Because They're Worth It

I had a slightly surreal day yesterday.

Firstly I visited a friend’s elderly mother in the same hospital ward my Mum was in last year.  Bad memories came flooding back as I once again saw the good, the bad and the ugly of the NHS, the hideousness of growing old and the way some members of the caring profession choose to treat the elderly.

From there I took my mum to say goodbye to her hairdresser of forty-five years - the end of an era as she retires.

Picture this … a tiny, slightly tired and dated hair salon which caters to the blue rinse and curly perm brigade - to the ladies of a certain age who like to be coiffed to within an inch of their lives and then attacked with a full tin of hairspray to keep their set in place for the week ahead.  A place where equally tiny and tired great grandmothers go to have their morale boosted as they are made to feel glam again.

As I sat, sipping my dry sherry in a 1920’s glass, I witnessed another side of caring.  My mother’s hairdresser is 72, sprightly and finishing a job she clearly adored.  She treated every lady with the same love and compassion.  As did the lovely and incredibly camp 60 year old shampooist as he shimmied and sashayed his way around the rollers and the 1950’s driers, a camouflaged man bag strapped diagonally across his chest.

I watched them manoeuvre a client of approximately 110 (!) in her wheelchair to the sink and then to the mirror to set her approximately 3 (!) yellow hairs on her head as her orange make-up and clogged mascara dripped down her tiny bird-like face.  They joked with her as her husband (also 110!) sat beside her wearing his wife’s string of pearls around his grubby blazer to keep them safe.  She giggled at their banter like a little girl, her voice sounding like she’d sucked all the helium out of a Minnie Mouse balloon.  She was being made to feel important, fussed over and, in her eyes, she would leave that salon looking like Marilyn Monroe.

I could have sat and watched forever.  She was clearly once a young vibrant woman, attractive in her day, and I began to weave stories of her past life in my head.

But it was the joy of watching people who care so much about what they do and the people they do it for.

I left the salon feeling saddened that my mother has had to say goodbye to her weekly confidante, but buoyed by seeing people doing a job they truly love.

Getting old is a horrible thing but, if we’re fortunate enough, we all go through it.  The nursing staff who don’t do their jobs with love in their hearts would do well to remember that and to take a leaf out of my mother’s hairdresser’s book.  OK, wiping bottoms isn’t as glamorous as titivating someone’s hair but it was the job they chose.

Happy 2015 to all those who care - and to those who don’t, your time will come.

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.

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.

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.