Weekly letters -Part 2

[Grommit]

The First Night.

Sorting through my recently deceased Mother’s financial affairs revealed that she had left my Sister and I a reasonable amount of money in the form of a Trust Fund.

Incidentally, she also held stocks and shares to the value of nearly £10,000 in the Bradford and Bingley Building Society which went bust a few years ago and left her with shares that were worthless. The whole lot wiped out overnight. I hate to think of my Father working all his life and saving what he could for it to fall into the hands of the Bankers who have no idea what real work is.

I have used most of my share of the Trust fund and, after contributions from my kids, we have invested in a second hand motorhome. Well, I ask you, what is the point in saving it?

We have picked one that is most suitable, had it modified slightly to allow Jean better access and a device to make sure she does not fall out of bed.

So, we got the motorhome on the drive. Where do we go? Join the Caravan Club everyone said. I did not want to. To me these clubs are full of middle aged who seem to spend their days cleaning everything in sight and their nights telling stories about where they have been and how their particular model of manufacturer is the best and have you seen the new upgrade to the XV111?
Years ago, I joined a sailing club and left soon after as the most sailing was done in the bar at night whilst the days were spent “improving the rigging and tightening the jib”. All I wanted to do was sail.

I was outnumbered by the family though so we did join the Caravan Club. How yuppie is that? Pony Club next? The Club sent me a 400+ page book, each page toilet paper thin and a font by each picture of -7 Times New Roman.

Packed full of useful information, diagrams, maps, tips, helpful hints, legal advice, explanation of the icon signs which appear by each picture of the sites and site decorum. What they did not tell the new members is that each site is warden operated and, as the wardens do not own or make money from the site, they are different in temperament to site owners.

First night out on Caravan Club site we were met with stark hostility by the  site management. “We close at 5pm” I did explain that it was only 5.15 pm, I had a disabled wife on board and I was not used to driving what amounts to a small lorry through the streets of Sheffield on our way to Castleton in Derbyshire.

She rattled off the instructions in machine gun fashion, told me I was on pitch 4 and to park with the pitch marker post to the right, or left if I reversed in. By that time I began to resent the hostility and parked the wrong way round. Actually I was busting for the toilet and would have parked on a double yellow line in the centre of London and hang the consequences.

Plugged the hook up cable into the allocated plug and connected it to the motorhome. No electric, no radio and no microwave. Warmed tins of stuff on the gas stove for tea.

By then it was 8.30 at night. Loaded Jean into the wheelchair and off to the disabled washroom. Out with the Radar key but big notice on door, “Radar keys do not fit this lock. Apply to Reception.”

I rang the bell. No answer. Knocked on the door and eventually the warden arrived. I explained that the Nationally Approved Radar key for Disabled Facilities would not fit the door.

“That’s your fault. You should have told me you had someone disabled with you when you booked in. Now I shall have disable all the alarms in the Reception area to get you a key and you will have to wait. You WILL hand the key back when you leave.”

So we got the key. On the way back to the motorhome, I stopped a couple on the site and asked if they had problems with the electric as I had plugged in and nothing happened. “Aah, have you twisted the plug to the right?”

Apparently, on Caravan Club sites the cable is inserted and then has to be turned. Looking in the Club Book, in tiny letters in a subparagraph on page 342, it does tell new starters to do exactly that.

We only stayed one night at the site to try out the motorhome and when handing the key in the next morning, a jolly gentlemen took it off me, hoped I had had a goodnight and to drive carefully.

As I went through the door I thanked him and told him it was very nice to have met George but not very pleasant having to deal with the Dragon.

We have now stayed at further 2 sites, owned independently, and had a warm welcome at each one.
As far as I am concerned the Caravan Club can stick its middle class membership and sites in the grey waste depositry.

[annie]

Caravan club not all its cracked up to be eh? Glad to see you are still on form Derek

[wendy]

I think you was just unlucky with that one, most are exceptionally friendly and helpful.

[Grommit]

Car Park Blues.

Is every Council in this country intent on mugging the motorist for parking their cars?

I recently drove into Doncaster for an appointment at a clinic in the centre of Doncaster. I had Jean with me and the Blue Badge but, as usual, the 6 Disabled Parking places allocated for the whole of Doncaster, were full.

