I had the locum doctor out last night. Arthur has an infection in one lung again, due to inhaling food or drink again. The doctor gave him an antibiotic and told me to call the ambulance to take himto hospital in the morning. I called Arthur's doctor this morning and she agreed so the ambulance came and now he is in a cubicle in casualty.
I told Arthur he will get an IV drip with antibiotics and fluids and will be back home in a week. I so hope I am right.
He cam home and I am glad he is home and I do not want him to go away and now he is in hospital again. I rang my Mum and she was upset because she is guenuinely fond of him. She saiod he is fading and that it probably won't be much longer. I said I do not think he will see another Christmas and I agreed.
I am so sad.
This is heart-wrenching. I still cannot understand that life has to end. Why? Why must we be parted, how is it that all there is left is some water, minerals and electrolytes of tears? I am afraid to see him in hospital and I must get past this crying. I must be cheerful and optimistic. I must let him know that this is just a normal hospital admission for a course of antibiotics. I can't give into my fears, fear must not rule me.
He must be so scared, death is so lonely. I tried telling him, a couple of nights ago, in the dark as we talked and held hands, he goes to wait for me and the dogs, he goes to be with his Father and Mother and brother, even his first wife who died so many years ago. He goes to be with God, in Heaven as Jesus promised. He is not a great believer, but I told him he knows I am smart and I know it is right. My faith is shaky, and I ponder a death that is the extinguishment of everything, as the atheists say, a real end, a nothing. I hope they are not right.
He must be so frightened and yet he will not burden me with it. He once said a few years ago, talking about life, all good things must come to and end, and I said not yet. I was right, and so was he but I am no more ready for this than I was then.
He says little things to me, like so and so might be worth something one day, I must make sure I don't lose it. Always he worries that I will be alright, when I will have life and he will have left his here on this fragile earth.
He knows Anthony is alright, but he does not ask to see him. I will arrange a visit by Anthony when Arthur is on a ward and better. I think he doesn't want to be upset by saying goodbye to Anthiny each time he visits. Arthur hate saying goodbye.
So do I.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Saturday, May 7, 2011
So Frail.
I am truly sadly shocked at Arthur's condition. He is home, he came back on Wednesday. He slept two nights in the hospital bed in the lounge room. The day and night brought cold so I bought an electric blanket to put over him. Arthur took a sleeping tablet on both nights but it didn't help much. It was strange for us to be sleeping in different rooms.
My middle son, the only one of my children who helps me (the others live in other cities), came today and lifted Arthur into our bed and propped him up on pillows. He looked a lot happier. I made him some soft food (egg custard) and crushed his pills for him to swallow, and he had sweet tea to drink.
Arthur is sleeping a lot. He shows little interest in television, or what is going on in the wider world and that scares me. He did watch some of the news last night, though, but no programs. Normally by Friday he has mapped out his weekend football viewing choices and set up the recording schedule on Foxtel IQ. I hope this is just tiredness from the move home. I fed him his food and passed him his drinks, and made him comfortable. He has me and the dogs for company and I hope he picks up soon.
The AXXXX co-ordinator and OT came out with the first service visit and assessed him. He is at maximum service level now anyway. The nurse came came today because Arthur had a dressing from the nursing home, on his bottom. She found a small skin break and applied a fresh dressing.
While the respite worker was here I went back to the nursing home to get Arthur's gear. At Arthur's suggestion I bought a bowl and filled it with fruit for David, his room-mate. David was younger, still mobile, and they were good together. They talked but respected each other's need for privacy. When Arthur was leaving, David gave Arthur a little Buddha statue and also a little clock and tried to give him his watch, until the staff stepped in. I bought David a little dog statue. They have each something that is important to the other. David wished us luck. He said he would not be leaving the home until he was dead. He said he was in another one before, but this one was nicer. David doesn't smoke, is very friendly and respectful. He has family who visit, and he talks of his mother, and what she was wearing when she died. David has a clear understanding of death and seems to accept it as a reality.
Arthur is sleeping now, without a sleeping tablet. He is next to me, with the dogs all around, under the wool quilt. I have my computer next to the bed and I can type in the warmth. I am more relaxed with him here, and for a little while I can pretend nothing has changed, just for a minute. As my memories fill in the present moment, they lure me into thinking tomorrow the sun will come, and Arthur will wake me with the sounds of vegetables being prepared for the evening's meal, the scent of the grapefruit he has squeezed and the aroma of coffee with toast. I remember those Sundays when Arthur would make me breakfast in bed, as I was getting up early for work every weekday. Or maybe I will think it is a Saturday morning in the local soccer season, in the 1990's and we are going to get up early to pack the car to go to the soccer club (where Arthur was the Team Manager for over 25 years) for the day.
