Early December 2010 London
BLOG 48: next
Now that OH is able to walk a short distance (admittedly with the aid of a zimmer frame) and able to eat proper food, I am beginning to contemplate the idea of him coming home. And I’m scared. I’ve got into such a routine of visiting hospital for a good part of every day, followed by the half-hour drive home, followed by a make-shift meal with Daughter (we’ve tended to eat at the hospital restaurant), followed by a bit of light TV, followed by falling into bed, followed by the same routine the next day – the thought of reverting to a more ‘normal’ life style is daunting.
OH obviously requires so much looking after – how can I cope with this? Will I have to give up my job? I’m due to return at the start of term next year.
When the Prof does his ward round, he tells me with a happy smile: “OH is so much better. He should be coming home soon.”
“Yes”, I reply, “how long do you think it will be before he’s back to his ‘old self’? “ (what I mean is, when will he be able to walk more normally, to make himself a cup of tea, to drive, to carry on a sustained conversation?). But this is not the job of the doctor; he and the team have done their job. The rest?
Well, it seems as if that’s the job of social services, district nurses – and me.
But, hang on, Prof actually has a few more words to say: “it will be a long haul. A good 18 months, maybe two years, for the body to recover. He’s no youngster, it’s a bit of a miracle he’s come so far, that he’s come through such major surgery.” And then that old phrase, “Time will tell.”
Then I venture, “his mind. . .he’s unable to remember everyday things, names - people –“.
“The long and repeated anaesthetics sometime cause this.” he says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Give it time.”
Then I get a call from the matron of the ward. There’s pressure on beds, nearing Christmas. We discuss dates for OH to come home. “Oh, no, he can’t go directly from hospital to home”, she says in a shocked tone, “he could have a relapse. He must firstly go to Rehab.”
Rehab! I’ve always associated that word with drug or alcohol abuse – fortunately not the case with OH. The matron discusses the situation with other members of staff, including someone who deals with social services. There is a local rehab place but at the moment it is full. OH can’t leave hospital until a place becomes available there. In the meantime, older Son, Daughter and I go to have a look at it – not that we have much choice, it seems.
The good thing is that OH would have his own room and much more physiotherapy to help him improve his mobility. There are also other staff, occupational therapists, to help patients relearn everyday skills. So much better than hospital. Daughter says that there is a lot of evidence to show that proper professional rehab is essential to shortening the period of patient recovery from major surgery, but because of pressure of beds (and NHS costs), most patients receive insufficient rehab care. She urges me not to be in too much of a hurry to get OH home. She need not worry in this regard. Much as I want my precious OH home again, I recognize that I will need all the help I can get.
In the meantime, OH is stuck, as there are no beds available at any local rehab institution. OH is occupying a much needed hospital bed, but there’s nowhere else for him to go. I hear about ‘bed blockers’ in the NHS; now I have one in the family!
Daughter reluctantly says goodbye; she’s off home to Boston. Sons valiantly step up, but they have their own lives to lead. Other members of the family and close friends continue to give love and support but the harsh realities are beginning to hit home. So many unanswered questions. The first one is: when will OH be out of hospital and able to begin the next stage of recovery? If anyone says the words ‘time will tell’, I’ll strangle them!
. . . to be continued . . .usually posted on Thursday
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