Caring for someone you love is a tricky one and anyone who does it on a day-to-day basis will know that things can change from one minute to the next. Just as you think you've overcome one problem or managed to get an issue covered off, a new one will raise its ugly head.
I'm managing to cope with those curve balls that get thrown at me (actually, read: 'I'm dealing with them but still learning on the job!'). But the hardest part is dealing with the emotional side - when my mum says something that rocks my world. The world I'm trying very hard to keep stable.
She said one of those things to me last week. Now, I won't share what she said - that wouldn't be fair or necessary - but it made me stop and think. The more I thought, the more I knew that something had to change and that we needed to do a whole lot more talking.
I felt happy with our progress ... until I took her to her hairdressers yesterday and got some insight, from a family outsider, about my mum that I knew had been troubling her but had no idea that she'd chosen to share the severity of her upset to such an extent. That hurt. Quite a lot.
It was like seeing a tiny raw piece of the woman who brought me into the world - a piece that I knew was there, but magnified under a microscope. It was out there, beyond us. Suddenly, it became bigger than an elephant in the corner and it's since been there waving its trunk at me.
I can care for my mum, feed her, do her washing, clean her house, do her shopping, boost her spirits, keep her company and can generally be her 'cheer-leader' but, deep down, I know I can never make her truly happy.
Not by myself. And not until that elephant in the corner is gone.
Showing posts with label geriatric. Show all posts
Showing posts with label geriatric. Show all posts
Saturday, 23 November 2013
Monday, 14 October 2013
Caring with love ...
I'm talking carers and caring this week.
An article recently appeared in The Independent stating:
'Disabled people are being forced to choose between having a drink or going to the toilet during “flying care visits” which last only 15 minutes and are increasingly being used by cash-strapped councils struggling to cope with rising demands on the social care system'
And people ask me why my mother doesn't have carers? Why it's left up to me?
I'm currently sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to my mum while she recovers from a broken pelvis. I'm there for every nurse's appointment, physio and occupational therapy. Why? Because she's hard of hearing and, more often than not, these people (often with very thick accents) make no attempt to speak slowly and clearly in a way she can understand. She's not stupid, she doesn't have dementia - she simply struggles to hear.
Do I really want to leave my mum to be rushed and bewildered with a complete stranger first thing in the morning and last thing at night when she feels at her most vulnerable? Answers on a postcard.
Incidentally, I have also been appalled by the way nurses and doctors in the hospital my mother stayed in dealt with her hearing difficulties. Nobody seems to have the proper training to raise the level of their voice without screeching AND to look directly at the person. The audiologist (on our little day trip to get her ears checked for wax) was so softly spoken, I could barely hear him and he spoke to my mum with his back to her. Please! A little common sense is all it takes - and it's your job.
But I digress. FIFTEEN minutes to get an elderly or disabled person up, on and off the loo (or possibly empty and clean a commode), washed, dressed and fed! This is beyond a joke. The infirm do not need to be rushed or made to feel that they are working against the clock. For some, this may be their only contact during a long day and it matters. It also matters that they feel safe, supported and cared for. It's in the title! 'Carers'.
It's currently taking me TWO HOURS to complete all of the above with my mum. Two very long hours but I'm going at her pace and keeping her happy. I'm not for one minute suggesting that all home visits should be this long but fifteen minutes is laughable.
I pity those who are being subjected to this nightmare. I have no idea what the answer is but something really needs to be done.
Being a carer is the toughest thing I've ever done in my life. It's relentless and I have to constantly remind myself to be patient and calm - this is for my own mother who I love with all my heart. She didn't ask to be in this position - neither did those who are subjected to carers.
I'll carry on because I have no choice, and on the days that I lay down and cry with exhaustion I remind myself that no one will overlook my mum's physical and mental needs by a fifteen minute flying visit.
She's worth more than that.
An article recently appeared in The Independent stating:
'Disabled people are being forced to choose between having a drink or going to the toilet during “flying care visits” which last only 15 minutes and are increasingly being used by cash-strapped councils struggling to cope with rising demands on the social care system'
And people ask me why my mother doesn't have carers? Why it's left up to me?