So we have to find another Car Parking space. Can’t use the Multi Storey Car Park, the lifts are unreliable and very cramped when I push the wheelchair in and try to force myself in as well. Obviously there is no room for anyone else in the lift if we are in it but it is odd, when the lift stops at the next floor, the door opens and people charge forward trying to find the non -existent space. They start off with a look of expectation in their faces, find out there is no space and the look on their faces changes to one of disappointment or, in some cases, exasperation.

As the door closes again, you can hear them discussing loudly whether to wait for the lift on its return journey or use the stairs. The disgruntled ones talk loudly about, “Having different lifts for wheelchairs.”

I actually used to find myself apologising sometimes for taking all the space up. Standing in the lift, squeezed between wheelchair and graffiti filled wall (I am sure Mary Evans could not possibly do what it says on the wall without surgical intervention) , I used to smile at the people trying to get in and mumble, “Sorry. It’s full.”
After a few times of doing that I eventually dropped the mumble and just smiled and finally even dropped the smile and look at everyone with a glare that says, “No room. Go away.”

Just out of the Town Centre in Doncaster and about half a mile from where we needed to be there is a massive car park which holds several hundred cars. The problem is that there is a very steep 1:1 drop into the park which is situated on the bank of a river. So that one is a no-no.

Drive round again, all the Disabled spaces are still full. Kerbside spaces full. Smaller car parks have no disabled spaces and, in any case, Disabled Parkers have to pay the full price. No concessions at all.

Drive round again and find a roadside space just being vacated. Drive in, park up and get the change ready for the meter. By now appointment time is rapidly approaching. Run up to the meter and find that the charge is 50p for 15 minutes with a maximum parking time of 30 minutes.

Offload wheelchair, get Jean out of car, almost run to the clinic where the appointment was and luckily got out in about 25 minutes just as the Warden was doing his rounds.

I believe that Councils are hell bent on stopping people visiting town centres and make it as difficult as possible for people in chairs to visit, shop and relax without worrying whether they have run out of parking time.

Most of the parking meters now do not give change. Sometimes you finish up putting 1 x £2 coin in the meter when you only want to stay an hour at £1.50p an hour. What do you do when the meter has not been emptied and will not take any more money?

Doncaster Council does have some Disabled Parking places in or very near to the town centre. However, when they did the marking out for each bay, there is not enough room to drop the ramp out of the rear of the car and unload the wheel chair.

Supermarkets have well marked wide bays so doors can be opened wide. Brilliant, but anyone taking a wheel chair out of the back has to dodge other cars driving up the exit and entrance lanes.

Radar keys are a nationwide system of allowing access to disabled toilets. Would it not  make life simpler if all Disabled Parking places were of a standard size so that doors can be opened and ramps dropped down with the carer being in danger of being run down?

Finally, isn’t it about time that all Parking Meters were of the standard type capable of giving out change and not requesting the driver to punch in his licence plate number before the ticket is dispensed?

I have lost count of the times I have turned up at a parking meter only to find I have forgotten the numbers on the number plate and have to traipse back to the car to read it then back to the meter to find a queue there because someone else cannot remember their number and has sent one of the kids to find it so that she does not lose her place.

[Honey]

Brilliant post as always.
than999
x

[mumxtwo]

Well said!  happi

[annie]

happi
A lot of car parks make you put your number in now, it is to stop you passing on your ticket to someone else if there is time left on it, I can never remember my number, like you I have to walk back & read it

[irenee]

gre55555        than999

[Misspears]

gre55555.    than999

[Grommit]

Rut Land

No, not the smallest County in England but the place where carers can find themselves if they don’t watch out.

It starts every morning when I wake up and start thinking about the day ahead. Rut land grows with the passage of time and encompasses every bit of daily life from the big decisions down to the very smallest ones.

Yes, I can hear you say, but some things we do have to be done.  Like getting dressed for instance. We can’t go round to the Supermarket in our pyjamas and nighties or wander round in the house all day without clothes.

The people we care for have our own routines imposed upon them. They have no choice really when they rely on you for all their daily needs.

