SUNDAY 19th JUNE . . .
Starts a tad earlier than the planned 07:00 alarm for the airport run, as just before 02:30 shuffling is heard in the Dewey bedroom & Bob says out loud that they have a little problem . . .
Oh.
Turns out we’d slept through the dreaded ‘thunk’ & Mum had once again fallen out of bed. Alas no pillow air bag had been deployed & Mum had cut her forehead. Badly.
When I say ‘cut her forehead badly’ I mean gashed her forehead so deeply that stitches were a no-brainer if she wanted to keep hers, & the bedroom resembled a murder scene.
Oh.
Nurse Lia applied some gauze & bandage, & I asked Mum to get some clothes on because we needed to get her sewn up.
After what seemed like an eternity I went into their room & Bob was ordering Mum around directing her getting dressed. She was currently bending over in the touch-your-toes exercise position doing up her shoelaces. Rush of blood to the head anyone?
Even being as kind as I can possibly be, doubling it & adding in a bit extra as goodwill, that man is as much use as a chocolate teapot! Yep, I said that outloud.
Finally clothed in something warm I gingerly got her in the car & we zipped five minutes down the road to Bedford Hospital A&E. I thought as it was the middle of the night so we’d be seen in no time, but of course in reality it was late on Saturday pants-on-yer-head party night rather than early on an easy Sunday morning, so A&E was full of drunken accidents & even drunker patients.
Oh.
We arrived at 02:45 – just dumping the car in an available space – & waited. And waited. Every couple of minutes Mum apologised for being such a nuisance & asked if I had any plans that day plus could we leave soon? I repeatedly reassured her that she was no issue or problem in the slightest, but she’d fallen out of bed during a dream & banged her head badly, so she needed some attention; & that today we were due to take her to the airport to fly home. Repeatedly she’d say she didn’t want to go home ‘with that bastard’. And when you read ‘bastard’ with the voice inside your head, please give it a northern ‘bhassss-tuddd’ twang to get the full effect.
I lost count how many times this cycle repeated – but definitely over 30. Every couple of minutes or so. Poor lady. She wasn’t tired or seemingly in pain – just caught in a loop & unsure where she was & why she was where she didn’t know where she was.
Imagine that. Yep, not good is it.
She constantly cycled between ‘I’m so sorry for causing a fuss’, ‘The bastard’ & ‘Can we go home now?’ However, since arriving she was surprisingly calm & incredibly peaceful. Plus wide awake; I was knackered & struggling, but she was coping admirably.
Finally at 05:00 she was seen by Triage – even that required some tall tales to the reception gate-keepers to expedite her care as a longer wait would be expected – who confirmed she didn’t seem to be suffering with any effects of concussion, although she wasn’t out of the woods yet & wanted to the doc to see the wound to ensure it was totally clean & not worse than it looked, despite it looking worse than I thought it did earlier, as that gash was big enough to pull apart to reveal a serious hole. I asked if the Triage nurse could redress it – as Mum had been getting a bit niggly so it was possible she’d snap & insist on leaving unseen. He duly obliged, which was a God-send . . .
. . . because 30 minutes later she ripped it off, sigh.
This gave me the opportunity to give reception the full beans ‘dementia-suffering-80-year-old-lady-profusely-bleeding-distress-help-her-now!’ spiel resulting in quickly being taken through to a quiet back room away from all the pissheads who were trying to either fight or sleep.
An hour later, just before 07:00, Mum was finally seen by a nurse, who examined her & wanted to get a doc involved. He actually arrived immediately & confirmed her wound was very deep but it was a very clean cut so he felt could be dressed with glue & steri-strips – rather than stitches – but the staff were just doing hand-over between shifts, so ‘someone will be with you in a minute’ & then he’ll sign their work off. Yeah, I know all about hospital timing . . .
