29) Here we go again... 26/5/26 1 year since he was first hospitalised and diagnosed.

 Here we go again... (some ducks/goslings for cuteness - at Caerphilly Castle)

A whole year since he was first hospitalised after being unable to swallow and having a subsequent diagnosis of oesophageal cancer which they couldn't treat or operate on due to his age (95). 

It was also my day off and the man's monthly City Hospice appointment.  I'd reminded him the time and asked him to be ready.

I arrived with a full twenty minutes to spare until we needed to leave. The man was sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands. It was the warmest day ever recorded in May. The man was dressed in a thick wooly jumper and a wooly hat. I asked wasn't he too hot? He said asked were we going or not.'  I was talking to Ant and suddenly we heard the front door go. The man had left the building and was headed to the car. I told Ant to lock up and went to help the man down the steps. He was extremely slow because he can't see the steps properly. He said 'Where's Ant? Is he in the car already? Where is he?' I said he was still in the house. 

'Has he got my bag and my hospital stuff?' He apparently had taken it upon himself to pack a hospital bag in case they kept him in. Hmmm.

Arriving at the hospice I parked in the disabled bay, I usually park in the normal car park, but today he was finding it a lot more difficult to walk. Ant and I got him out of the car and into the hospice and in the waiting room he twice tried to impale himself on the arm of a very small wooden chair he apparently couldn't see. The doc came out and as he walked in we chatted behind him, I said he appeared much worse and I thought perhaps his time was limited. 

The hospice doctor noted he was a lot more frail and checked him over. He was very dehydrated and needed to drink a lot more water, she said, and if he didn't he may well not be able to have his 2nd stent fitted on Friday. She said she would get the community nurse team to assess whether he was able to live at home. If they decided the house was too 'cluttered (disgusting) for them to see to his needs then he would have to go into an assisted care facility 'whether he likes it or not'. She said he was to take off his jumper and hat and instead get a baseball cap. 

Ant happened to have such a cap with him which he handed over. It was green with 'HAPPY DAYS' on the front. The man took it 'Is this a cap?' he asked.

'No,' said Ant 'it's a fucking banana.'

Ant comes out with things sometimes and the doc and I creased up laughing which in my case was a well needed stress relief.

The doc and I walked the man to my car. The doc summarising she'd get onto it straight away - she didn't book another appointment as we'd 'see what happened and keep in touch.'

The following day (Wednesday 27th May) Ant rang me in work. 'Hello Izzy, sorry to call you at work, there's nothing to worry about but...'

Ant's sense of priority and urgency is entirely out of synch with the universe. I know this.

I'll be there now.' I said scrabbling for my driving shoes under my desk, my heart playing the bass drum on a roll. 'What's happened?'

'Well, he's fallen out of bed and he's sort of half out and I can't move him. And he's cut his head and his elbow and there's blood everywhere.

Fuckitty fuck!

fifteen minutes later I was trying to help Ant lift him up the bed. He'd fallen and somehow was now resting with his top half on the bed and his butt and legs off the bed. He was still in this position. There was blood smeared everywhere but not a lot of blood volume. Ant and I managed to yank him far up enough that only his knees downwards were off the bed and the rest of him on it. He didn't have enough strength to put his legs on the bed. This wasn't right. The huge cut on his elbow was seeping but not bleeding - I thought perhaps a sign of dehydration - no fluid, no blood to bleed with. I bandaged the elbow.

A lot of shouting later he says he needs to sleep for a few hours and then he'd have the strength to push himself up the bed.

Not right. I called 111. (In the UK 111 is a NHS helpline for non-emergency medical advise and queries. They can triage, book an appointment for an out of hours doctor or call an ambulance if they deem it necessary.) They ask a LOT of questions - is the patient breathing? - yes! Is there a dent in his head? I can't see one but he's lying down. Is he becoming agitated?' - yes but that's very normal for him... finally the adviser said her manager would call us back but she couldn't say when. It was now 3.55. UK everything shuts down at 5pm, time was moving on.

Meanwhile upstairs the man is demanding to know what's happening and is anyone coming and why don't we get someone and how long is this going to take.

Eventually he fell asleep while I ran around trying to find someone who could help. I rang City Hospice. The doctor was in with a patient for an  hour but they would ask her to call us. Time was ticking slowly by.

At 3.55 the hospice doctor called, I explained and she said she was going to send her own paramedics out from the City Hospice. They arrived at 4.30. They assessed him and said he was to go to hospital but they had no ambulance - they called for one. I said it was best to explain to the man he was dehydrated and they were taking him to get his sorted so he'd be fit and well for his stent on Friday, ir he would refuse to go. Good plan. I suggested the male paramedic told him as he had difficulty in hearing/acknowledging women. 

The paramedic, Mike, said 'We're taking you in for a few days until you're...'

'Wat?'

He tried again. 'We will take you into...'

'Wat?' said the man, scowling up his face.

Mike tried a third time. 'As you are dehydrated we're going to...'

'YOU'RE GOING TO HOSPITAL.' said Tina, loudly, with her face inches from his. No messing - Sorted! High fives all round.

Tina and Mike left at 5 and said they had no idea when the ambulance may arrive. We all know the NHS are struggling. We'd just have to be patient.

The ambulance arrived at 11.29 and off they went.

I slept for a full 8 hours that night. A night full of hopes and dreams.