Down.
My mum is in hospital again. She had another fall, broke another hip. Its a different one to last time so she matches now. Twin limps. Unlike last time she was wearing an alarm so help came very quickly, and good job too as it was the middle of the night again. Last year she lay freezing on the living room floor for hours and it was only really luck that she was found.
They operate today. Or they say they will. We don't know when. Same procedure as last time. Same scar, different hip. Matching. Never does things by halves, my mum. Brother Barry has been doing everything again. When asking her what he can do while she's in her hospital bed he has been directed to find a box of chocolates that she has bought for her cleaner's birthday. This is what's playing on her mind. The chocolates are nowhere to be found and it transpires that it isn't the cleaner's day, so now he's bouncing around the house doing a bit of midsummer cleaning, displacing a bit of anxious energy.
Helpfully I'm writing a blog about it.
She is on a ward but its an isolation ward. I'm not sure how a shared isolation ward works but Basingstoke hospital is Covid free and means to stay that way, so Mum is allowed only one visitor and once again Barry is the nominated one. My mum too - at this point - is Covid free.
The rest of us, miles away, can do nothing but bother brother Barry about what's going on. He answers the phone wearily but graciously. He is hospital face. As to her aftercare...I don't know. Covid rules might have to be flouted. The last time this happened the NHS played a blinder and tricked out the house with all manner of helpful stuff. That stuff is all still in place. The house should be viable and I know she won't want to move. But she had one working leg then. Now she has no working legs.
I don't know what's going to happen now. I know what she's like. She's like me: vain, lazy, melodramatic and prone to thinking that a lovely glass of something will sort everything out. But she's also stubborn as a mule and vanity is energy. My dad was vain too - it was something they had in common. I wonder if it will be enough this time. She has been lonely under lock-down. She hasn't seen much of her grandkids. She was getting better at walking and her house was getting more rationalised, with less places where she needed to go within it. It was a slick operation with a stick. This is a massive blow. I hope she has the energy to come back from it.
Its her 80th birthday this year. We'll manage something. We have some species of party, whatever happens. Hold that thought.
They operate today. Or they say they will. We don't know when. Same procedure as last time. Same scar, different hip. Matching. Never does things by halves, my mum. Brother Barry has been doing everything again. When asking her what he can do while she's in her hospital bed he has been directed to find a box of chocolates that she has bought for her cleaner's birthday. This is what's playing on her mind. The chocolates are nowhere to be found and it transpires that it isn't the cleaner's day, so now he's bouncing around the house doing a bit of midsummer cleaning, displacing a bit of anxious energy.
Helpfully I'm writing a blog about it.
She is on a ward but its an isolation ward. I'm not sure how a shared isolation ward works but Basingstoke hospital is Covid free and means to stay that way, so Mum is allowed only one visitor and once again Barry is the nominated one. My mum too - at this point - is Covid free.
The rest of us, miles away, can do nothing but bother brother Barry about what's going on. He answers the phone wearily but graciously. He is hospital face. As to her aftercare...I don't know. Covid rules might have to be flouted. The last time this happened the NHS played a blinder and tricked out the house with all manner of helpful stuff. That stuff is all still in place. The house should be viable and I know she won't want to move. But she had one working leg then. Now she has no working legs.
I don't know what's going to happen now. I know what she's like. She's like me: vain, lazy, melodramatic and prone to thinking that a lovely glass of something will sort everything out. But she's also stubborn as a mule and vanity is energy. My dad was vain too - it was something they had in common. I wonder if it will be enough this time. She has been lonely under lock-down. She hasn't seen much of her grandkids. She was getting better at walking and her house was getting more rationalised, with less places where she needed to go within it. It was a slick operation with a stick. This is a massive blow. I hope she has the energy to come back from it.
Its her 80th birthday this year. We'll manage something. We have some species of party, whatever happens. Hold that thought.
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