Asymptomatic

I’ve had several calls from mum’s Care Home this last couple of weeks. I think that the first was to tell me that mum had fallen, but apart from some bruising, she was ok. Another call, a few days later was to tell me that mum’s blood iron levels had been dropping significantly over a period of time and this was PROVEN by the most recent test following her fall.

The doctor had contacted our local hospital to enquire about a blood transfusion and Cilla had phoned to discuss this with me. Neither of us thought that this would be a good thing for mum, especially in the middle of a virile global pandemic, where hospitals are seen to be a source of virus transmission. We further agreed that given the state of mum’s dementia, she would become confused and agitated. Rightly or wrongly, we (and I advised the family too) agreed to let sleeping dogs lie.

This week’s phone calls have been far more serious.

I was phoned on Sunday (I think, it might have been Monday) to be told that the home had recorded its first case of Covid-19. As a result, all of the residents were tested (they were already tested monthly) and mum’s test had proven Positive. Well, that was a worry, but mum was reported as being well and not showing any symptoms. Fair enough. Various calls during the week assured us that mum was still eating and drinking as normal and showing no signs of Covid.

Then on Thursday I got a call to say that mum had fallen and broken her hip. And, that paramedics were with her. She was in a lot of pain and they were going to take her to hospital. I would be kept informed!

On Friday I had a few calls from the hospital: I first spoke with a Sister who assured me that all was well and that the doctors were considering an operation; I then spoke with a nurse from mum’s ward, who assured me that mum was eating and that she had a little pain, but she was comfortable; and then finally, I was called by a doctor who said that mum had had a blood transfusion to boost her immune system and that all being well (that everything stayed as it was) they would operate on mum in the morning.

I called the Family Help-Line earlier today and mum had been pushed ‘up the list’ as she was refusing meds and had pulled her cannular out.  I called later and was told the operation had been successful and that mum was ‘in recovery’. That’s it for now.

UPDATE: I wrote the above on 14th November 2020. On 26th November, mum died. See: https://saturdaywalks.wordpress.com/2020/11/26/covid-19-fuck-you-2/

Early Morning Call

I got a call from the nursing home this morning, about 01:45am. You might guess what I thought, as I dropped the phone and then rang them back.

However, it wasn’t what I feared.  Mum had fallen, in or on the way to the toilet and her head had bled. She also complained of a pain at the top of her leg – so an ambulance was called and she was whisked away to HRI.  I was told not to worry and that they would keep me informed.  At 08:00am I phoned for an update and the day-staff, deputy-manager assured me that mum had been x-rayed and that nothing was broken.  She was in fact waiting for ‘transport’ back to the home. About 14:30pm I was phoned by Cilla (the deputy-manager) to say that mum was back in their care, that she had eaten and that she was ‘back to normal’.

Phew.

However, what is ‘normal’?

For several weeks now, possibly months, mum has spent more time sleeping than waking and I’ve visited several times to find her fast asleep.  Most times I don’t wake her.

Apparently, when my dad visits, she sometimes takes herself off to bed, s she knows she wants to sleep and somewhere deep inside, she also knows that dad doesn’t want to leave – so he can sit in the chair and watch her sleep. She has done that with my brother and his wife recently too.

Sometimes, she has woken in her chair and immediately recognised me. Just who she thinks I am, is still a matter of conjecture, she often introduces me to others as her brother, but nevertheless, she recognises me. We talk, but it’s fair to say that we don’t ‘discuss’ anything, as she cannot hold a thought for more than a fleeting moment.

Mum is a very frail old lady just now, but her core, her sole, is still very strong – she can still joke – threatening to give my brother Peter a slap the other day for saying that her hair needed cutting. When asked what she’d been up to, she mastered a fine line in sarcasm too “oh, today, I’ve been running around the field outside!!! What do you think I’ve been up to?” lol.

So what Cilla’s ‘normal’ is, I can only guess.