Care Home residents spend their days in unaltered routines. They know exactly what time it is that they should be fed and woe betide the staff if they are late by more than 5 minutes or, for that matter, early by 6 minutes. As the clock ticks towards 12.30, the sleeping ones wake up with a grunt as if train had jolted to stop in the station. The arguing ones collect their things together, hurl a final insult to the person they are arguing with, grab the handles of their walking aids and start to heave themselves off their chairs.

Ok, so some routine is forced upon us but do we ever attempt to change the routines that are not forced upon us? Up, out of bed, put watch on, grope for spectacles and glance at alarm clock. Left leg into trousers, right leg into trousers, left sock on followed by right sock.

Why does it feel so odd if I do it the opposite way, right leg first?  After all, I am right handed but wear my watch on the left wrist. I tried putting it on the right wrist one day and, apart from constantly lifting my left arm to see what the time was and wondering where my watch had gone, I got the strangest feeling that something was wrong. It took only about 2 seconds to realise I had changed it round and my right wrist seemed much heavier than usual.

In the moments we have to spare for ourselves are these taken up with household chores? Cleaning bedrooms and washing on Monday. Kitchen, pantry and ironing Tuesday. Supermarket Wednesday, hall, stairs and landing Thursday, front room (lounge to the Southerners and posh Northerners) and bathroom Friday, kitchen appliances once a month. Would we lose track of the chores if we changed it round, left the washing until Friday, shopping on Monday?

In the words of the song, “Would it spoil some vast, eternal plan” if we cleaned the bathroom on Wednesday?

One of my problems is that, even when out Supermarket shopping, I routinely go down the same aisles in the same direction every time I go. Up, fruit and veg, down meat, up frozen foods, down tins, down milk, across to bread, up cereals, up wine and spirits.

Don’t try to tell me you don’t do it because I won’t believe you judging by the numbers of people that grumble and complain when the Supermarkets alter or redesign their shelves.

However, when I try to change the routine, I invariably forget half the things I came in for (already having forgotten to pick my list up from the kitchen table) and arrive at the checkout only to have to go back with the trolley and visit the aisles I have missed.

I suppose the real question I am asking is why do we allow ourselves to slip into routines? Is it for ease of memory or sheer laziness? Is routine a time saving device we have imposed on ourselves? Is it because, as carers, our minds are 90% occupied with our patients and any diversion from what we consider “normal” causes us to forget what we were doing to start with?

So, routine fills most of the carers life yet, when necessity causes the routine to change, we fall into line because we have to. A friend of mine, whose wife was moved from a local hospital to a major hospital about 2 years ago, found that he had to catch several more buses each day to visit her. A massive change in routine which he has taken in his stride and it has now become a different routine.

The changes in Supermarket shelves are a nuisance to start with but we soon fall into line and get used to and begin to feel comfortable and less flustered again as we shop.

It is my intention to change my routines where I can. I shall shave before I shower, cut the fingernails on my right hand first, open cereal packets at the bottom instead of the top, clean the bathroom on Saturday afternoon and maybe, just maybe, change the contents of each of the draws in the bedroom.

Perhaps you can find changes in daily routine that will release you from Rut land?

[annie]

I always thought I wasn't a "routine" person until I read the bit about supermarket! lol.  My mum drove me mad with routine, we had the same meals on the same days year in year out & the house was cleaned in the same strict routine , so I have always kicked against it  where I can, apart from my worklife.

than999

[irenee]

than999

I really don't call it routine more like auto pilot,

just looking forward to a break miles away from rut land.

[Misspears]

than999

[sandy4]

than999 go90

[Grommit]

Choosing the right Path

Today I would like to put before you a particular dilemna regarding the care of a loved one. I don’t mean long term care but care just lasting a few hours a week.

The background to this is that I used to take Jean with me each time I attended an orchestra rehearsal in Sheffield, about 18 miles or so from where I live. The rehearsals last about two and a quarter hours. There is a summer break from July until early September each year.

At first, Jean would sit quietly, listening to the music with obvious enjoyment but towards the end of the last season, it became obvious to me that she was losing interest in the music and spent half the time talking loudly to herself and vociferously making her feelings known when the conductor interrupted the flow of music to make some technical points or discuss the specific way he wanted the music to be played.

