Visiting
At the moment the Communist's days consist of lying in his hospital bed, punctuated by meals and visitors and sleep. This ward at Leeds General Infirmary is the equivalent of the Ward of Doom at St James's - but the atmosphere is uncannily different. It's far more positive and cheerful and I hope the Communist will stay there for a while.
Now they seem to have worked out the correct doses of his drugs, he's far more alert and seems to be much more his usual self. The only thing is, when he falls asleep, which he does fairly often, he tends to think it's a new day when he wakes up: and where is Daphne?
It's me he wants to see most at the moment because I can deal with it all far better than my mother, who's fantastic if you need your gardening doing or even your ironing - she did a big pile of mine just this week, sneaked it away and brought it back done - but she can't deal with new things, especially hospitals.
So I am much more use to the Communist. I will find out what's going on, do little jobs for him, hold his hand whilst they change the dressings on his legs, and I'm not scared of strong emotions like my mother is - if he gets upset, her reaction is "Come on now, Buck Up!" which is not terribly helpful.
Having apparently forgotten that I have work or anything else, the Communist would like me there all the visiting hours, really. And that's from twelve to eight. Impossible.
The last few days I have been going from twelve until about two (the car parking lasts two hours) and then my mother later on. But when I go home, he goes to sleep. And when he wakes up, he thinks it must be a new day. And when my mother turns up, he greets her with an aggrieved "Where's Daphne? Why hasn't she been to see me?"
And my mother tells me this and I feel terrible. Even going for two hours, it takes three hours, of course, with the drive there and back; and I'm exhausted with trying to fit everything else in too: and yet, of course, I do want to be there as much as possible. I'm glad my brother's coming back from Amsterdam on Wednesday to help with it a bit.
Now they seem to have worked out the correct doses of his drugs, he's far more alert and seems to be much more his usual self. The only thing is, when he falls asleep, which he does fairly often, he tends to think it's a new day when he wakes up: and where is Daphne?
It's me he wants to see most at the moment because I can deal with it all far better than my mother, who's fantastic if you need your gardening doing or even your ironing - she did a big pile of mine just this week, sneaked it away and brought it back done - but she can't deal with new things, especially hospitals.
So I am much more use to the Communist. I will find out what's going on, do little jobs for him, hold his hand whilst they change the dressings on his legs, and I'm not scared of strong emotions like my mother is - if he gets upset, her reaction is "Come on now, Buck Up!" which is not terribly helpful.
Having apparently forgotten that I have work or anything else, the Communist would like me there all the visiting hours, really. And that's from twelve to eight. Impossible.
The last few days I have been going from twelve until about two (the car parking lasts two hours) and then my mother later on. But when I go home, he goes to sleep. And when he wakes up, he thinks it must be a new day. And when my mother turns up, he greets her with an aggrieved "Where's Daphne? Why hasn't she been to see me?"
And my mother tells me this and I feel terrible. Even going for two hours, it takes three hours, of course, with the drive there and back; and I'm exhausted with trying to fit everything else in too: and yet, of course, I do want to be there as much as possible. I'm glad my brother's coming back from Amsterdam on Wednesday to help with it a bit.
posted by Daphne at 8:52 am
2 Comments:
Garden ready.
Washing ready.
Ironing ready.
Send Mother.
My mum was like that when she was dying. She constantly called for me or my elder daughter, which annoyed and upset my sister considerably.
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