But it will not be. We will wake to morning of the 7th of May, 2011, when the only thing we share is pure love, and pain.
My middle son, the only one of my children who helps me (the others live in other cities), came today and lifted Arthur into our bed and propped him up on pillows. He looked a lot happier. I made him some soft food (egg custard) and crushed his pills for him to swallow, and he had sweet tea to drink.
Arthur is sleeping a lot. He shows little interest in television, or what is going on in the wider world and that scares me. He did watch some of the news last night, though, but no programs. Normally by Friday he has mapped out his weekend football viewing choices and set up the recording schedule on Foxtel IQ. I hope this is just tiredness from the move home. I fed him his food and passed him his drinks, and made him comfortable. He has me and the dogs for company and I hope he picks up soon.
The AXXXX co-ordinator and OT came out with the first service visit and assessed him. He is at maximum service level now anyway. The nurse came came today because Arthur had a dressing from the nursing home, on his bottom. She found a small skin break and applied a fresh dressing.
While the respite worker was here I went back to the nursing home to get Arthur's gear. At Arthur's suggestion I bought a bowl and filled it with fruit for David, his room-mate. David was younger, still mobile, and they were good together. They talked but respected each other's need for privacy. When Arthur was leaving, David gave Arthur a little Buddha statue and also a little clock and tried to give him his watch, until the staff stepped in. I bought David a little dog statue. They have each something that is important to the other. David wished us luck. He said he would not be leaving the home until he was dead. He said he was in another one before, but this one was nicer. David doesn't smoke, is very friendly and respectful. He has family who visit, and he talks of his mother, and what she was wearing when she died. David has a clear understanding of death and seems to accept it as a reality.
Arthur is sleeping now, without a sleeping tablet. He is next to me, with the dogs all around, under the wool quilt. I have my computer next to the bed and I can type in the warmth. I am more relaxed with him here, and for a little while I can pretend nothing has changed, just for a minute. As my memories fill in the present moment, they lure me into thinking tomorrow the sun will come, and Arthur will wake me with the sounds of vegetables being prepared for the evening's meal, the scent of the grapefruit he has squeezed and the aroma of coffee with toast. I remember those Sundays when Arthur would make me breakfast in bed, as I was getting up early for work every weekday. Or maybe I will think it is a Saturday morning in the local soccer season, in the 1990's and we are going to get up early to pack the car to go to the soccer club (where Arthur was the Team Manager for over 25 years) for the day.
But it will not be. We will wake to morning of the 7th of May, 2011, when the only thing we share is pure love, and pain.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Home.
Arthur came home today, by ambulance. We had a problem getting him in through the tight angles of the doorways and in the end, we put him in the hospital bed in the lounge-room. We couldn't get him into the big bed.
The first thing he asked for was a cup of hot sweet tea, and the first comment he made was, "This won't be for too long, I know it."
The dogs were all over him, and Chelsea was straight under his blankets. I took photos. His room-mate, David, gave him a little Buddha as a present and I am going to make sure David gets a copy of the photos of Arthur with the dogs. It just goes to show that you are never too old to make someone else happy.
The first thing he asked for was a cup of hot sweet tea, and the first comment he made was, "This won't be for too long, I know it."
The dogs were all over him, and Chelsea was straight under his blankets. I took photos. His room-mate, David, gave him a little Buddha as a present and I am going to make sure David gets a copy of the photos of Arthur with the dogs. It just goes to show that you are never too old to make someone else happy.
Less than 24 hours to Arthur's Homecoming.
Arthur is anxious, I am anxious. We both do not know how I am going to get on caring for him at home.
I think now Arthur has an appreciation of how hard it will be for me to do alone what a team of people do for him in the nursing home. We both fear I will fail. I do not know if I can do it but I can only try.
I am surprised at how much I am stressed by Arthur coming home tomorrow. Am I reluctant to take up the load again? Maybe I have become used to someone else doing it all and me just being the visitor, bringing the special treats and taking the dogs to visit.
