Ma was delivered back to the nursing home last Thursday afternoon with no pain medication prescribed and a bandage around her arm from an ‘accident’ that occurred on the bed railings at the hospital. Her bottom was worse with her pressure sores as they didn’t put her on an air mattress.
Every time she is in hospital I inform them of her triggers. I also let them know that she will panic if she’s turned on her side or if her head is put flat. She screams and gets very distressed. Their track record for listening isn’t great.
Her doctor prescribed a morphine pump to deal with her severe pain. A couple of days later and she is ‘off with the fairies’. Very happy and docile unless you try to turn her or put her flat. The nursing home have moved a new air bed into her room and we make sure to positively enforce how comfortable it is. She lasts in it for a couple of days until she is back insisting on the now very uncomfortable chair. Her bottom has now badly deteriorated thanks to the ‘care’ she’s received in hospital. Staff now spend time dressing her bottom, arm and both her legs. At home we only had to worry about her right leg ulcer. If only….
Today I turned up to take her to the Ulcer Clinic. This was a special appointment that was made because of the drastic deterioration of her legs. She was in morphine land, and she couldn’t understand how to put her bottom onto the car seat once I had her up. I rang for assistance and the physio aide tried to assist with a belt but we had to give up. There was no way we could get Ma into the car.Ma kept apologising to me but I could tell she wasn’t really ‘there’.
I get her back inside and we commenced dressing her ‘wounds’. We can’t get her to stand so we try and succeed in finally getting her on the bed. We then have to get her onto her side to get to her bottom. She screams and thrashes but we hold her in place while the nurse works as fast as she can and we try and distract her. Towards the end of the dressing the aide collapses and I catch her before she hits the deck while Ma asks for a drink of water…
We move onto her arm, which is a large pus sore, and dress that before moving onto her legs. I try and distract Ma to the best of my ability but she still jumps and shrieks and calls out. So much so that she pulls the morphine pump out and it has to be reinserted on her other side. By some miracle her legs are actually looking better. The nurses started trialling a new dressing on her leg on Friday and it seems to be working.
We finally get all of her dressings finished and she lies there drained. She doesn’t want her lunch so I feed her corn relish dip and biscuits, a nectarine and some mango from the fridge stash I keep. She has been very clingy of late and wants to know when I’ll be back.
She rambles a lot and says a lot of things I can’t understand or decode. People I’ve never heard of; places I’ve never been to; her car; her cottage; her boyfriend; as well as my boyfriend… who isn’t my boyfriend. Words that are slurred; laughter at I don’t know what. I should be glad she’s happy. Again she asks to be released.
She had her hair done yesterday with purple streaks put in. Staff have now informed me that she struggled getting to the basin and got very distressed and that they don’t think she’ll be able to have her hair done any more. Another pleasure gone, if I don’t find a way.
I now realise that our going out days are probably over. Just another thing that gave her pleasure that has now been taken away. Going out for coffee and lunch was one of her very favourite things. I will explore wheelchair taxis but I feel defeated.
I need to accept that my Ma of old is gone and adapt to the ‘morphine happy’ Ma that she’s now become. She doesn’t suffer much pain but she is now lost to me more than ever. I’m very happy that she isn’t suffering but I miss those glimpses of Ma and the conversations that we captured when pain etc. allowed us.
We always said we’d chose quality over quantity when it came to her life. I’m now second guessing as to whether a morphine haze offers the quality we so longed for.
One thought on “Another way to break your heart”
Oh honey. Gentle hugs
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