He also confirmed it was potentially a very dangerous injury, as infection was a concern & internal bleeding would be life-threatening. Vital to keep clean then. Plus, notably, he definitely wouldn’t recommend travelling for at least 48-hours, because if Mum got worse there would be zero access to the appropriate equipment & expertise to identify what the problem was, which as mentioned, was deadly serious. At the very least, if there was any change in either the wound or how Mum felt or acted – any change at all – she should go straight to A&E to get help.
Oh boy.
Time was indeed moving on, as the Deweys were due to leave for Heathrow in under an hour & there’s no way Bob would want to stay here. No way at all. There’s some leeway in the timing, but it’s getting close & right at that limbo moment Lia called – exclaiming Bob wanted Mum home.
Now!
Oh, did he. ‘Did he indeed!’ I exclaimed. ‘Did Bob know the state of Mum’s injury?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps he could’ve spent hours in an uncomfortable plastic chair consoling her too . . .’ I tried to drop that, as it wouldn’t help anyone, especially Mum.
I asked to speak to Bob directly, & told him concisely that Mum’s injury was worse than first thought & she was waiting to have her wound dressed & we’d be home as soon possible.
The man launched at me. Told me to get Mum home now. She needed to come home now. He would get her medical treatment in the US. I was holding her against her will. She needed to come home now.
Oh really.
I put Mum on the line who confirmed she had free will & was waiting for them to do the dressing.
Then a funny thing happened.
Funny = poignant
She changed. Fundamentally, completely & utterly ‘changed’. 180 degree about-turn change. Light to heavy. Cool as a cucumber to stressed . . .
From light to dark.
She asked me how long would it take us to get home; I told her 10 minutes after she’d been treated & discharged, so she repeated this accurately to Bob, & confirmed she’d definitely be coming back home. She passed the phone back to me & Bob started ranting again, so I hung up.
No longer did she want to stay here in Blighty. Right. Not entirely unexpected, as it’s well-documented that she blows with the wind &, naturally, after 40-odd years of bending in Bob’s direction obviously she’d go his way this time too. Yes, I found it sad that she’d choose that path & all it entails, but I feel I’ve honoured my Mum & given her every opportunity for change if she wants it. Plus, above all else, she knows she’s cared for & loved by her son who she gave up many years ago & has carried that weight around ever since.
I move on, back to the moment, & confirm with Mum that she’ll be going home with Bob rather than spending some more time here in Blighty with us – which she’d been saying for the last three hours – which she agreed so we pleaded with the nurse to get her sewn up as soon as humanely possible as otherwise I couldn’t stop this leaking old lady walking out of hospital on her own . . .
I rang Lia back – she’d told Bob there must’ve been a bad connection – & confirmed we’d be back as soon as Mum had received treatment. I wasn’t moving on that. She told me that neither Mum nor Bob had travel insurance – the silence rang in the still air for a while, finally broken by the sound of my jaw hitting the floor . . .
Wow.
No travel insurance. Two 80-year-olds travelling half way round the world with pacemakers & he’s a walking encyclopaedia of health issues?! Wow wow wow. What on earth was he expecting us to do if something went wrong whilst he was here? What would’ve happened if, for example, Bob died here?!
He is – by far – the most irresponsible man I’ve ever encountered. He takes zero responsibility for anything.
I see now why he wants Mum out of hospital & back home sharpish.
Our call ends with me repeating that we’d be back as soon as we could & waited for the nurse to do the business. As it turns out, after telling the staff again that we were walking out, the doctor himself came & glued Mum back together. We all chatted well & he tried to impart the gravitas of the situation before handing Mum some lovely reading matter for her journey home, that he knew despite his best efforts she would be embarking on as soon as Bob’s little feet would shuffle . . .
I received yet another anxious call from Bob via Lia as we were walking to the car, where miraculously we left Bedford Hospital with no signs of a wheel clamp or little sticky yellow gift on the windscreen, & were indeed home within 10 minutes.
Mum greeted Bob with a hug. Now doesn’t that speak volumes eh.
