow to begin with, but after a while, Mum started to buck up and co-operate; she looked better, and said she felt better.
By then, we had the antibiotics from the chemist; I made tea for Mum and put out a few corn flakes, and she took the first dose of Amoxycillin. She manages the suspension medicine just fine; it smells of bananas, and Mum said how delicious it was - better that than her looking suspiciously at the bottle and asking what it's all for!
I needed to make sure Mum's fluid intake was kept up, and I think over the course of the evening, she did well to drink about 2 1/2 cups of tea; I wasn't so worried about food, but she still fancied a little bit of cake before bedtime.
The carers were terrific; even if they were off duty, we had offers of help from everyone at Home Sweet Home, and we were so touched by their concern and care. They made such an effort to help us, managing call times so that we were able to fit in a second dose of medicine before Mum went back to bed at about 9.30 p.m.
I stayed up for a while, and checked on Mum a few times, before going to bed at about 12.30. Then I could not sleep! My mind was awhirl with worrying about Mum, so at 3.00 a.m., I got up and went to check on her.
She was very hot, with a temperature of about 101f. I got a wodge of kitchen towel, wetted it with lukewarm water, and sponged Mum's forehead and arms to cool her down. I put a single layer of a light blanket over her, and presently checked her temperature again; it was a relief to see it had gone down to 98f.
My sleepless night was at least rewarded creatively; I was inspired to write a poem for the National Poetry Competition (closing date 31 October, so I had better get on with it!) and I also wrote a letter to Uncle John, that can be sent off later in the morning.
When I finally got to bed, I realised I had the first hint that I have probably picked up Mum's bug. It's that faint "salt and pepper" feeling in the nose, accompanied by a touch of malaise that is not just related to tiredness. Oh well. Working in such close proximity with Mum, makes this an occupational hazard. In case it is not the same thing that Mum has, when I got up, it was a case of "Masks at Dawn!" I loathe wearing a mask, but it's better to be safe than sorry.