Depressive feelings have caused inertia and everything is not done yet. I have to travel to the other side of the city tomorrow to buy a second-hand manual patient-lifter. I can't afford an electric one that I would really like. Arthur will get back about 3pm so I have to be here by then. I need to mentally prepare myself and reorient back into the carer role. I wonder when I will be able to walk the dogs on the beach again? I wonder if I can get enough respite to do that? Three hours a week is really only enough for shopping and appointments.
I want Arthur to be safe and comfortable in his own home. Why cannot there be enough services to do that? It is almost as if they want him to be in a nursing home. He does not have to be, he just needs two personal care visits a day and some weekly respite.
On Anzac Day, 25th of April, I took Arthur's suit coat with his war medal sewn on, in to him and we watched the march, televised on TV, together. A couple of weeks ago, I tried to get Arthur to agree go to the Anzac Day March in his motorized wheelchair, but he wouldn't countenance it.
I went in to watch the Royal Wedding with him on 29 April but he wanted to watch the English Premier League match on the laptop, so I joined the residents the TV room until his match was over, then we watched the carriages going back to Buckingham Palace together.
I take the dogs every time and the other residents very much like them. Maria, who always drops hints about chocolate, looks for the dogs every time and Arthur's room mate, David, who likes Buddha statues, loves to pat them. I wish I could take the dogs for a visit occasionally but I suppose that will never eventuate, but I do want to print some photos of the dogs and Arthur and give them to Maria and David.
I must put that task on my list too.
I think now Arthur has an appreciation of how hard it will be for me to do alone what a team of people do for him in the nursing home. We both fear I will fail. I do not know if I can do it but I can only try.
I am surprised at how much I am stressed by Arthur coming home tomorrow. Am I reluctant to take up the load again? Maybe I have become used to someone else doing it all and me just being the visitor, bringing the special treats and taking the dogs to visit.
Depressive feelings have caused inertia and everything is not done yet. I have to travel to the other side of the city tomorrow to buy a second-hand manual patient-lifter. I can't afford an electric one that I would really like. Arthur will get back about 3pm so I have to be here by then. I need to mentally prepare myself and reorient back into the carer role. I wonder when I will be able to walk the dogs on the beach again? I wonder if I can get enough respite to do that? Three hours a week is really only enough for shopping and appointments.
I want Arthur to be safe and comfortable in his own home. Why cannot there be enough services to do that? It is almost as if they want him to be in a nursing home. He does not have to be, he just needs two personal care visits a day and some weekly respite.
On Anzac Day, 25th of April, I took Arthur's suit coat with his war medal sewn on, in to him and we watched the march, televised on TV, together. A couple of weeks ago, I tried to get Arthur to agree go to the Anzac Day March in his motorized wheelchair, but he wouldn't countenance it.
I went in to watch the Royal Wedding with him on 29 April but he wanted to watch the English Premier League match on the laptop, so I joined the residents the TV room until his match was over, then we watched the carriages going back to Buckingham Palace together.
I take the dogs every time and the other residents very much like them. Maria, who always drops hints about chocolate, looks for the dogs every time and Arthur's room mate, David, who likes Buddha statues, loves to pat them. I wish I could take the dogs for a visit occasionally but I suppose that will never eventuate, but I do want to print some photos of the dogs and Arthur and give them to Maria and David.
I must put that task on my list too.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
The Homecoming Approaches.
Wednesday, 4th May, less than a week away, is the date Arthur will be home again. Arthur is looking forward to it but the is worried about me. He does not know how I will cope. He keeps saying he is sorry for me. It must be so hard for him to be a burden to me, in his own eyes.
I am not doing so well. I am highly anxious about it all. I suspect the respite has allowed me to get used to Arthur's needs not being here. I am not on call 24 hours a day, I don't have to worry about arranging for someone to be here if I need to go out, I do not have to deal with agencies and service providers.
I visit him with the dogs, he is happy to see me, thanks me for what I am doing, there is no conflict and we are relaxed. When Arthur needs personal care or re-positioning, I go outside the room until it is done. His health and welfare are some-one else's responsibility, and we just enjoy positive and happy contact.
Even the ravages of my grief have eased, somewhat.
The question arises, do I want Arthur to move permanently into a nursing home? The answer is no, I want him home. I want him home for his sake, not mine. He does not want to be there, he is just waiting it out until he is home again.
