4
February 2013
Took mum to buy more satin for the 3ft bald doll. I persuaded
her not to dress it in a christening gown but to dress it as Dorothy from the
Wizard of Oz. There was some confusion at the shop. The sales assistant was too
young to know what “gingham” was. Mother told the same old stories about,
outworkers, M&S & one and three (1s 3d). The woman in the material shop must know these
stories off by heart by now.
8 February 2013
Mum was in a high state of distress. She hadn’t slept all
night. She’d had a letter. The Home Manager has complained about mum’s
behaviour and is sending her off to see a Psychiatrist in order to have her put
away. When I looked at the letter it was the confirmation of the appointment
I’d made at the hospital for 21 February.
Me: This is
nothing to do with the House Manager; this is about a referral that your GP has
made.
Mum: Why are they
going to have me put away?
Me: They are not “Having you put away”. You
have an appointment at the hospital.
Mum: They’re
sending me to see a psychiatrist.
Me: Where does it
mention the word “psychiatrist” in this letter?
Mum: There!
Me: No mum, you
don’t spell psychiatric G-E-R-I-A-T-R-I-C. It’s geriatric: Geriatric Medical Department.
Mum: Why are they
going to put me away!
Me: Well, one
reason might be that you can’t read. It’s GERIATRIC NOT PSYCHIATRIC!
Mum: That’s when
old people go mental. I don’t want to see a psychiatrist.
Me: Mum, it says
here that when you go for your appointment, you are to wear loose clothing for
an examination. Why would a psychiatrist want you to take all your clothes off?
You’ve also got to take a urine specimen. Geriatric means anyone over the age
of 65. Think of it as an M.O.T. They will give you a complete examination. It
might be that they can give you a pill to stop you being confused and
forgetful.
Mum: I saw a
psychiatrist a few weeks ago. Why do I need to go again?
Me: (Thinks. Mmm
I think she is getting confused with the community psychiatric nurse that I got
to visit her. Best not to say anything.) It’s geriatric NOT psychiatric! You’re
90. They are going to give you an M.O.T. The appointment is at 11:30. I’ll take
you out to lunch afterwards.
Mum: Can we go
shopping afterwards?
Me: Yes.
At which point she calmed down.
Twice a week I take her out for coffee and twice a week she
is wearing the wrong trousers – brown, which she insists doesn’t go with her
only coat which is black and white. It’s the same every time. We’re just about
to leave when she cries out, “My God, I can’t go out wearing brown trousers
with a black and white coat!”. I then
have to wait whilst she changes before we can go out for coffee. I told her that
today we’d also go shopping for a coat to match her trousers or trousers to
match her coat.
Although mum can well afford to buy a new coat, she insists
on buying second hand at charity shops, because, as she says, “I shan’t be here
long. Why waste money on new?” Actually, I think she just likes the challenge
of haggling the price down. It’s also an opportunity to fritter her money away
on knick-knacks she doesn’t need. My mother is a shopaholic. And retail therapy
puts her in a good mood and that is something she is sorely in need of. At each
shop she recites her story about working for M&S, (although she has now
upgraded the story to say that she made coats for them) and also how she
employed home-workers. Of course none of this is true. Managed to find a coat
that went with her brown trousers.
We then went for a coffee. We are still looking for the
perfect coffee shop that serves coffee that doesn’t irritate mum’s
haemorrhoids. She always insists on a large cappuccino. I usually order a large
babycino with just one shot of expresso.
11pm. Checked my mobile phone: one message from mum and two
from the House Manager. Mum has lost her handbag!
9 February 2013
7.51 am Call from mum to tell me that she’s lost her handbag;
she hadn’t slept all night from worry. I told her I was going into town because
I was the guest speaker at a Young Leaders’ Training Day. Said I would retrace
all our steps and see if I could find it.
8.12 am Mum phoned me to say she’d lost her handbag. She
said that I am to have her put away, if she is go so bad that she’s lost her
handbag. I wish!
Went to all the charity chops and the café we went to – no
sign of bag.
9.30 am Just started my talk to the young people when mum
phoned to tell me that she’d lost her handbag and all her money. I explained to
young people that my mother is crazy and that I need to talk to her. I reassured
mum that I don’t allow her to keep lots of money, I just give her a few £5
notes for pocket money.
9.43 am. In the middle of my talk, mother phoned to say that
she’d left her bank card in her bag. (It was only a few weeks ago she accused
me of taking her bank card away from her.) Aware that a whole group of young
people were listening in to conversation, I promised I would go to the bank,
cancel her cards and then report the loss to the Police Station.
10.10 am. Coming to the end of my talk when mother phoned to
say she’d found her handbag, she’d left it by her seat in the dining room. The
young people cheered!
10
February 2013
Mother phoned me to tell me that she has broken the toilet.
It wasn’t flushing properly, so she’d taken the lid off, twiddled with
something and it had come off in her hand. She hasn’t got any money to pay the
plumber. I reassured her that she doesn’t have to pay the plumber; she just
needs to report it to the House Manager.