I'm currently sleeping on a mattress on the floor next to my mum while she recovers from a broken pelvis. I'm there for every nurse's appointment, physio and occupational therapy. Why? Because she's hard of hearing and, more often than not, these people (often with very thick accents) make no attempt to speak slowly and clearly in a way she can understand. She's not stupid, she doesn't have dementia - she simply struggles to hear.
Do I really want to leave my mum to be rushed and bewildered with a complete stranger first thing in the morning and last thing at night when she feels at her most vulnerable? Answers on a postcard.
Incidentally, I have also been appalled by the way nurses and doctors in the hospital my mother stayed in dealt with her hearing difficulties. Nobody seems to have the proper training to raise the level of their voice without screeching AND to look directly at the person. The audiologist (on our little day trip to get her ears checked for wax) was so softly spoken, I could barely hear him and he spoke to my mum with his back to her. Please! A little common sense is all it takes - and it's your job.
But I digress. FIFTEEN minutes to get an elderly or disabled person up, on and off the loo (or possibly empty and clean a commode), washed, dressed and fed! This is beyond a joke. The infirm do not need to be rushed or made to feel that they are working against the clock. For some, this may be their only contact during a long day and it matters. It also matters that they feel safe, supported and cared for. It's in the title! 'Carers'.
It's currently taking me TWO HOURS to complete all of the above with my mum. Two very long hours but I'm going at her pace and keeping her happy. I'm not for one minute suggesting that all home visits should be this long but fifteen minutes is laughable.
I pity those who are being subjected to this nightmare. I have no idea what the answer is but something really needs to be done.
Being a carer is the toughest thing I've ever done in my life. It's relentless and I have to constantly remind myself to be patient and calm - this is for my own mother who I love with all my heart. She didn't ask to be in this position - neither did those who are subjected to carers.
I'll carry on because I have no choice, and on the days that I lay down and cry with exhaustion I remind myself that no one will overlook my mum's physical and mental needs by a fifteen minute flying visit.
She's worth more than that.
Monday, 30 September 2013
The NHS Journey Continues ...
I'm into my third week of dealing with the NHS and my mum's hospital stay - the good the bad and the ugly continue to exist and I face each new day wondering which challenges and problems will be thrown at us.
As I said in a previous post on the NHS, there are the shining stars within the caring profession - those who do everything with a smile on their face, go the extra mile and make every patient feel as though they have time for them.
I've seen nursing assistants feed patients with tenderness while painstakingly answering the same question over and over again but in a different way, I've seen physiotherapists taking on the role of nurse and calming an agitated patient with dementia purely with a hug and a few minutes of chat, and I've seen the Sister of the ward dealing with a problem swiftly and efficiently the minute it arose.
BUT ...
I've had a nurse with a heavy accent and speech impediment SCREAMING in my mum's bad ear, first thing in the morning, and telling her to put her hearing aids in. My mum doesn't wear them and relies heavily on lip reading, a slow measured tone and face to face contact. This was always going to go nowhere.
A nurse decided that, because my mum was of a certain age, she needed particular sanitary care which is totally unnecessary. My mum was given no choice in the matter - she was stripped of her dignity and treated like all the other patients. She also asked, on seeing my mum walking gingerly, 'When exactly did you have this operation?' Erm ... perhaps try reading your notes on handover and you'd have seen that there hasn't been an operation and the bone is still healing.
A brain scan was booked for my mum and when I asked why (so that I could explain it to her) the nurse told me that she didn't know and it might be for the wrong patient! When I asked her to find out, she huffed and puffed and didn't bother to do as I asked. When I eventually managed to speak to the doctor, I was told so many things that didn't ring true that I eventually had to question that it was actually mum she was talking about. Failed dementia test? Had a fall in a physio session? I'd been there for all of those things and been told that she'd passed with flying colours. Surprise, surprise ... within the hour I received an apology as the doctor (I use this term very loosely) had mixed my mother up with one of the ten patients she'd just taken on! Unacceptable and so frightening - imagine if that information had been given to a patient with no next of kin or no one to discuss it with.
I've had a nurse decide to totally ignore my request for the toilet aid to be put in place in the loo. She moved pretty quickly, with a tut, when I told her that I hoped that there wouldn't be any accidents.