Although no mention of this was made by the orchestra members or the conductor, it was quite plain to me that she was disrupting procedures and diverting attention of members from the task in hand.

During this year’s summer break, Jean’s condition has deteriorated considerably. At the first rehearsal this September, her outbursts were significantly louder and her attention span was virtually nil. In addition to that Jean’s mobility has been suspect for some time and, when it came time to leave the rehearsal room, it took two of us to lift her from the chair and escort her to the car.  Furthermore, during the last 3 months, Jean has become totally incontinent and multiple ‘accidents’ occur each day.

Reviewing all this I added the fact that taking her from a warm home and comfortable chair in the depths of the coming winter into a cold, dark night would not really be in her interests.

Taking all this into consideration left me in no doubt that the time had come to get someone to “baby sit” Jean while I went out. I contacted the Mental Health Team to ask their guidance and opinion.

Within a couple of days they had sorted out a sitter for Jean via Age UK and, after they had visited our home, spent 2 hours assessing Jean’s needs, filled in the copious sheets of paper and drunk 2 cups of tea, they went away assuring me that the matter was in hand and someone would be with me that night at 6.30.

They never turned up, leaving me stranded with orchestral music that our section of the orchestra needed.

At the end of our short road there is a Residential Home that caters solely for Dementia patients and my nephew’s wife had a job there as a carer. A few weeks ago, after a fall out with the management of the home, she left there and is now looking for alternative work elsewhere. She is planning on a day time job, without night work and one without having to lift and carry as she has medical problems.

Unfortunately she has also a short term history of depression stemming from her physical medical conditions, the recent death of her Father, an on-going dispute over the Will, the estate, her Sister and the violent, drug related activities of her Sisters husband. Also, due to the Bedroom Tax, both her and my nephew have lost their Council supported home and have had to move back in with my Sister in Law.  In effect, she is carrying a lot of baggage about with her at this time.

She offered to sit with Jean while I went out to rehearsal and the arrangement is working very well. Jean likes her and she likes Jean.

My family however do not approve of the situation. While they offer no viable alternative, such as coming to sit with Jean themselves, point out that, if anything happens to Jean while my nephew’s wife is looking after her, the responsibility will fall entirely on my shoulders. They would much prefer me to use Age UK because it would then become their responsibility if anything happened to Jean.

I pointed out to them that I know that my nephew’s wife is coming to me with baggage but how would I know if the Age UK sitter would not be carrying her own trauma’s and troubles with her?

In the long run, if anything happened to Jean whilst either were watching over her, it would be Jean that suffered and I should still feel responsible for not being there.

I do not know how many near relatives have attacked their demented family members over the last few years as these figures are not usually shown in the media but the Residential home attacks by staff on patients are recorded and do make the media.

It seems to me that an element of trust is required in these matters. We trust that our charges will not suffer at the hands of carers as there are only so many checks that can be carried out on the ability of the staff to actually Care.

My position is that I prefer a family member, however distant the relationship is, to look after Jean for a few hours a week while I am not there rather than someone who is a complete stranger and whose testimonials have been scrutinised by others that may not have the same standards of caring that I have.

In the end, what we do to look after our families is down to us. There are no rights and wrongs. Circumstances force us to make decisions we would rather not make and woe betide those people that criticise our decisions.

[Grommit]

Updated Christmas Carol.

Marley was dead to begin with.

Scrooge knew he was dead as he had to wait 14 days for the Registry Office to find an appointment time for him and then another 6 months before Probate was settled.

The Department of Works and Pensions knew he was dead. They had already sent round someone to check that he was no longer collecting benefits and was not available for work.

Her Majesties Revenue and Customs knew he was dead because they kept sending unpaid tax demands to Scrooge who just binned them.

After the funeral, Scrooge returned to his office where his clerk, Bob Cratchit, was waiting for him near the door. He asked Scrooge for a pay rise. Scrooge laughed cynically and pointed out to Cratchit that he was on the minimum wage and that he, Scrooge, had no intention of paying more than that.