11
February 2013
Mum phoned to say that she’d broken the toilet and had no
money to pay the plumber. I told her to report it to House Manager and that I’d
come over.
When I arrived I took the lid of cistern. When I put my hand
in, the displaced water went down the overflow pipe and came out again through
the bath overflow! What has she done?!!
I asked mum if she’d reported it. No. The Deputy House
Manager is on duty today and mum is not talking to the Deputy House Manager at
the moment. Thought it wiser not to ask why.
Went to speak to the Deputy Manager. Yes, she knew all about
it, someone came yesterday and turned off the water to the toilet and a plumber
would be in today. Mum has had to use the toilet just outside her door in the
corridor. Hence mum is not talking to the Deputy Manager because of the
inconvenience.
Took mum out for coffee. I still had to wait until she
changed her trousers; she hates the coat she bought at the charity shop. Whilst
the outside is a green colour that goes well with her brown trousers, the
lining is blue, and doesn’t. She needs another coat. Mother, who has always insisted on looking "smart" is beginning to look unkempt. I had to remind her to comb her hair before we went out for coffee.
15 February 2013
Collected mum to take her out for coffee. She looked a
little unkempt but decided not to mention the pink curler that she still had in
hair. Likewise, I didn’t mention the fact that she was wearing brown trousers
with a black and white coat. When she got into the car she started screaming,
“Look at me, look at me, I’m wearing brown trousers, they’ll have me put away,
I’ll have to get changed!” Out she got from the car and went back to get
changed. Unfortunately, we met House Manager who pointed out the pink curler in
mum’s hair. That House Manager can be a real spoilsport sometimes and I told
her so.
Had to hang about (AGAIN) waiting for mum to get changed. I decided that I would definitely buy her a
brown coat to go with her brown trousers so that I didn’t waste time hanging
around every visit. Did the rounds of the charity shops (AGAIN) and managed to
buy her something.
I think that I might be turning into my dad. Whenever I go out
shopping with mum, I can’t seem to help making jokes with the assistants. I
think it because, going out with mum is so stressful, and she is so miserable,
that I need to do something to lighten the atmosphere.
18 February
2013
Mother phoned me to say that the hospital phoned her to
confirm she would attend the appointment on the 21st at the geriatric clinic.
She has told them she’s not going and cancelled the appointment,
I phoned the hospital to re-instate the appointment to
discover that mother hadn’t cancelled the appointment after all. I said that
someone from the hospital had phoned my mother to ask her to confirm that she
would she would be attending the appointment. I could hear him stifling a laugh as he told
me that it was an automated reminder call generated by the computer!
19
February 2013
Mum phoned me in an agitated state. The pharmacy had
delivered 7 different packets of medicine. Why was the doctor giving her all this
medication without telling her? I told her to phone the doctor and ask.
A few minutes later mum phoned me back. She’s now looked at
the packages and they are not for her but another Margaret who lives along the
corridor.
20
February 2013
Reminded mum about her about the appointment at the
Geriatric clinic tomorrow and to make sure she takes a urine sample and loose
clothes ready for an examination. She said she was not going to go because she
didn’t know where the hospital was and didn’t know how to get there, anyway. I reminded her that she is going to go
because I am going to take her there. Then we went through the usual, “Why do I
have to go?” and “Are you saying I’m mad?”
I said she’d got to go because of the voices. “What voices?” she asked. “The voices that tell you that you should
disobey the doctor and not go to the geriatric clinic”, I said.
She's painted her finger nails bright red. Took her out for coffee anyway,
Reminded the staff that I would be taking mum to the Geriatric clinic tomorrow. They are betting that mum will be declared insane.
21
February 2013
Collected mum. No urine sample. She refused to provide a
sample because she’s just had a wee. Told her she’d have to do it at the
hospital.
Got to the hospital and took her to the lady’s toilet. Gave
her the specimen jar and sent her in. Eventually she came out displaying a
mixture of uncontrollable laughter and tears, saying “You’ll have to have me
put away.” She was unable to tell me
what had happened because of her uncontrolled laughter.
Eventually she calmed down enough to tell me what had
happened. She’d taken the lid of the jar but held it upside down and peed onto
the bottom of the jar, spraying pee everywhere.
We were met by a very nice nurse who looked geriatric
herself. (Turned out she was aged 60). She asked us to follow her to a small
room where she would weigh mum. As we got to the room, the ward sister, who was
passing, kindly opened it for us. She poked her head inside to see if it was
empty and then turned to our nurse and said, “Did you know there is a woman lying
on the floor in there having a panic attack?”
Oh well, I thought, this is the geriatric unit after all. We had to go
back to the waiting room until they’d sorted the poor old lady out.
The geriatric waiting room was like a wheelchair rally. So
many people in wheelchairs! We had to keep re-arranging the wheelchairs so that
there was enough space for everyone.