My mum had a broken bed on the first night- it had a mind of its own and kept rising, falling and folding in the middle. She was told that if she didn't stay there, the only option was to sleep on the loo all night. It was eventually dealt with but, even if this passing comment was said as a joke to a hard of hearing patient who had been woken up with a fright in a strange place, it's not on.
My mum is of sound mind and yet she is in a ward where most have dementia. This is not good for her morale. She needs to be with other like-minded, elderly people to aid her recovery and her will to live - not sit in a silent ward surrounded by very sick people who she can't even chat to. It's like waiting for death.
I've seen patients totally ignored - whether its been for toileting needs, comfort, a fall from bed or even pure hunger. I've called nurses to help people back to bed and even fed them and delivered calming words just because no one else was around for them.
Physio is meant to be Monday to Friday - nothing happened today. That's three days on the trot with no rehab. Sparks may fly tomorrow.
I've witnessed nurses making patients more confused with silly untruths - telling them it's lunchtime at suppertime and vice versa and then laughing when they wonder why they are going to bed after lunch. Not nice.
I've been told that there aren't enough pillows, wheelchairs or commodes purely because the nurse couldn't be bothered to move her bum and get one. I now ask one of the 'goodies' and, surprise surprise, whatever I ask for materialises.
I guess you can tell I'm not happy. I don't want my mum there any longer than necessary and I'll be by her side for as much of it as I can or I'll steal her and take her home.
Watch this space ...
UPDATE! A dementia patient kept the ward awake all night calling for a nurse. The staff stood around talking and laughing, ignoring her. Both my mum and another patient told me this this morning. Today, the day staff were asking where she had got her new bruises from and they then took photographic evidence. The lady was telling them that she shouldn't be treated that way and that at 84, she didn't want any more babies. 'I'd rather be dead than treated like this.'
Tonight the '12 year old doctor' visited her, after confusion and upset ALL day, and my sister heard the 'doctor' asking, 'Are you satisfied with your life?' and 'Can you manage your interests?' Even we couldn't figure out what this meant! This was to a lady who can't even feed herself. Time to put the text books away, girlie, and focus on patients' real needs, speak her language and calm her down with whichever words she wants to hear.
On the plus side, I've made two new friends - nursing assistants who are helpful and smile. That's all we want as patients and relatives.
As I said in a previous post on the NHS, there are the shining stars within the caring profession - those who do everything with a smile on their face, go the extra mile and make every patient feel as though they have time for them.
I've seen nursing assistants feed patients with tenderness while painstakingly answering the same question over and over again but in a different way, I've seen physiotherapists taking on the role of nurse and calming an agitated patient with dementia purely with a hug and a few minutes of chat, and I've seen the Sister of the ward dealing with a problem swiftly and efficiently the minute it arose.
BUT ...
I've had a nurse with a heavy accent and speech impediment SCREAMING in my mum's bad ear, first thing in the morning, and telling her to put her hearing aids in. My mum doesn't wear them and relies heavily on lip reading, a slow measured tone and face to face contact. This was always going to go nowhere.
A nurse decided that, because my mum was of a certain age, she needed particular sanitary care which is totally unnecessary. My mum was given no choice in the matter - she was stripped of her dignity and treated like all the other patients. She also asked, on seeing my mum walking gingerly, 'When exactly did you have this operation?' Erm ... perhaps try reading your notes on handover and you'd have seen that there hasn't been an operation and the bone is still healing.
A brain scan was booked for my mum and when I asked why (so that I could explain it to her) the nurse told me that she didn't know and it might be for the wrong patient! When I asked her to find out, she huffed and puffed and didn't bother to do as I asked. When I eventually managed to speak to the doctor, I was told so many things that didn't ring true that I eventually had to question that it was actually mum she was talking about. Failed dementia test? Had a fall in a physio session? I'd been there for all of those things and been told that she'd passed with flying colours. Surprise, surprise ... within the hour I received an apology as the doctor (I use this term very loosely) had mixed my mother up with one of the ten patients she'd just taken on! Unacceptable and so frightening - imagine if that information had been given to a patient with no next of kin or no one to discuss it with.
