pneumonia

All posts tagged pneumonia

When the Old Man’s Friend Came to Call

Published 10/09/2014 by damselwithadulcimer

The Respiratory Team paid one of their routine visits to mum at the beginning of the week and were concerned enough to feed straight back to the Community Matron. Sarah put in an appearance later in the day, listened to mum’s chest and diagnosed the beginnings of pneumonia. Luckily we had antibiotics and steroids in the flat just in case of such an eventuality, but one of the inhalers had run out over the weekend, so Sarah set off to the GP’s surgery to make sure that the relevant prescriptions were issued and that mum’s doctor knew she was unwell.

Having smugly congratulated myself on producing the standby medication so promptly I was surprised and worried to find the box of Amoxicillin was empty… I made a further frantic phone call to the GP, sharing Sarah’s earlier frustration at having to go through various menus, to ensure that a script was sent direct to the pharmacist and then despatched to mum before the end of the day. Trust me to choose that day to visit without my car.

Whilst I was worrying about the missing antibiotics I decided it was time to move the furniture in the bedroom. We had been advised that the bed (with its rubber mattress) should not be alongside the radiator, so Emma, the carer, and I emulated Pickfords removal men whilst we dragged chairs and chests of drawers out of the room in order to swing the bed around. Initially we placed it facing the wrong way, where the telly would not be visible, so we had to disturb mum again, much to her annoyance. After plugging the mattress and the control pad back into the wall we found that the pad was doing nothing at all and the mattress was flat. Cue more complaints and moans from the patient. The light was on but it was completely unresponsive at 5.10 in the afternoon when Medequip had gone home for the day. The emergency number that was supposed to be on the equipment was not there and googling for it was impossible given that the flat is in a mobile phone black spot. Although I had no car I at least had my mobile WiFi so was able to get online, find a number and make the necessary call. It was all so simple once I was told how to rectify the problem, but why on earth weren’t those instructions delivered with the bed?

The next day was spent trying not to worry about mum and hoping that she would respond to her medication as the alternative was hospitalisation and we were fully aware that she would not want to go there. I know now that she is doing better, so that’s another mini crisis averted.

Sarah was also concerned that mum has generally deteriorated over the 10 days since she last saw her and that her COPD has worsened so she delivered an End of Life Pack, containing the necessary injectable medication for making mum comfortable when the time comes. She also informed me that she is making an application to the local council for continuing funding. Whether we get it will be another matter, but we are keeping everything crossed. We have been using mum’s personal savings to fund her care and the money is disappearing rapidly; it would be a relief not to have to fret about finances too.

So for now we can wave goodbye to the Old Man’s Friend and hope that the funding is approved and that mum remains stable.

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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.