I do not know how I can cope with him at home with so few services. Just one visit a day means I will be changing his pad at least once a day, and now it seems he is bowel incontinent too, so coping with that will be so hard. I hate personal care, I hate everything to do with other people's bodily discharges. I toilet-trained my children as soon as they were old enough. I have helped Arthur on the toilet and changed his bowel pad a couple of times. How am I going to do this every day? I know nurses do it, but that is the reason I never wanted to be a nurse!
Why is it life gives you what you do not want so often?
My anxiety is making me nearly immobile with worry, my muscles are sore and I have tingling in my limbs. I have a lot of things to do so Arthur can come home.
I have to get a mechanical patient lifter, as I cannot afford an electrical one. I have to make sure I have everything arranged for the day and that I have the shopping done.
I am looking forward to Arthur's happiness when he finally comes home again.
I am not doing so well. I am highly anxious about it all. I suspect the respite has allowed me to get used to Arthur's needs not being here. I am not on call 24 hours a day, I don't have to worry about arranging for someone to be here if I need to go out, I do not have to deal with agencies and service providers.
I visit him with the dogs, he is happy to see me, thanks me for what I am doing, there is no conflict and we are relaxed. When Arthur needs personal care or re-positioning, I go outside the room until it is done. His health and welfare are some-one else's responsibility, and we just enjoy positive and happy contact.
Even the ravages of my grief have eased, somewhat.
The question arises, do I want Arthur to move permanently into a nursing home? The answer is no, I want him home. I want him home for his sake, not mine. He does not want to be there, he is just waiting it out until he is home again.
I do not know how I can cope with him at home with so few services. Just one visit a day means I will be changing his pad at least once a day, and now it seems he is bowel incontinent too, so coping with that will be so hard. I hate personal care, I hate everything to do with other people's bodily discharges. I toilet-trained my children as soon as they were old enough. I have helped Arthur on the toilet and changed his bowel pad a couple of times. How am I going to do this every day? I know nurses do it, but that is the reason I never wanted to be a nurse!
Why is it life gives you what you do not want so often?
My anxiety is making me nearly immobile with worry, my muscles are sore and I have tingling in my limbs. I have a lot of things to do so Arthur can come home.
I have to get a mechanical patient lifter, as I cannot afford an electrical one. I have to make sure I have everything arranged for the day and that I have the shopping done.
I am looking forward to Arthur's happiness when he finally comes home again.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Arthur to come home soon. Reflections.
Arthur's discharge date is 4 May 2011 and I know he is looking forward to being home. I am both looking forward to being reunited and feeling scared about what the future holds.
It is nice to visit and take the dogs in, to leave the care and labour to someone else. I do not know how I am going to do it on my own with only 30 minutes of personal care support provided each day. I do not know how long before he gets sick again, with just me to care for him. He is alright, if rather bored where he is but that is because he knows it is temporary. I know if it was permanent he would just give up and die.
I have not been able to do much for myself because the fees for the respite have taken a lot of the income and I am too tired or stressed to out or I don't want to go anywhere alone. I did go to the hairdresser and have my hair done and I have visited by best friend every week. I enjoy seeing her and her support is wonderful.
The counsellor asked what gives me hope, but I struggled for an answer. There seems no hope, other than to make day-to-day living as comfortable as possible. My struggle to do my university course is my one way of keeping a door open for the future. I feel guilty thinking of a future as Arthur does not have one, I remind myself he has had a past, and I have yet to have as much of life as his past represents for him, but that is an intellectual argument, not an emotional one.
I need to prepare the house for his homecoming, when life will change once again.
It is nice to visit and take the dogs in, to leave the care and labour to someone else. I do not know how I am going to do it on my own with only 30 minutes of personal care support provided each day. I do not know how long before he gets sick again, with just me to care for him. He is alright, if rather bored where he is but that is because he knows it is temporary. I know if it was permanent he would just give up and die.
I have not been able to do much for myself because the fees for the respite have taken a lot of the income and I am too tired or stressed to out or I don't want to go anywhere alone. I did go to the hairdresser and have my hair done and I have visited by best friend every week. I enjoy seeing her and her support is wonderful.
The counsellor asked what gives me hope, but I struggled for an answer. There seems no hope, other than to make day-to-day living as comfortable as possible. My struggle to do my university course is my one way of keeping a door open for the future. I feel guilty thinking of a future as Arthur does not have one, I remind myself he has had a past, and I have yet to have as much of life as his past represents for him, but that is an intellectual argument, not an emotional one.
I need to prepare the house for his homecoming, when life will change once again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)