When Cratchit complained that his working hours exceeded those laid down by the EU Working Time Directive, Scrooge merely snorted, “Bah! Humbug!” and told Cratchit that if he wanted more money he could go to Wonga where the basic interest rate of 2000% a week was less than Scrooge himself would charge.

Disappointed, Bob made his way to his rented home and found an eviction notice pinned to the door. It told him that he had not paid the bedroom tax even though one bedroom had been put aside for Tiny Tim who was disabled and in need of a room alone because of the equipment he required to aid his mobility.

Mrs. Cratchit also told Bob that ATOS had been to see Tiny Tim and decided to withhold all his Benefits because he was fit for work as an assistant gardener where he could make holes in the ground with his crutches to allow the gardeners to drop their plants and seeds in.

That night, Scrooge was visited by three Spirits.
The Spirit of Christmas Past where, in a country full of riches, ordinary working folk had very little and had to make do and mend.
The Spirit of Christmas Present where, in a country full of even richer Bankers, tax evaders were given Knighthoods and the Prime Minister did not know the price of a loaf of bread, ordinary folk were finding it difficult to make ends meet and were queuing at Food Banks.
Finally, the Spirit of Christmas Yet To Come appeared with scissors and two very tall weight lifters to make new cuts in Carers Benefits and lift the already high price of fuel even further.

After the visits, Scrooge saw the error of his business ways and decided to sell up to a Venture Capital Enterprise who ‘downsized’ Bob Cratchit and replaced him with an illegal immigrant worker on even lower wages.

With some of the money from his business sale, Scrooge went to Bet Fred and bet on the odds that services for disabled people and their carers would not increase in the far distant future. Although the odds were very low, he still made enough money to retire to the Cayman Islands.

The whole Cratchit family were evicted, lived in a squat until the family was broken up after failing to comply with the requirements of their ASBO’s.

As for Tiny Tim, he was placed on the ‘watch’ list by the local “lessons have been learned” Social Services who immediately forgot about him and gave him no support at all.

Tiny Tim was eventually jailed for smuggling drugs in a hollowed out crutch.

[annie]

A poignant look at our flawed benefit system, you have to learn to laugh or you would surely cry!!! than999

[Grommit]

Product Testing.

Earlier this year I applied for a wheelchair for Jean through the Social Services. The first indications from them was it would only be a matter of a few days only before it was received. During those few days waiting my Mother fell ill and was hospitalised meaning that frequent visits were necessary to check on her progress and cheer her up a bit.

After trying to get Jean to walk along endless Hospital corridors and negotiate lifts, I gave the wheelchair distribution centre a call and asked if they could hurry things along. The charming lady at the other end of the phone assured me that my request was on the list and it would be 6 weeks before it would be attended to. She also added that the end of the 6 weeks it would be necessary for us to attend a “fitting” consultation to see which sort of chair would be suitable. Following the consultation it then may take a further 2 weeks before we could pick the chair up and use it.

I bought a second hand one from a reputable dealer the next day.

No problem with chair at all. Whizzed up and down Hospital corridors and into lifts.  At first, Jean was unable to keep her feet on the footrests of the chair and tried her best to scoot along with both feet on the floor. However, after getting her feet trapped a couple of times as the front wheels swivelled round, she soon gave up the idea of scooting.

So, now we had transport, days out during summer were very much on the cards. I got loads of information regarding wheelchair accessible sites to visit and started to organise trips out.

To cut a long story short, “Wheelchair Accessible” means different things to different advertisers. They show colour pictures of people in wheelchairs  on the front pages of their pamphlets and books, all happy and smiling in the sunshine and without a care in the world. There was even one for somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales showing wheel chairs apparently proceeding up steep gravel paths to reach a viewpoint half way up a mountain.

Not having the sense I was born with, I tried pushing Jean and her chair on gravel paths and along Promenades at the seaside where deep sand had blown over the tarmac. Soon gave up on both those ideas. Also tried Wheelchair Accessible Beamish Museum up t’North. First 20 yards or so fine, then steep hills and rutted tracks to the farm, even steeper hills to the village and, when we reached the village, cobbled streets.

Of course, there is transport in Beamish but who ever heard of a 1925 tram with a lowering platform or a 1923 omnibus with room on board for a wheelchair?

