As glorious as it had been on Sunday, Monday was equally as beautiful. A brisk morning led to a balmy afternoon, and temperatures above normal for the time of year.
Samantha and I walked around the complex, first thing. As we headed up one hill on a second round, she stopped and made a short gasping sound. "What is that?" The jet black, eight legged creature stopped in its tracks. I tried to take a picture. My skill set with my phone erred on the same level as my tweeting! Despite the arachnid posing, I did not have the patience to let my device focus. Samantha, of course, had gone one better. Her phone is able not only to take the picture but lets her know the name of the said image. It said it was a 'house spider'. I was dubious. It looked to large to be a 'house spider'. It would have to be a pretty large house to accommodate a spider that size to be just a 'house spider'. I would 'check it out' when I got to work, and added it to my mental list of 'things to do'.
The response I received from my 'tweet' was less than inspiring. "Sorry, we are busy. Try patient liaison". I responded as I spoke, which is perhaps more in line with modern day vernacular! "Seriously! That is your answer. Any tips on how to get patient liaison to respond? Should be grateful as they say "Call the ward"." I walked away from my computer, to do something else, with the intention of checking with my sister before pressing send. However, my daughter thought it was good enough to send, and thinking that I was not quite sure how to negotiate this 'birdy' page, did the honours for me! I wondered if there would be a response to my response. I doubted it. Whilst I have every respect for the 'front line' workers, as to how they are now collectively referred, I have less respect for the upper echelon, who appear to have little knowledge of those in the 'ranks'.
I spoke to my sister a few time. Being a 'Bank Holiday' nothing had been done regarding the scan that was promised for my mum, but mum seemed in fair spirits, and I had questioned her about a cake she used to make, and she had become quite excited about the prospect of me making it, once she was home to give me the recipe. I had not been able to find a comparable one online, and she said that it was given to her, hand written, without an author. I relayed the bright conversation to Elise, and sent her a draft of a letter I had crafted to send to the Executive Director of the hospital trust, documenting our experience. "Send her a tweet!" Elise had messaged me. "Tell her you have sent an email". What a good idea! "Because I can tweet now!" I responded, with a suffix of "Hashtag, look at me!" Samantha frowned when I told her. "You wrote 'hashtag' in full!" Oh, how the failures keep coming! I told her I did it on purpose, which I did, but the frown stayed on her face, in disbelief!
The pictures of the 'house spider' did not quite match up to our 'visitor' and upon further investigation, the opinions of the two 'natives' in our office, appeared to be more accurate. A baby tarantula. Samantha was besides herself. "I got that close!" I was unperturbed. Anyone who read my post, several years ago, about my 'first sighting', know that I am not concerned about these, somewhat, harmless creatures. Of course, despite the rhetoric about them being 'great pets', it would still be like having Hannibal Lecter as your person surgeon, or a fox looking after your chickens. I would not consider it! They are fine in their own domain, but that does not include anywhere within twenty feet of my home! The arachnids, not Hannibal Lecter. He would not be welcome at all!
Tuesday led into Wednesday, and the weather was still almost spring like. My mother was due to have a scan on Wednesday morning. I called the ward and spoke to the administrator. She was rather blunt, and told me that she had gone for her scan, and was back in bed. I asked if there were any results. The response was harsh. It takes time! "But she had the scan", I repeated. "Yes, I said she did!" I spoke to my mother who was adamant she had not moved from the ward, and had not had anything to eat as she was 'nil by mouth'. I called the ward again. A nurse answered and told me that she had not yet been for the scan, but would be going later in the day. She passed the phone to a doctor. "This is the first time I have examined your mother, so I am not sure what is going on". Obviously bed charts are not the same as they used to be. I must say I was somewhat aghast at the administration. Again, please do not think for one moment that I attribute the blame to those who are caring for patients, but the administration needs a 'shake up'.
Thursday morning started out very wet. Rain started to fall and when Samantha arrived the temperature had dropped, and we contemplated on whether to walk. We did. The lightening struck on our third round, but the thunder rumbles were quite a few seconds out. "Thirty seconds, I made it", I said as we completed our third round. "Do you count fast and leave out the even numbers?" sarcastically responded my daughter. It had been raining fairly hard, but I needed to complete the 'fourth round'. As we headed up the first hill, it started to pour, and by the time we rounded the corner on the second hill, it was teeming. Arriving back at my condo, drowned rats would have been virtually damp in comparison. My trousers were a completely different shade of grey, the third layer of tops was soaked, and the brim of my cap resembled a cliff at the edge of a waterfall. We were wet!
Whilst in my inebriated state, I called the ward. A doctor answered the phone, and was a little confused. "Who did you say your mother was? Oh, I have the wrong notes!" I bit my lip. He found the correct notes and started to tell me what had happened. "I haven't examined your mother before today, so I don't really know the history", he said. "Really, well what's new?" I did not say out loud. I did not need to upset him. He blurted out a few medical conditions that it could be, but the scan had shown that their worst fears were not the problem. I asked why it had taken two weeks to take care of what she was admitted for. He had no answer. I asked why she had not been seen by a physio. He responded that no one had asked for a physio, and then, "Oh, they did, back here. Hmm, wonder why they...hmm, I shall get on to that." I thanked him, profusely, for his time, and he apologised for the lack of continuity of communication. He was not to blame.
