How are you today? I asked.
Weak, said Aunt. I never thought I’d feel this way; just raising my arm wears me out.
So we talked about changing priorities; about how the main goal is for her to stay at home and for the first time she seemed to welcome the idea of carers.
I promised to call the Specialist Nurse tomorrow to see what we could do.
Thank-you, said Aunt. Continue reading
It’s been a long day.
The doctor came again when I called.
Mother’s temperature soared in the late afternoon and she became mildly delirious.
We could allow her to go to hospital for IV antibiotics, but our position over the last week has hardened:
No More Hospital Admissions For Mother.
Aunt was here and agreed wholeheartedly and tearfully.
So now the waiting begins.
Hospital is not a good place to die. It’s great when you are very unwell, and not bad for short stays either. But for the elderly and confused, it’s a disorientating and bewildering experience that does little to encourage recovery and peace of mind.
You’ll realise that I’m not talking generalities here. Mother was supposed to be discharged last Tuesday. Every day I ‘phoned from Skye, staff told me she was ‘fine’, or ‘alright’. Closer questioning revealed that she was not doing what she was told; the physios signed her off because she would not mobilise when they asked her to, but the nurses said she was managing going backwards and forwards to the loo, and pottering about.