I've had a nurse decide to totally ignore my request for the toilet aid to be put in place in the loo. She moved pretty quickly, with a tut, when I told her that I hoped that there wouldn't be any accidents.
My mum had a broken bed on the first night- it had a mind of its own and kept rising, falling and folding in the middle. She was told that if she didn't stay there, the only option was to sleep on the loo all night. It was eventually dealt with but, even if this passing comment was said as a joke to a hard of hearing patient who had been woken up with a fright in a strange place, it's not on.
My mum is of sound mind and yet she is in a ward where most have dementia. This is not good for her morale. She needs to be with other like-minded, elderly people to aid her recovery and her will to live - not sit in a silent ward surrounded by very sick people who she can't even chat to. It's like waiting for death.
I've seen patients totally ignored - whether its been for toileting needs, comfort, a fall from bed or even pure hunger. I've called nurses to help people back to bed and even fed them and delivered calming words just because no one else was around for them.
Physio is meant to be Monday to Friday - nothing happened today. That's three days on the trot with no rehab. Sparks may fly tomorrow.
I've witnessed nurses making patients more confused with silly untruths - telling them it's lunchtime at suppertime and vice versa and then laughing when they wonder why they are going to bed after lunch. Not nice.
I've been told that there aren't enough pillows, wheelchairs or commodes purely because the nurse couldn't be bothered to move her bum and get one. I now ask one of the 'goodies' and, surprise surprise, whatever I ask for materialises.
I guess you can tell I'm not happy. I don't want my mum there any longer than necessary and I'll be by her side for as much of it as I can or I'll steal her and take her home.
Watch this space ...
UPDATE! A dementia patient kept the ward awake all night calling for a nurse. The staff stood around talking and laughing, ignoring her. Both my mum and another patient told me this this morning. Today, the day staff were asking where she had got her new bruises from and they then took photographic evidence. The lady was telling them that she shouldn't be treated that way and that at 84, she didn't want any more babies. 'I'd rather be dead than treated like this.'
Tonight the '12 year old doctor' visited her, after confusion and upset ALL day, and my sister heard the 'doctor' asking, 'Are you satisfied with your life?' and 'Can you manage your interests?' Even we couldn't figure out what this meant! This was to a lady who can't even feed herself. Time to put the text books away, girlie, and focus on patients' real needs, speak her language and calm her down with whichever words she wants to hear.
On the plus side, I've made two new friends - nursing assistants who are helpful and smile. That's all we want as patients and relatives.
Wednesday, 25 September 2013
A Stitch in Time
Today I've been called an angel and a life-saver. I was neither of those things. I was a listener.
Last night while visiting my mum in hospital, my sister was with my mum in the bathroom and I heard an elderly lady becoming more and more distraught because she'd lost her purse. As there were no nurses around at the time, I went to help her as she was trying to get out of her chair and I knew (from being nosey) that she's unable to and not allowed to try.
Her purse was under her chair and she cheered up a little. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, 'I've not got much in it, but it's fundamental to me.' We got chatting - she told me all about her late husband and her two sons - one who broke her heart when he went to live in Australia. She asked me why I only had one son and if I would have more babies soon. I told her I was too old and she laughed! She then said that she'd asked nurses to bring her wool to knit and we got on the subject of favourite colours and how she'd like to knit a scarf as she can't follow patterns any more. I'd heard her ask someone earlier in the day if they could get her some wool and needles and, knowing how busy the staff are, I knew it would probably never happen.
I promised to take her some materials in the next morning and left her with a smile on her face.
My lovely husband sorted through my many craft boxes and we found some spare yarn and a pair of needles. She'd specifically requested 'that colour you use for boys' and we'd agreed on blue - but it had to be bright! She was in luck and I packed her a little goodie bag.
Of course I was questioning whether or not she could actually still remember how to knit - I had no idea what sort of health problems or mental issues she might have. And I also needed to check with a nurse that it was OK for her to have it. Knitting needles can be a deadly weapon in the wrong hands!
So I arrived bright and early, kissed and hugged my mum, and then got the consent I needed to deliver my gift. Her face was a picture - she was so delighted, I could have cried when I saw the difference it made to her day.
