changeling times

trials and tribulations of eclectic chicken

The difficult bit July 25, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — eclectic chicken @ 10:08 pm
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I knew this bit would be the worst… again like having a baby everything was focused on the ‘big event’ and nobody tells you the reality of the grinding hell of coping once you get home.

I guess if you live alone, and stocked the fridge and freezer up (as the hospital advised) and have a friend or two to come in and lend a hand it could be a peaceful healing time.

But in a household consisting of two adults (one of whom is only allowed to ‘mobilise’ and little else and is towing a catheter stand round the house), two teenagers (one of whom when left in charge of an invalid for a day managed to only make one beverage all day as a concession to ‘caring’) and a small bouncy boy (who has actually been an actual star and along with the other teen given now to moments of thoughtful and spontaneous helpfulness)…probably isn’t an ideal recuperative environment.

But we’re doing ok.

I make a really really crap nurse…. I managed for a day at home – I think I had my anti-nursing Damascene moment about four a.m the first night home when I found myself  half way to the toilet carrying a bowl of someone elses piss.

I know how crap it is when you’ve had surgery…. but mobilising has to include taking yourown piss to the toilet 🙂

I can do nursing the old fashioned way… where the patient stays put (except when dealing with their own bodily fluids), eats what they are given (ie MY version of a roughage rich diet [brown rice… brown rice and grapes] not theirs [some boiled to buggery frozen veg from the freezer])… and definitely no patient autonomy… most definitely not.

Unfortunately what Jane thrives on is modern nursing… touchy-feely-what do you feel like? nursing and so makes a very poor patient when faced with my style of nursing. (But I was amused today when the district nurse as much as told her to  go away and no you can’t have your catheter out early).

My concession to giving patient what she wants has evolved around revisiting her nursery palate. A smorgesbord (?) of polish delights… kszanka and pierogi et al. A beef and onion suet pudding, sausage and mash and a desire for kidneys and tapioca. (not together)

Other than that… she’s now dilating alone (thank goodness… I do need to wipe the vision of the frankengina from my memory…especially the bit where we realised the stitches that had been threatening to go – had gone)… it would be nice one day to make friends with my partners genitalia without remembering it as a bloody oozing gash.

(have you noticed I’m not good with nursing yet)?

Other than nursing duties I’m trying hard to keep the house at an acceptable level of clean and tidiness it doesn’t usually see (especially the kitchen) and doing all the shopping (Jane seems to have memorised all Tescos prices and I fear I’m a total disappointment in not always being able to spot or work out the special offers and god forbid I sneaked into Waitrose and bought some stuff).

But as the week goes on I can feel Jane getting back to normal… still tired…still in pain…. but getting more chipper by the day.

She’d better hurry up as my back is threatening to go again with all this activity. 🙂

 

Helluva day July 21, 2011

Filed under: Uncategorized — eclectic chicken @ 1:21 pm
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When we left Jane on monday night she was decathetered, had had a poo (with some fear and wailing and several chemical interventions)) and was on target for coming home the next day. We arranged that I’d have a lie in and breakfast as amble down to the hospital mid morning and help her pack.

But Tuesday morning three things happened simultaneously, I got up at seven to have a wee, the boy sprang to life and wanted the tv on and I got my first text of the day off  Jane saying could I go in as she was in pain.

By the time we got there she was in so much pain and had been for a while that it reall y wasn’t somewhere i wanted to take the boy… so I plonked him in an empty room with a tv and went to find a nurse.

Jane was in a huge amount of pain and no-one knew what it was. She’d been scanned and her bladder was nearly empty… my personal diagnosis was trapped wind.

The long and short of it was that Jane would have to go back into theatre to see if they could work out what was causing such distress.

At this point I was in a blind funk… I had the boy to look after but wanted to be near Jane.

But small boys get priority at times like this and so we said a brief goodbye to Jane (who wasn’t screaming at the time as she was on her bed pretending to be a table… a comfortable  position and an explanation that once again, i suspect, expanded the world view the boy has of grown ups being totally bonkers.

The boy and I returned to the hotel to have breakfast, at which point I cried all over my sausages and the very sensible small boy took charge and suggested as he was homesick he’s like to go home but I could come back and look after Jane.

By the time we returned to the hospital with our new plan Jane had organised with a friend to meet me part way to drive the boy the rest of the way home. My daughter Meg (a much unmentioned star in my life, who at eighteen is capable of taking on most things was on stand by at home to receive the boy), and Janes sister was on recall to return to Lincolnshire again.

The day was further complicated by the aforementioned friend taking the top off her toe on a computer case (luckily she drives an automatic) and me turning left onto the M1 not right and having to drive up to Toddington as opposed to nipping to scratchwood to liase with said friend sporting a fairly bloody toe bandage.

Quick turn around and drive back towards brighton through torrential rain that had the traffic down to 20 miles an hour at one point.

I got to the point where I knew I wouldnt get back to jane in time for her to go to theatre but hoped i might get back for her waking up post surgery.

I did.

Jane had been recathetered, her haematoma (which had been the size of a grapefruit was a lot smaller) had been blocking her urethra and it transpires that the machine that said her bladder was empty was broken… and she had been in extreme urine retention. (something the anaesthetist described from personal experience as worse than a broken leg).

She woke in another morphine haze… which wasn’t quite as entertaining as the last as she was talking total sense but later had absolutely no memory of the half dozen totally cohesive conversations she had had.

 

 

 
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