Mothers

All posts tagged Mothers

Crisis Calls Again

Published 14/07/2014 by damselwithadulcimer

Whilst out shopping on Saturday afternoon I took a phone call from Careline (the company that my mum buzzes through to when she needs help or has a fall). They told me that she was having difficulty getting out of her chair and had asked for assistance. I explained that it would probably take about an hour to drive across London and by the time I got to her home her carer would be due to make her afternoon visit. Sometime later my sister phoned to tell me that the carer was very concerned as our mum was feeling dizzy. So I packed a small bag and headed out, unprepared for the traffic jam, which did nothing to alleviate my worries.

On arriving at mum’s I found her in bed and it took us four attempts, at intervals of a few minutes between them, for her to be able to stand and keep her balance. Whilst she was resting before the fourth effort I dialled 999 and requested an ambulance. Once she was up and seated in her armchair, which seemed like an extra long walk with the Zimmer frame as far as she was concerned, she seemed fine and we chatted about the past. In the meantime my sister also phoned back to tell me she was leaving her friend’s house (in Hampshire) and wondered whether she should also come over. She decided she would and arrived before the ambulance, which turned up nearly four hours after I had placed the original phone call. I’m not casting aspersions or complaining as I made it clear that it wasn’t an emergency visit, but that I believed mum needed to be seen by professionals. I knew it was fruitless to try to contact a locum via her GP’s surgery. From experience I know that a doctor would be reluctant to make a house call, even for a disabled octogenarian, and would try to persuade us to take her to the hospital. Has said medical person ever met my intransigent, stubborn, single-minded mother?

The paramedics were absolutely fantastic. They tried to calm two stressed not-so-young daughters, explained how we should try to look at things from mum’s point of view and not our own. Pointed out that she probably had mental capability (which they later confirmed was true) and reinforced the stress awareness training, which I am currently undergoing. The upshot is that if she wants to remain at home, whatever the risks, she has every right to stay there. She has no idea how we worry and anticipate the worst (another aspect of my workshop that I am trying to put into practice). Do not project your fears onto events that you cannot control and that may or may not happen.

They eventually turned their attention to a sleeping mother, who reacted by telling the two of us to go home and leave her alone. She even suggested that we be locked away in the ambulance. Finally she agreed to be taken to A&E, with my sister driving behind the paramedics. I was so tired that I was unable to go anywhere, so agreed to remain behind and cat sit for my mum’s beloved Millie. So around 1am I crawled into mum’s bed and tried to sleep. Would you be able to close your eyes for long under the circumstances? The flat is like a sauna, and the temperature must hover around the high 20s, even in the summer. Every time I dozed I was woken by something: the rain, sounds of other people entering the block, the cat jumping in and out of the window. I seemed to be checking the clock every hour until my sister phoned around 7am to tell me that they were coming home.

Once back she informed me that mum had been diagnosed with another UTI and this could possibly be affecting her blood pressure. Although mum’s is always on the low side, it was not adapting when she raised herself to her feet, causing the dizzy spells. They have also recommended that her doctor refers her for a CT scan, just to assess her brain activity.

So two women finally left their mother in bed at around 9.30am yesterday morning and drove to their respective homes, bleary eyed and concerned for their mother’s safety. We will still try to persuade her (very gently, no bullying or cajoling) of the merits of a residential home where there will be somebody to care for her round the clock. Is this for her own benefit and safety or is it so that we can drop our vigilance and stress levels? Who can say? I’m sure I worry far more about her now than I did about my children when they were growing up.

When you have to worry about your mum as well as your children

Published 23/06/2014 by damselwithadulcimer

Somebody once told me that you’re never truly grown up while your parents are still alive. Well my dad died more than 30 years ago, but you’ve probably seen from some of my other posts that my mum is still with us, even if not in the best of health.

When we were children I can recall my grandma worrying about us, and my mum’s response used to be that she couldn’t wrap us in cotton wool. My sister and I grew up and made our own lives and mum continued to live hers in her own way. Sometimes it seems that she’s invincible: a heart attack, a close call with pneumonia, a broken hip and now dementia. A few years ago when she was healthier she used to give me pep talks and remind me that she wouldn’t be around forever but her GP has referred to the indomitable spirit that has kept her going.

However (I bet you heard that word coming) she is becoming weaker and frailer. Her lack of interest in food means that her calorie consumption has dropped with the resultant loss of weight. She probably has no idea what she looks like as she won’t permit herself to use a mirror. The lady that was known for clacking around on her high heels now slops around with back-trodden slippers, using a Zimmer frame for balance. Her pride in her appearance has gone as she has no interest in checking it. Her former insistence on foundation garments (a good bra and a belt) has been transplanted by going bra-less and wearing knickers that are several sizes too large, and sometimes the latter fall off so she goes commando at home. Make up is now never applied, with the exception of a bit of lippy for a funeral a few weeks ago, she hasn’t had her hair done for more than six months and many of her clothes have burn holes from the careless discarding of cigarettes.

This morning my sister phoned to tell me that even mum’s carer was concerned at her lack of energy and interest. All she wants to do is stay in bed and sleep, or go back to bed for another sleep if she has been persuaded to leave her bed. The mother who would never get dressed without having a bath, now has to be coerced into getting in the tub about once a week, and often shows a lack of interest in even having a wash.

