Precious Times

As I go round to see my ladies and gents it strikes me that the older we get the more value our time on earth.

 I was touched by a comment from a 95 year old gent today, who dutifully got up to go to the front door of his care home to see his daughter off. This involved a walk down three corridors and trip in the lift.

As he struggled to get out of his chair his daughter protested ‘You stay in your chair Dad, I'll be alright,  I'm sure the Carer has some things to do and probably wants to get on.’

‘No I have a mind of my own and I am going to come downstairs and see you off’ came the firm reply

　
I patiently waited the ten minutes for him to get back up to the room and as he sat down he apologised for making me wait before saying : -

‘I always like to walk down to the front door to say goodbye to my daughters. I may never see them again!’

what a commode-shun

Every day for the past few months Rene had two topics of interest which I have sympathetically listened to: -
The first: - Because she had had a fall, a commode  had been delivered, so that she did not have so far to travel to go to the toilet during the night

'Do you know Andrew?' (yes, it's the lady that gets my name wrong), 'They've given me that commode and I don't want it. If they think I am going in there they've another thing coming, It'll stink my bedroom out. I have asked them to take it back, that was three weeks ago now and they still haven't picked it up, . Ridiculous isn't it. I have to shuffle round it when I am cleaning, I'm more likely to have another fall because it's in the way.



Knowing Rene as I do, a thought struck me that The council had probably tried to contact her by phone and not got through. The reason for this is because she waits to hear who is calling on the answer phone and then can't get up quick enough to answer it.
'Shall I give them a call'  I said.
'Oh! You are a dear. Yes please.'
So after about ten minutes on the phone I arrange for the commode to be picked up the next day at 4pm.

The second topic of interest is her bathroom.
'Do you know Andrew? The council have promised me a new wet room because I can't get my legs over the bath to have a shower. Come and have a look I'll show you what I mean'

At this point my heart is in my mouth because despite my protestations she will go into the bathroom to demonstrate how awkward it is, whilst teetering on the edge of the bath. I often have visions of filling in an accident form, with the first question being;- How did the accident happen?

'See!' she explains. ' I can get on the side like so and this is far as I can raise my leg. I could have an accident, and I have been waiting over a year now. 'It's not good enough is it?'

So again I rang The council to see what was happening. It materialised that because she owned her own house she needed to get quotes for the job and the council will pay for the cheapest quote. I suggested that she spoke to her son. Which she did and the wheels were in motion.

Moving on about another four weeks, Rene excitedly greets me at the door.

'Guess what, Andy? They are fitting my new shower next week'

'Oh that's fantastic news, I bet you're pleased'

'Well I would be if I could get them to deliver the commode they promised two weeks ago. I mean, what am I going to do about going to the toilet whilst they are working in there?

the not so lighter side of care work

I had a call from the office to visit a lady called Moira and as usual on first calls I stayed for longer than the call is allocated to find out about the person and make them feel at ease. She was one of the sweetest ladies you could hope to meet and before I left she gave me a hug and a big smile, saying how much she was going to enjoy our little chats. As I drove away I reflected that I too would look forward to our little chats was indeed looking forward to seeing her again the next day.

The next morning I returned to find Moira asleep and although I spoke to her when I came in, she did not stir. I often come across this, so I went into the kitchen to prepare her breakfast and medication. I usually hum or whistle whilst doing this as I find that this will normally wake my ladies and gents up. After about ten minutes I returned to the bedroom with a cup of tea and tried to awake Moira  up; within a few moments of calling and gently shaking, I realised that she had passed away in her sleep.

This was my first experience of a dead person and I don’t mind admitting that I felt a certain amount of anxiety, as I tried to focus on what had to be done. After all the formalities were dealt with, I was now left alone in a house and at a loss as to what to do. My initial reaction was to make a cup of tea to calm my nerves, but then what? If the truth be known I wanted to get in the car and leave as quickly as possible but obviously I could not do that;  I sat in the lounge but somehow it felt wrong to leave Moira alone, so I went back into the bedroom and started stroking Moira’s hand. I know this may sound somewhat morbid and a touch macabre, but at the time it felt right. Although she was no longer with us, I still felt a duty to be by her side until someone could take over.
After a while I felt strangely at ease; there was a moment where the world seem to slow down and an inner calm took the place of my anxiety.

Half an hour later her family arrived and I left them to mourn in private, whilst I went on my way to finish my round; which is what we have to do, life goes on and we care for the living. Strangely though, I normally cross each name off my rota as I finish a call, but I could not bring myself cross off Moira’s name on that particular day; Somehow It felt too final and slightly discourteous

I know this isn’t ‘The Light side of care work’ but I hope you will forgive me on this occasion.. I promise to make next weeks blog more light hearted