But the big test remained ... could she actually knit?
It was deep-cleaning day for the ward, so all those who could be moved were taken to the day room. Within half an hour my new friend had cast on and knitted an inch! I was almost jumping up and down on the tables.
When one of the physios came to see her she couldn't believe the change in her. When she found out that I'd taken the wool into her she told me that it was the first time they'd managed to get her to talk. The tea lady told me the same story. My friend was soon giving them both knitting lessons - telling them the difference between plain and purl and showing them how to cast off. She was in control and she felt important.
She has been knitting ALL day! She hugs the bag I gave her in the way that she'd been hugging her purse.
Tonight she couldn't remember me, or my name.
But I don't mind, I brought some light back into her life when I could - even if it was only for today.
Last night while visiting my mum in hospital, my sister was with my mum in the bathroom and I heard an elderly lady becoming more and more distraught because she'd lost her purse. As there were no nurses around at the time, I went to help her as she was trying to get out of her chair and I knew (from being nosey) that she's unable to and not allowed to try.
Her purse was under her chair and she cheered up a little. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, 'I've not got much in it, but it's fundamental to me.' We got chatting - she told me all about her late husband and her two sons - one who broke her heart when he went to live in Australia. She asked me why I only had one son and if I would have more babies soon. I told her I was too old and she laughed! She then said that she'd asked nurses to bring her wool to knit and we got on the subject of favourite colours and how she'd like to knit a scarf as she can't follow patterns any more. I'd heard her ask someone earlier in the day if they could get her some wool and needles and, knowing how busy the staff are, I knew it would probably never happen.
I promised to take her some materials in the next morning and left her with a smile on her face.
My lovely husband sorted through my many craft boxes and we found some spare yarn and a pair of needles. She'd specifically requested 'that colour you use for boys' and we'd agreed on blue - but it had to be bright! She was in luck and I packed her a little goodie bag.
Of course I was questioning whether or not she could actually still remember how to knit - I had no idea what sort of health problems or mental issues she might have. And I also needed to check with a nurse that it was OK for her to have it. Knitting needles can be a deadly weapon in the wrong hands!
So I arrived bright and early, kissed and hugged my mum, and then got the consent I needed to deliver my gift. Her face was a picture - she was so delighted, I could have cried when I saw the difference it made to her day.
But the big test remained ... could she actually knit?
It was deep-cleaning day for the ward, so all those who could be moved were taken to the day room. Within half an hour my new friend had cast on and knitted an inch! I was almost jumping up and down on the tables.
When one of the physios came to see her she couldn't believe the change in her. When she found out that I'd taken the wool into her she told me that it was the first time they'd managed to get her to talk. The tea lady told me the same story. My friend was soon giving them both knitting lessons - telling them the difference between plain and purl and showing them how to cast off. She was in control and she felt important.
She has been knitting ALL day! She hugs the bag I gave her in the way that she'd been hugging her purse.
Tonight she couldn't remember me, or my name.
But I don't mind, I brought some light back into her life when I could - even if it was only for today.
Saturday, 21 September 2013
The good, the bad and the ugly in the NHS
A short post about my current dealings with the NHS - I'm sure many more will follow, if only for my own sanity.
My mum was admitted to a ward in the early hours of Tuesday morning after fracturing her pelvis on Monday afternoon.
The care she received in A&E couldn't be faulted. However, since she's been on the ward, we're talking a real mixed bag. I've seen staff members who are doing a job that they truly love and the fact that they care, and want to make people feel better while bringing a smile to patients' faces, shines through them.
And then I've seen the others ...
Those that make you question why they're doing the job. Those that make you want to say, 'Would you like your mother to be treated like that or spoken to in that way?' Those that you can only describe as sadists.
If one male nurse can deliver and administer a bed pan with care and ease, why can't another? How come one can have sensitivity and a light, jokey manner and another, quite frankly, couldn't give a sh*t. It's OK, I have both names and I WILL take action - the first will be nominated as the 'shining star' that this particular hospital is looking for, the second will hopefully end up flipping burgers and not the elderly.
What worries me is, I'm there to fight for my mum - but what about the times I can't be? And what about those patients who have nobody?