At the end of each of the days out, I was exhausted pushing the wheelchair and seriously considered buying a wheelchair that was easier to push or getting a wheelchair with a motor that I could handle from the back.

I managed to get hold of a demonstration model of a machine called the Viamobile. This a device which attaches to the modified back of a standard wheelchair and has a battery powered motor with 2 driving wheels to drive the wheelchair along. It has handlebars which are similar to those on a bicycle and which are set higher than the normal handles on a standard chair. This means that the operator can stand more comfortably than being slightly bent forward when just using the wheelchair handles. Very handy for those carers with bad backs.

Easy to operate, push handles down to go forward, pull up to go backwards. There are several speed adjustments which are on the control panel built into the handlebars and these seem to indicate the rate of travel from 1 to 6 miles an hour (ordinary walking pace is usually between 3 and 4 miles per hour). It travels well over rough ground, through mud and quite deep puddles.

The whole device clips onto the rear of the modified chair in about 30 seconds and can be disengaged just as quickly when the wheel chair needs to be folded and put into a car boot.

Because the device, plus its battery, is heavy to move, a simple turn of a switch puts the motor into “Roll” position so that it can be wheeled as a separate item. Detaching the battery for recharging and re-attaching after charging is straightforward without having to undo clips or electrical contacts.

I have found a couple of faults with the device. One is to make certain the battery is correctly positioned when fitted otherwise, when travelling over uneven ground like holes in the pavement and the bobbles at the start of Zebra crossings, the battery contacts fail to make proper contact and the wheelchair stops.

Another fault is that neither the battery charger nor the battery itself does not have a charge rate indicator to tell the user what level of charge is left in the battery. It is advised that a fully charged battery will last for 4 miles or so but without a charge indicator it is difficult to tell how far the charge in the battery will last. Having said that, the wheels of the device can be lifted off the floor by using a foot pedal, and you can continue your journey just pushing the chair with the device attached.

And finally, there is no room to hang a full bag of shopping on the wheelchair back which, now I come to think about it, means that we have to have more trips to the local shop which gets us both out of the house.

Having learned how to use the device, I find I cannot do without it mainly because the walking position is much more comfortable and kind to my back.

[Grommit]

Hospital Visits.

Over the last couple of weeks I have been engaged in visiting a friend and neighbour who has been hospitalised for the third time.

Twice, she exhibited symptoms of high temperature, severe sweating and an inability to keep down food and fluids. She already suffers with an advanced state of Multiple Sclerosis and Parkinsons disease but, instead of treating the cause of the latest bouts of illness, only the symptoms were treated before she was discharged the following day.

It was only with the intervention of her husband and daughter refusing to take her back home if discharged again, that the decision to investigate was taken. So, she has been hospitalised for nearly a fortnight now. Actually, the investigations have only just started on Wednesday of this week.

Jean and I have been visiting on an almost daily basis and also acting as taxi for her husband who does not drive.
The first Ward in which my friend was a patient was on the 7th floor of an 8 floor building and the nearest parking place was situated outside another Hospital block  at few hundred yards away from the Main block.With Jean in the wheelchair we had to find our way through the first block, through the Automatic double doors that either refuse to close or refuse to open, through the main foyer, through another set of equally awkward doors and out into a Staff Only Car Park.

Across the Staff Car Park, enter the main Hospital block, down past MRI, Diabetes, Service Department, turn left before A&E, down the corridor where unused movable beds are stored, turn right past the Pharmacy then left again past the X Ray Department and so on to the Lifts.

There are 5 lifts, discounting the one used for Patient Movement Only. At any given time at least 2 of the lifts are “Out Of Order” so queues of visitors form. As soon as a lift arrives, the queue moves rapidly forward, determined to bag a place and completely ignoring the lift passengers that have just come down and are now trying to fight their way out before the doors slide shut.

Feet are trodden on, wheelchairs run into people and the elderly with frames have no chance at all. By the looks of one confused old lady with a zimmer frame, she had been up and down in the same lift most of the day not being quick enough to exit before the oncoming visitors squeeze her to the back of the lift.