Lia told me afterwards that Bob had struggled to get any sleep as he was worried about her, which personally I find heartening. She also said she had a serious chat with him & he confirmed that his only issue was Jane & I, as he feels we both blame him for Mum’s dementia issues, but he knows it’s just who Mum is now, as he’s tried everything to ‘fix’ her.
Lia went down the path of suggesting that the only reason Jane & I appear to hassle Bob is because as we’re both the other side of the world so can’t physically help, but offer suggestions to reduce the effects of dementia that causes Mum so much stress & trauma, which in turn will make Bob’s life much easier too. Deaf ears. He also confirmed that he is doing the best he can & that’s good enough; stating:
“If Susan doesn’t like it she can leave it.”
Mmmm.
Back to today’s adventure I’d already found myself questioning why I was at A&E & Bob wasn’t, but didn’t feel any need to continue that particular train of thought, so let it go as it felt right I was with Mum, but now back at home I also now found myself quite animated, & do you know what came rushing up to the surface? What I felt was The Biggest Issue here? The elephant in the room? Well, after the curious incident of the Groucho Marx lip ’n’ tache in the night, which caused such a cafuffle yet ultimately seemed to result in an improved awareness of Mum’s need to be in a safe environment, I had at the very least hoped that bloody wooden bedside table would be covered by a pillow or two at night.
Nope.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing, not the faintest whiff of a soft surface to break her fall & avoid all of this bloody mess.
I’m so sad & so sorry that Bob cannot look out for her – it seems so uncaring to me that her safety isn’t being considered; it seems painfully obvious to me, that even if Mum does register in Bob’s list of priorities, he is not equipped to offer any ‘care’ or ‘safety’. It’s a given he doesn’t show love or compassion, but care too – I do worry about their future as they continue living alone.
Back in the room & Mum is encouraged to sit & chill with breakfast & coffee. I take a quick bathroom break & venture in to the Dewey’s room to bring down their cases, & am met by pretty much the murder scene you see at the top of this page. That’s the legacy they’ve left behind: Mum’s bloody mess & Bob’s secret stash of Scotch that he has left for the maid to clear away . . .
Sigh.
Obviously every item of bedding has blood on it, as does the carpet & some towels, & I barely even feel the need to mention the broken bathroom light pull & toilet roll holder – oh, or the shower curtain rail that came tumbling down too – or the quaffing of all my beer including the alcohol-free stuff by mistake – plus the big one of my stash of plastic cheese that I hold solely for burgers gone – all gone. Gone. They are some house guests I can tell you! Still, first world problems, all easy to forgive, easy to fix & easier to move on with what’s really important in life. What a journey eh.
I bring the empties downstairs along with the numerous sweetie bags & wrappers along with their two suitcases, discard the rubbish & pop their bags in the car, & finally we all head off to Heathrow around 20 minutes later than planned. Not bad at all, all things considered.
Bob says less than half a dozen words all the way – which included pointing out a road sign that we could all see – but Mum & Lia chatted incessantly in the back. Lia’s a smart cookie, & realised that involving Mum’s brain during this journey in the car would fire it up & get it running nicely, otherwise the stress of unfamiliar surroundings & Bob’s deafening silence during their lengthy three-flight 20-odd hour journey ahead of them could spiral her out of control, & potentially towards sharp objects . . .
We arrived in good time & dropped them at their departure point; Bob shook my hand weakly & offered a weaker ‘Thank You’, but Mum was full of big smiles, bigger thank yous & even bigger hugs. She was as bright as a button, much happier than when she’d arrived two weeks ago & I dare I say it, raring to go on her next adventure . . .
I’m not going to be part of that particular adventure with her because Mum’s relationship with Bob functions on their tried-and-tested codependency formula & is unbreakable until one of them literally breaks. I truly believe in free will & although I don’t understand their formula, I accept their choice.
However, the one thing I do understand is that I don’t understand everything, & my grain of sand brain doesn’t need to either. She knows she’s loved & that has been our journey together.
Bon voyage Mum X