I know that the NHS is under huge pressure and is short staffed. I also know that those in the profession work incredibly long shifts but that is never an excuse for rough treatment, harsh words or lack of patience.
My lessons to some of the people I've dealt with would be:
Do not roll your eyes at a patient at one o'clock in the morning when they are in shock and scared, purely because they are hard of hearing.
Remember that you may need someone to care for your mum, dad or grandparent. How would you like them to be treated? Are you delivering that level of care?
The hard of hearing are not stupid - don't treat them like idiots. Also, don't just assume that they've heard what you've said - they are very clever at nodding and pretending they've heard, purely because they don't want to keep asking you to repeat yourself.
Be gentle and kind. You are in the 'caring' profession - if you're not doing that, leave.
Don't tell a patient to stop taking medication and then ask them why they're not taking it. A) they were told to stop B) it's been taken from them and is locked away.
Never tut at a patient EVER - not for asking for a second commode in an hour and not because they didn't hear what you said. Just don't!
If you don't know the answer to something, don't just shrug. Tell the next of kin that you will find someone who can help.
Don't lock horns with the next of kin - you won't win. We're watching you and you will pay.
And what have I learned?
To suck up to the goodies - they are our friends and we want to keep them on side.
To have my say, quietly and calmly and then to allow the baddies to mouth off while I nod and make a note of their name.
That every minute feels like an hour.
That I need to be there for as many of those minutes as I can to make sure that my mum is treated properly. It's the least I owe her and I will do it with love, and cherish every moment spent with her.
Sadly, going by my current experience, the baddies outweigh the goodies.
I don't want to get old.
My mum was admitted to a ward in the early hours of Tuesday morning after fracturing her pelvis on Monday afternoon.
The care she received in A&E couldn't be faulted. However, since she's been on the ward, we're talking a real mixed bag. I've seen staff members who are doing a job that they truly love and the fact that they care, and want to make people feel better while bringing a smile to patients' faces, shines through them.
And then I've seen the others ...
Those that make you question why they're doing the job. Those that make you want to say, 'Would you like your mother to be treated like that or spoken to in that way?' Those that you can only describe as sadists.
If one male nurse can deliver and administer a bed pan with care and ease, why can't another? How come one can have sensitivity and a light, jokey manner and another, quite frankly, couldn't give a sh*t. It's OK, I have both names and I WILL take action - the first will be nominated as the 'shining star' that this particular hospital is looking for, the second will hopefully end up flipping burgers and not the elderly.
What worries me is, I'm there to fight for my mum - but what about the times I can't be? And what about those patients who have nobody?
I know that the NHS is under huge pressure and is short staffed. I also know that those in the profession work incredibly long shifts but that is never an excuse for rough treatment, harsh words or lack of patience.
My lessons to some of the people I've dealt with would be:
Do not roll your eyes at a patient at one o'clock in the morning when they are in shock and scared, purely because they are hard of hearing.
Remember that you may need someone to care for your mum, dad or grandparent. How would you like them to be treated? Are you delivering that level of care?
The hard of hearing are not stupid - don't treat them like idiots. Also, don't just assume that they've heard what you've said - they are very clever at nodding and pretending they've heard, purely because they don't want to keep asking you to repeat yourself.
Be gentle and kind. You are in the 'caring' profession - if you're not doing that, leave.
Don't tell a patient to stop taking medication and then ask them why they're not taking it. A) they were told to stop B) it's been taken from them and is locked away.
Never tut at a patient EVER - not for asking for a second commode in an hour and not because they didn't hear what you said. Just don't!
If you don't know the answer to something, don't just shrug. Tell the next of kin that you will find someone who can help.
Don't lock horns with the next of kin - you won't win. We're watching you and you will pay.
And what have I learned?
To suck up to the goodies - they are our friends and we want to keep them on side.
To have my say, quietly and calmly and then to allow the baddies to mouth off while I nod and make a note of their name.
That every minute feels like an hour.
That I need to be there for as many of those minutes as I can to make sure that my mum is treated properly. It's the least I owe her and I will do it with love, and cherish every moment spent with her.
Sadly, going by my current experience, the baddies outweigh the goodies.
I don't want to get old.
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