Up to the 7th floor, turn left, through the double swing doors which have to be opened because one door opening is not wide enough to get a wheelchair through.

Visiting in this Ward is from 10 each morning until 8 at night. We used to get there about 12noon. Dinner served at 12.30pm. At this juncture I must remind everyone that my friend has MS and Parkinsons. She is confined to bed and the Hospital staff left her meal on the side table and just walked off making no attempt to either raise the bed to a sitting position to help her with eating. The Parkinsons disease means that she is unable to stop involuntary arm movements long enough to hold the bed controller and raise the bed herself or use the knife and fork provided.

It became quite apparent that no help was coming so, being the only one there at that time, I fed her by hand before the whole lot went freezing cold.

Days went by, no Doctors visited, no attempt was made to keep her informed of what was going on. On Monday of this week, Jean and I did the long trek ourselves, to give my friends husband a rest and at 12.15 turned up in the Ward to find an empty bed!

Enquiries  at the Nurse’s Station down the corridor showed that she had been moved to a Ward on the South side of the Hospital and you have to go down in the lift to the bottom, turn left up another corridor,  past Haematology, Oncology, Where the Hell are We ology and into Urology, up in the lift and turn right.

We got there at about 12.45 only to find a big notice on the door, “Visiting Times only from 2.30 to 3.30 and 6.30 to 8pm. Please press the bell for admittance as all the doors on this Ward are locked”

Pressed the bell anyway, had a somewhat heated conversation with a Jobsworth about how we had travelled a long way to see my friend and we had no idea of visiting times. Eventually, with bad grace, we were allowed in and I sat in the seat next to the bed and had a few words with my friend just as the dinners were being served.

“Sorry, you will have to wait outside until the patient has finished eating.”

“Why?”

“Health and Safety and to stop cross infections.”

I stood up to walk round the bed to Jeans wheelchair and felt a squelch under my foot. When I looked down I saw that whoever had fitted my friends Catheter Bag had done it incorrectly and under the bed was a large pool of urine left to gradually creep across the floor.

I pointed to it and said, “Yes. I see what you mean about Health and Safety and stopping cross infections.” and left the Ward squelching footprints of urine through the doors and into the carpeted Waiting Room.

My friend was left struggling with her dinner on her own.

Has the NHS really sunk as low as this? Have we paid our money in all these years to create cradle to grave medical assistance when required to be left in bed with leaking urine bags spilling out under the bed?

[annie]

What a dreadful state of affairs, some hospitals  are horrendous & should be avoided like the plague. Our own main hospital Blackburn is on special measures. There are just not enough qualified staff on the wards and cleaning staff are all cut back to the minimum

[Honey]

I feel I have to defend our local hospital that is in special measures too.
when my mum aged 88 recently fell and was admitted every member of  the staff were brilliant.  yes, they were very overworked but they made sure she was well cared for.
the doctor in charge of her admission said he had 4 hours to get her settled on a ward and he wouldn't go off duty till he was sure she had had all the necessary tests done and he was satisfied with her ongoing care. bless him. and he did it.
she was then taken to a ward where the staff were very caring and made her very comfortable.
the next morning, she was showered and changed by two lovely ward assistants, she was given a choice of menues for her meals and enjoyed them.
the nursing staff kept me updated on her progress by telephone , and when she was moved to a different ward to continue her recovery I was informed immediately and the staff and doctors were ist class.
the occupational therapist visited ist thing that morning, to make sure she had all the necessary help she required.
my mum was very very well cared for.
god bless the lovely people in our hospitals who care so much for their patients and who are  so overworked.
 
 

[Grommit]

Dear Sir,

In response to your advertisement for the position of carer for an Alzheimers patient in the latter stages of the disease, I take this opportunity to append my CV as follows:-

Name – unfortunately this escapes at the moment as none of my acquaintances use it anymore. This is due to the fact that whenever I meet someone in the street their greeting is, “Hi there! How’s Jean?” So after 14 years of not having heard my name mentioned it is very difficult for me to remember what my actual name is.

However, I seek to assure you that this loss of personal identification may only be temporary and will recalled should I be successful in the job application.

Address – this will be forwarded to you under separate cover.