I’m sure many others have been in my position and it will continue to happen. But how do you stand by whilst a loved parent neglects themselves to such an extent? She isn’t tempted by food, stating that she’s never enjoyed it anyway. The less she eats the more her stomach shrinks and the less she can cope with. A while ago I scrambled two eggs and put them on two small slices of toast: one for her and one for me. Even her portion was more than she could eat. She used to love my scrambled eggs, and my husband is often critical of ones that are served in restaurants or hotels, preferring my lighter, fluffier home-made versions.

Unfortunately I missed the doctor’s responses to my phone call, so will have to speak to them tomorrow although I don’t know what they can suggest or do. She refuses to drink the Complan that has been prescribed to add to the few calories she consumes, and all the health care professionals state that she maintains capability so her wishes have to be respected.

Tomorrow I will visit again, armed with another 200 cigarettes as she values them more than she does food. I will again phone the doctor and see if somebody can visit her at home while I am there, so that I can countermand her declarations that she is fine. If she isn’t too tired I may be able to encourage her to watch some Wimbledon tennis on the television, or I will deal the cards for a few more hands of kalooki, and I will again try to coax her into eating something, in spite of her protestations that she doesn’t really fancy anything.

And all the while I will try to put into practice what my counsellor is trying to instil in me: the fact that I am important and do matter and must take care of myself, and I will also attempt to work on the de-stressing strategies and spare some time for relaxation meditation before my next workshop to counteract the stress of keeping all the balls in the air at the same time.

One rather tired hamster wants to climb out of her wheel until tomorrow and build up the reserves needed to cope with another day. If only I could get a good night’s sleep. The irony is not lost on me: my mother just wants to sleep, and I can’t.

Mothers and Daughters: in Sickness and in Health

Published 16/08/2013 by damselwithadulcimer

Five months ago my mother did what every daughter dreads; she fell and broke her hip (the precise medical term is a fracture of the neck of the femur).  Our experience of the National Health Service was very different from the headline revelations in the newspapers at the time.

She was initially taken by ambulance to her local hospital, and was then transferred a few hours later to St Mary’s in Paddington for surgery.  We made jokes that the hospital transport was in conjunction with DHL, but she arrived safely, was not lost in transit and arrived on time. In spite of tales of doom to the contrary, the operation to pin her hip took place on a Saturday, she survived the weekend and by the following Monday she was being attended by physiotherapists attempting to re-mobilise her.  It was a slow process, but she was eventually discharged from hospital two weeks after her initial admission with a package of three home carers per day. The local council in conjunction with the hospital also supplied a frame around the lavatory, a commode for use in the bedroom (to save walking to the bathroom at night) and fitted a rail to the side of the bed.  The Zimmer frame that came home with her was a godsend.

The hard work began once she was back in her own flat, which is luckily on the ground floor.  The first carer arrived around 7.30am on the day after discharge.  Unfortunately mum was not completely wide awake when the bell rang and she managed to fall on her way to opening the front door.  The paramedics were again summoned but no damage had been done so she wasn’t taken back to hospital.

From then on the daily visits were shared by the three carers: one in the morning to help her up, get washed and dressed (initially it was just to change one nightdress for another one), get her something to eat and prompt her to take her medication.  The lunchtime carer saw to food and medication, and the evening carer took charge of a strip wash and change of night-clothes, as well as reminding her to take her pills.  In addition my sister and I visited every day for more than three weeks, fussing over her like mother hens and attending to every other need, and probably doing far more than we should.  We actually overdid what was necessary and encouraged more dependency than we should have, but that wasn’t apparent until sometime further down the line.

One thing we soon became aware of is of how dedicated the home carers are.  They are paid disgustingly: not much more than the minimum wage and do not receive any payment when travelling between jobs.  The majority rely on public transport and some of them work 12 hours a day just to earn enough to live on.  The media is now drawing attention to the practice by many companies of zero hours contracts; most of these carers, who are employed by agencies, fall into that category.  Our capitalist society values productivity and financial gain over care and compassion.  In a country where the older population is outgrowing the younger members of the community this is a sorry state of affairs that should be addressed at government level.  Most of us will become old or infirm in later life and the value attached to human beings and the care they need is far more important than money made, squandered or gambled by bankers and businesses.  Every housebound elderly person is or was somebody’s mother or father, aunt or uncle, brother or sister and deserves to be treated as a person who matters and should be regarded with dignity and respect.

In addition to the package outlined above, mum was also assigned a care coordinator (as part of the re-enablement service) and received weekly visits from a physiotherapist.  Unfortunately my stubborn, Taurian mother disregarded a lot of what the healthcare professional told her and neglected to do her exercises unless nagged.  The result is that after five months she has still not regained full mobility in her right leg and remains dependent on us.  After five months, journeys outside of the home are a struggle that exhaust her and tire us.  She insists that her legs work, when they obviously don’t, hates using the two sticks that have been provided and insists that she can walk better with one.  Although her GP and her physiotherapist have patiently explained the benefits to her, her mobility and her balance of using the pair, it is an uphill battle.  She flatly refused to use the three-wheeled walker that was supplied and argues against going out in the portable wheelchair that I acquired from a friend.

Thanks to healthier diets and better healthcare we are all living longer.  Older daughters (and sons), such as my sister and myself, will fall into the roles of our parent’s carers as long as we are fit and healthy enough to do so.  Twenty-first century parent/child role reversal seems to be here to stay.