Systole and Diastole

The most striking thing I remember from the most recent visit to A&E with my mum was the way I could see her heart beating beneath her hospital gown. It was something I had never seen before – the oddly shaped pulse and rise of her frail chest, the movement of the beat more prominent on the left side, so distinguishable because of how thin she is nowadays. The human body is certainly an amazing thing.

It was another fall but thankfully not as bad as she’s had in the past. My dad was already there when I arrived. I felt a huge pang of sadness when I saw them both – my dad holding her hand, looking very tired and not feeling very well himself, and mum with the usual confused frown on her face, not understanding where she was and why there was a tube sticking out of her hand and where all the noises and beeps where coming from, her top and cardigan folded on the over-bed table. She didn’t have any shoes with her.

A sedative, a scan, some attempted observations and a couple times being sick later she was back at the nursing home, thank goodness no infections, no fractures or bleeding. She is one tough old girl, that’s for sure, and still very strong for her age and condition. It’s a sad fact that bumps and falls happen a lot in these places, and it’s always a huge worry whenever it happens to mum.

She continues to fair better than other residents though. Several people have come and gone over the summer. Residents have moved to other homes or, sadly, have passed away, and I no longer see those family members that I use to talk with regularly.

One particular dear old lady has very noticeably gone downhill over the last 6 months. She was very mobile and talkative when she first came into the home, a very pleasant lady indeed. In time she lost a lot of weight, she wasn’t walking around as much, and she went through a stage of staying in her room shouting for help 24 hours a day before staying in bed longer and shouting expletives and other terrible things instead. She is now bedridden and silent, pale and gaunt, and merely stares open mouthed at the doorway with her dark, sad eyes. I wonder if they recognise or understand anything anymore.

It has been many months since my last blog entry and too much else has gone on to write about. I want my son to one day be able to understand what happened as he grew up, but I am acutely aware that there is all too much focus on the negative side of things.

My wife and I went through another really crappy period of time, something which again makes us realise just how lucky we are to have our son, and we love him even more because of it. I still haven’t written about what happened back in 2013, and don’t feel there is any need to do that in this blog anymore, but what happened then and what has happened in the last few months has hurt my wife the most – she is the one that has had to suffer. Being a mother is truly the hardest job in the world.

Right now, Son, you are very much into your terrible twos. Your favourite phrase at the moment is “I don’t like it”, which his funny because your mum and I don’t say this ourselves so you must have picked it up watching TV. You gave us a terrible time at the doctor’s surgery last week, the poor lady couldn’t assess you properly with your crying and tantrums. Before that, you made a real fuss at the restaurant when we met up with friends for dinner. You also need a haircut. Why are you so afraid of the barbers? You’ve seen daddy get his hair cut before.

Apart from that, Son, you are a beautiful, smart human being and if your grandmother on my side still had her wits about her, you’d be the most loved grandson in the world. You are always smiling, with a cheeky twinkle in your eye, and you bring us so much joy and happiness – no matter how much we might pull our hair out over trying to raise you, neither of us have ever loved anything so much.

17, Majors B

Whenever the nursing home's number flashes up on my phone, it sets me off into a little bit of a panic. The only reason why they might ring me is to say mum isn't well or has had a fall or that they need me to accompany her to hospital.

Sadly, that number has flashed up more regularly in recent months and here we are in February 2017 and I've already made two trips to A&E with her:

A week into the New Year and she made her fourth trip to A&E. On one hand, thank goodness it wasn't anything serious (not a fall this time) but on the other, I was quite upset with the way the nursing home had handled it. Without going into detail, they did exercise a duty of care but in this instance it could have been dealt with a little more sensibly, given the time of day and the state of the weather. Any visit to A&E, under any circumstances, is difficult enough but thankfully after several hours in number 17 in Majors B she finally got back to the familiar surroundings of the nursing home, a pack of antibiotics in hand.

Fast forward to this week and yet another fall, and mum's fifth A&E visit. On this occasion a member of staff accompanied her earlier in the day and I went to visit in the evening. Lo and behold, we were back in that very same little cubicle, 17 in Majors B, and one of the nursing staff and I recognised one another. Mum was very good on this occasion, and the staff managed to take x-rays and an ECG, take blood and observations.

During this occasion I learnt from the nursing home staff that went with mum that one of the residents, a very pleasant old lady with white hair who always wore slippers without socks on her feet, and who never said a word but always smiled whenever I or anyone else said Hello to her, had passed away. I had noticed I didn't see her recently, but you don't always see all the residents every time you go. She was in room 1. Some months ago, the lady in room 4 passed away. Mum lives in room 3.

After mum was taken in for her x-rays, a chap came out on his trolley after having his done. "Lovely day, isn't it?" he said with a wry smile, not 30 seconds after screaming at the top of his lungs with some broken limb. They carted him off somewhere and we gave each-other a nod as he left.

5 minutes later and mum was moved to another area. Outside this scanning room was an old chap in wheelchair, wires and patches all over him, up his nose, on his chest, sticking out of his hands. We had a little chit chat and I learnt he had been there 5 hours already. When mum came out, I wished all the very best and he did the same. I wonder what happened to those people.

The doctors were happy that she was OK to 'go home', and on my way out I said to the staff, in the nicest possible way, that I hope never to see them again.

Earlier in the month I turned 38. Mum doesn't know - she doesn't know who I am anymore, let alone when my birthday might be or how old I am. She doesn't even know what time of day, day of the week or year it is. She's still there, but very much not-there anymore. I imagine her in the nursing home right now, shuffling along the corridor and into the rooms, exchanging niceties with other residents and not understanding any of their babblings any more than they would understand hers.

I started this blog two years ago, when our lad wasn't yet born, and when we both had a shadow and sadness over us from what happened not long before that, which is another story I haven't delved in to. This time last year things were a little too much for me, and while I got over a poor spell of health back then my nerves are a bit wrecked right now, especially after the drama of the last couple of days. Whether I keep this blog up until Year 39, who knows; I wonder if mum herself will make it until then.