Dana and I had intended to go out and do 'something' around eleven, just to do 'something' different. However, it was wet, windy and cold, and we had both fallen asleep in front of the television. At a quarter to midnight, we decided that we really didn't want to go out, and went back to sleep.
I spoke to a different doctor on Friday. I had not intended to call the ward, but mum seemed to think she was being discharged. I spoke to a doctor, who had apparently been talking to someone else, and had been cut off. "Ruth?" he said. I told him I was not Ruth, but wanted to speak to someone about my mother. "Oh, I was just taking to Ruth, and got cut off". I wondered why he was giving me this information. I was sorry that he got cut off, but I really needed to speak to someone about my mum. I had been trying to get through for over an hour, and did not want to have to call back. Admittedly, Ruth would now be experiencing the same problem as me, but at this point, I was of the opinion that I hit the jackpot! I was a little terse. "I am on the phone now, so please, can you tell me about my mother?" I could hear some shuffling of what I assumed was paper. "Is that Ruth?" came a voice that was in the facility that was on the other end of the line. "No," said the doctor. "We got cut off". The other voice was adamant. "Call her back. Get off the line and call her back". The doctor replied. "I am on the phone to this person now". He did not say it with confidence, but that was his problem. He looked at the notes and told me that she was due to be discharged. They were just waiting for some results. It may not be today! I was very gracious and thanked him.
Saturday morning was quite busy! Elise had been told by mum that she was going home, but had been unable to speak to anyone. Once again, the phone was engaged constantly. Perhaps it was Ruth? I finally got through to the ward and spoke to a nurse, who confirmed that discharge papers had been signed, and they were waiting for transport. She had been meaning to call my sister, but had been busy. I told her that I would let her know! Samantha and I went shopping!
We decided to see if the 'clean up' crew had been to de-adorn our trees. As we drove along the road, we spotted a couple of trucks, taking down decorations, and loading them into what appeared to be rubbish sacks. We made it to our trees, before they did! We undressed the beautifully adorned shrubs, and then cleaned up some of the mess on the grass, which included some broken baubles and carboard, which another adorner had left. We managed to salvage enough decorations for next year.
Our trip to Costco was very successful. I bought some shelving units for my shed, and was mentally fitting them into place, when I found some storage boxes that would be most suitable. Once we had finished our shopping, we went to load up the truck. Going from a mini to a larger car, and now a truck, the joke has always been that she would need 'a bigger boot'. The bed of the truck carries a lot, but I have been joking that she now needs a 'semi'! A juggernaut would be preferable! As we loaded the boxes into the bed, I remarked that she needed more space. I did not see the box until it was a split second away from my nose! The boxing gloves were still inside! It had been thrown at me as a joke, and apparently, it was my fault that I looked away as it left my daughter's hands! The pain was quite excruciating, and the concern obvious. "You looked away!" she said, as she slid along the bed and over to me. "Are you okay?" I did not feel okay. I got into the truck and sat down. After a couple of minutes, I regained a bit of composure. I had a bump at the bottom of my nose, and a bruise was forming. As soon as she realised I was not as hurt as I could have been, my daughter started to laugh. "It was your fault. You looked away". I was stunned. "You threw a box at me. You didn't even put the gloves on!" The gloves, apparently, were for part of her 'work out' programme, but I didn't ask what part! "But you looked away", she kept saying, unable to contain her laughter. I suppose it must have looked funny. "Will you accept my apology", she pleaded. "Oh no, it is me that must apologise to you. After all, it was my fault. I looked away!" Laughter filled the truck. The bruise was getting more pronounced. All the way to the supermarket, she was asking me to accept her apology. I responded the same way. "No, it is me that needs to apologise to you!"
Elise called to say that mum was home. I called mum when I got home and she seemed happy to be back in her own house. It had been quite the ordeal. She had been bedridden for the best part of two weeks, and was unable to move very well. With no physio or any sort of manipulation, her already weak muscles had become weaker. It was sad, but she was adamant she would push herself. Elise and I gave her as much encouragement as we could.
I messaged Richard. I wanted to tell him that his grandmother was finally home. My phone did its own thing. "Not sure if Elise has told you, but Grams is ....", and I misspelled the word 'home'. The phone spell check helped, by changing it to 'gone'. As I looked at the message, I quickly wrote 'home' and sent it, with an explanation that if ever there was a bad spell check, it was now! Thankfully, he read all messages together!
Samantha messaged me later to say that she had dropped something on her toe, and it was bruised. "We are twins now" she said. "Are you saying that my nose looks like a toe?" I asked. "No, we both have bruises". I sent back, "Yes, and you caused them both, but at least your toe was your fault!" My phone rang! "Please accept my apology!"
When I spoke to mum on Sunday, she told me that she had walked from the kitchen to the bedroom, and back. She had eaten breakfast and lunch, and was going to have dinner. She was watching one of her favourite television shows. She sounded happy, and her voice was stronger. The daily visit, by a medical professional, to change her dressing, which had been one of the conditions of her discharge (by the hospital, not us) had not happened. She was not surprised.
It was a beautiful day. My mother was home, and somewhat happy. My daughter was confident that I had not been scarred for life. My husband and I shared breakfast, and I sat by the pool for an hour. Bliss! Happy New Year to all! I may have a tale or two to tell in 2021, and continue with my efforts to write ............ another story!
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