Telephone number – Ex directory due to incessant telephone calls in relation to PPI, Conservatories, Boiler replacement and Solar panels. As these occur only at times when I am upstairs attending to Jean’s needs, in the middle of taking something hot out of the oven or rare times when I am snoozing in the chair, I considered ex directory as a better alternative to ripping the phone out of the wall and jumping up and down on it.

Facebook page discontinued due to inundated by subscribers wanting to be my friend. Although it would be nice to have so many new friends, I did wonder why most of them sent me photographs of themselves whilst in their bedrooms and exposing rather more areas of flesh that I need to see.

Education.

Relating to the job opportunity which you are offering I am afraid to say that I have had no specific education and have relied on book learning, hand-out reading and interaction with other carers on various websites.

There is a vast amount of knowledge available on these sites presented in many different ways and it is an education in itself reading and interpreting the knowledge that I found. However all the sites suffer from one major fault which is that they cannot throw light on what happens next in the progression of the disease.

I do, of course, realise that Alzheimers disease takes many forms and progresses in many different ways but I would have expected that some firm predictions could be made regarding the future rather than hiding behind the cover all, “All patients are different.”

For the purposes of brevity I have divided the Work Experience into several categories.

1) Physical Requirements.

As a carer for a latter stage Alzheimers patient I would be aware that physical strength is very necessary. I have the physical ability to assist in climbing stairs, getting into and out of bed, lifting off the floor when the patient falls, lifting out of and lowering into chairs, wheelchairs, car seats, bath seats and toilet seats and acting as an extra support  when the patient is walking.

I also am able to disappear very quickly when approached by do-gooders, persons who offer to help but never actually do help and have been known to run a mile, pushing a wheelchair, in 5.5 minutes when the Social Services indicate that they are about to call for a pat-on-head –you-are-doing-very-well- assessment.

2) Domestic Skills.

Section A – Cooking.

All my cooking can be referred to as SO SO cooking i.e. Same Old Same Old. This is due to the fact that latter stage Alzheimers patients are not adventurous with regard to cuisine. Attempts at lightly spiced curries are usually met with contempt and difficulty in chewing and swallowing rules out pieces of meat unless they are shredded very small and completely soaked in some sort of liquid such as lumpless gravy.

Because the patient is hand fed, meal times take approximately 1 hour each and involve several trips to the micro wave to keep meals warm. This also adds to the paragraph concerning  Physical Requirements as much energy is consumed by the carer running from one end of the kitchen to the other.

Section B – Washing and Ironing.

Washing is made much easier by using a modern washing machine but, although the machines are similar in manufacture, I would hope that a handbook will be supplied.

It may interest you to know that I am able to hold more than 4 pegs in my mouth whilst pegging on the washing line.

I understand that ironing no longer consists of putting the clothes under the mattress overnight and that electric irons are now used. Unfortunately I do not have experience of these but hope this will not preclude me from obtaining the advertised position. (See also Weaknesses).

Section C – House Cleaning.

I understand that a house cleaner will be on hand to assist in this matter but hasten to point out that I can carry out these duties every 6 months if required.

Section D – Patient Personal Requirements

I have been able to overcome the difficulties with the above and am able to fit a bra the right way up, trousers the right way round, tops and jumpers not inside out and shoes on the right feet.

The washing of personal areas holds no fears and the brushing of teeth has been perfected by using guile, charm and subterfuge.

3) Strengths.

I believe that a carers duties cannot be performed without the addition of humour. If the carer can make the patient laugh or smile the job is easier for both.

The willingness to keep on trying irrespective of how many times you get it wrong.

An inexhaustible amount of patience.

4) Weaknesses.
Lack of ironing skills.

Lack of patience.

I thank you for your attention to this CV and look forward to hearing from you in due course  in relation to the post advertised.

Yours Faithfully,

Hi there! How’s Jean?

[wendy]

Derek,
your letter really touched me today, so I added it to  our daily newspaper so more people will read it.
http://thecarersnewspaper.co.uk/

[chenrezig]

Oh Derek, what can I say ?????????????????

While I did have a laugh or two, so much of this applies to when I was looking after dear Dad.How well you put it !!


Liz x