Then some music began playing through the loud speakers in
the ceiling. I casually said to mum, “What nice soothing music.” “What music?”
she asked. “The music playing from the ceiling!” “I can’t hear any music; all I
can hear is people moving furniture.” “That’s Van Morrison singing ‘Brown eyed
girl.’ It’s nothing like someone moving furniture.” That’s it, while we’re here;
I’m going to get someone to test mother’s ears.
Eventually, we got in to see the Consultant, who asked if we
minded if a young medical student, called Mohammed, could sit in and take
notes. Mum happily agreed and went into her long story about her tracheotomy,
how the surgeon had cut a nerve; how she had died twice (it used to be once); how
she had received no compensation; and she’d been a part of the final exams for
doctors to examine her and, “pass out”, as she put it. She then lifted up the
bib around her throat and showed Mohammed her tracheotomy and took out the
tube. At which point, poor Mohammed nearly did pass out. He looked about 18 and was visibly shaken.
I’ve never seen anyone have such a look of sheer shock and horror. She then handed the poor lad her tube and
invited him to put it back for her. He
bravely put it in, ignoring the stink that was coming from mum’s lungs.
The consultant explained that mum had been referred by her
doctor because the doctor had thought she was getting confused.
Mum: I don’t get
confused!
Consultant:
Perhaps we’ll ask your son what he thinks
Mum: He wants to
have me put away. He’s always telling me what to do. We’re always rowing. He bullies
me.
I explained to the Consultant that mum does get confused and
has memory problems, and that she has problems with when things happened.
Things she thinks happened last week happened last year and visa versa.
The Consultant said she’d do a memory test on mum
Consultant: What
day of the week is it?
Mum: Friday.
Consultant:
Close, its Thursday.
Mum: Oh, God! They’re
going to have me put away!
Consultant: What
month is it?
Mum: January.
Consultant: Close,
it’s February.
Mum: No! I’m
going crazy!
Consultant: What
town are you in now?
Mum: Exmouth.
Consultant:
Close, It’s Exeter.
Mum: I’m going
off my head!
Consultant What
floor are we on?
Mum: The first
floor.
Consultant: Close,
we’re on the ground floor. Did you get here in the lift?
Mum: You might as
well have me put away now!
Consultant: What county
do you live in?
Mum: (On the
verge of tears) I don’t know.
The consultant and Mohammed then took mum into a private
room for a physical examination. I took the opportunity to look through mum’s
notes which were left open on the Consultant’s desk. The folder must have been 3” thick. I decided to look at the oldest notes first. I
was amazed that this 3” dossier only referred to the past three years that mum
had lived in Devon! So, there was
nothing in it that I didn’t know already.
They came back in and the consultant said that, although mum
had memory problems, knowing that she lived in Devon would not add anything to
her quality of life. Her main concern was mum’s pain as it was preventing mum
from sleeping and therefore contributing to her confusion and memory loss.
Consultant: Have
you ever had pain reduction pads?
Mum; No
Me: Yes, she’s
had morphine pads but she’s refuses to use them.
Consultant: Do
you take pain tablets? Codeine or Paracetamol?
Mum: Yes
Me: No. She
refuses to take them because she thinks there are side effects.
Consultant: What
side effects?
Me: Prolonging
her life. She wants to die.
Consultant: Why?
At this point mum gave an account of dad’s life that had no
basis in reality – how he was chief accountant at NatWest bank, etc. (I sat slightly behind mum and could shake my
head and indicate to the Consultant that that wasn’t true.) She then gave an
account of dad’s death, which again bore no resemblance to reality. So, I told
the Consultant what really happened. I found this really difficult and found
myself near to tears. Grief and bereavement is still part of me.
Mum then went on to give an account of her life as chief
dressmaker for M&S, and then lent forward to the Consultant and said, “If
you give me your phone number, I’ll make you a dress.” The Consultant politely declined.
The Consultant said she’d do a deal with mum. If mum
promised to take the pain killers, she would write “Do not resuscitate” on
mum’s notes, she would also tell mum’s GP not to resuscitate, and also the Ambulance
service. We are also to tell the staff where mum lives not to resuscitate mum. (I’ve
already told them that!)
Mum agreed.
Then the Consultant said she’d like mum to take a mild
anti-depressant. Well, you could see
mum’s hackles rise! So I decided to get in first. “Mum is always afraid that
anti depressants will make her sleepy and she refuses to take them.” “She needs to have something to help her
sleep at night. If she takes them before she goes to bed, she’ll be OK during
the day”, said the Consultant.
Mum agreed to take them. (But we’ll see)
As we got up to leave I said, “By the way, could you do something
about my mother’s hearing? She thinks Van Morrison was someone moving furniture.” She made a note to refer mum to audiology. I
then asked, “That will sort out mum’s hearing, but will it help with her
listening?” Fortunately, mum didn’t hear me, but the consultant gave a knowing
smile.
Got back to mum’s place. As we passed her office, I called
out to the House Manager, “Sorry, you’ve lost your bet! Mum’s not insane after
all and they’re not going to put her away.” I am a wag.
No comments:
Post a Comment