Chapter 279 - Day of Contrasts
She came crying pushing her walker to the door of my dungeon about two hours ago "My legs are aching too much." I encouraged her back to bed to apply Tiger Balm to them but she preferred Ice Gel, seeming to have lost confidence in the former. After I thanked the Sub-continent doctor yesterday for diagnosing her bursitis and recommending the oil! Then some toast and a mug of Tai Chi while I showered. Not wishing to shower as late as she did yesterday she had me position the shower chair for her. Again she needed help drying, shoes on to shuffle naked, trolley in front, back to the bedroom. I encourage her to keep her shoes on while I help her dress, an almost hopeless task attempting to pull up her incontinence pants then her slacks so I use the broad lifting sling with handles around her back to raise her; she is terrified when I use it because she thinks we will fall, yet I feel most secure holding her like that, much better than my holding one upper arm or shoulder or her attempting to support herself on the trolley. Lifting her with the sling makes the process much quicker, I am not holding damp sweaty arms, my feet are positioned evenly in front of her, she is pulled firmly against my body, her weight dragging her back to the bed is nicely counter-balanced by my leaning backwards with a straight back. Much safer for her and much less danger of my twisting my back. She sits on the side of the bed to dress the top parts. She broke down saying she will be in care soon, that I don't have a life, that it will take all our money.
Anyway, that's not what I wanted to write about, but yesterday. I must describe it now before it becomes a blur.
She rose late, some breakfast maybe at 9:00, sat in her TV chair then needed the loo, a "meditation" as we refer to it. She must have sat on the loo for more than half an hour, deciding that she had better stop eating strawberries and tomatoes because she thinks her diverticulitis is playing up. Then a shower much as I described above for this morning, all finished and dressed by noon. Sometime during the morning I decided I needed to visit the doctor for prescriptions and a referral for myself and decided today may be appropriate for her to visit the RTA (now called something else) to renew her disability parking permit. The paper work seemed to indicate she needed a doctor to complete a section of the form, a covering letter did not so specify, she thought she didn't need a doctor to complete the form. So I rang the 1300 number, listened about all the changes being made for customers' benefit was queued then got into a polite debate with an operator, who then asked to talk to her, then consulted a supervisor, came back on line saying "she (operator) had learnt something today" as they had on record that the permit was for a chronic condition so a doctor was not required for a renewal. Then I rang the PD nurse's office in Hot Air City when her next appointment was; I had lost the paperwork; was disappointed to learn the appointment was for March. Can we cope that long, especially if she doesn't see the doctor about apomorphine till months after that?
I was doubtful about her coming with me for my doctor's appointment, she was happy about it, yet when we arrived she decided to sit in the vehicle in the heat rather than go in with me. Fortunately I was only gone about an half an hour. When I returned she decided she wished to buy some fabrics at on of her favourite local rag shops so I drove around so that we were parked a few hundred metres closer. She then walked about the same distance to the shop. As she entered, pushing her walker of course, I realised she was going so well that I took the opportunity to go further down the street to buy her puzzle magazines. On return I found her choosing fabrics and ribands on the upper level. We then drove to have the disability parking permit renewed. The attendant believed a doctor's details were needed until he checked on the system. He had only minor problems having her stare straight ahead while taking her photograph.
The day was turning out well. Home about 3:30, we both went about our hobbies, she making her toiletry mags, me genealogy. Maybe an hour later I heard a "squeak"; didn't pay any attention, heard the same noise again before I went to investigate. There she was at the doorway to her sewing room, hanging onto the door jamb with one hand, the other grasping a shelf in the built in cupboard inside the room, no more that 2 metres from a chair within the room, about 2 metres from her CB radio left on the kitchen table where she had been cutting out. She was panic stricken. Sweating. Moaning, the noises I heard. She had been in that position some time, unable to go one way or the other, stooped, hanging on for grim death as if she was standing on a window ledge on the outside of a tall building. I squeezed past her to pull a chair over for her to sit on. Then I attempted to help her stand, she was unable. She was distressed. I squeezed out of the room for the wheelchair, unfortunately she and the chair were facing into the sewing room, impossible to slip her into the wheel chair. So I squeezed past her again and somehow dragged her on the chair around sufficiently the to pull her into the wheelchair. I must have used the lifting sling but don't remember. Out in the back room we both calmed down. She had gone into the sewing room for a knitting needle and on leaving had frozen in the doorway, unable to return to a chair in the room or reach for her CB radio left behind on the kitchen table. I told her she must keep the CB on its lanyard around her neck or in a pocket; both annoy her. I spent considerable time surfing for a small pendant transmitter for her and an alarm device for me but was unable to find anything more suitable the the CBs we already have. I notice that this morning she has the CB lanyard around her neck as she continues to make toiletry bags; a lesson learnt.
She has made another reference to her abilities switching from easy to difficult as she constructs these toiletry bags. She showed me the simple task (I couldn't do it!) of pinning rectangular pieces of fabric together prior to stitching. When she is off she places pieces in the wrong place, I think, then can't figure out how to make a correction. She hardly ever does any Lumosity exercises; I'm attempting to encourage her doing the ones she finds pleasant.
Anyway, yesterday switched from being an uncomfortable blundering morning, to an active almost normal afternoon to one of fear and stress late in the afternoon. This morning she doubted whether she will cope at her "Sheltered Workshop" (Respite) after the holiday break next Tuesday.
Anyway, that's not what I wanted to write about, but yesterday. I must describe it now before it becomes a blur.
She rose late, some breakfast maybe at 9:00, sat in her TV chair then needed the loo, a "meditation" as we refer to it. She must have sat on the loo for more than half an hour, deciding that she had better stop eating strawberries and tomatoes because she thinks her diverticulitis is playing up. Then a shower much as I described above for this morning, all finished and dressed by noon. Sometime during the morning I decided I needed to visit the doctor for prescriptions and a referral for myself and decided today may be appropriate for her to visit the RTA (now called something else) to renew her disability parking permit. The paper work seemed to indicate she needed a doctor to complete a section of the form, a covering letter did not so specify, she thought she didn't need a doctor to complete the form. So I rang the 1300 number, listened about all the changes being made for customers' benefit was queued then got into a polite debate with an operator, who then asked to talk to her, then consulted a supervisor, came back on line saying "she (operator) had learnt something today" as they had on record that the permit was for a chronic condition so a doctor was not required for a renewal. Then I rang the PD nurse's office in Hot Air City when her next appointment was; I had lost the paperwork; was disappointed to learn the appointment was for March. Can we cope that long, especially if she doesn't see the doctor about apomorphine till months after that?
I was doubtful about her coming with me for my doctor's appointment, she was happy about it, yet when we arrived she decided to sit in the vehicle in the heat rather than go in with me. Fortunately I was only gone about an half an hour. When I returned she decided she wished to buy some fabrics at on of her favourite local rag shops so I drove around so that we were parked a few hundred metres closer. She then walked about the same distance to the shop. As she entered, pushing her walker of course, I realised she was going so well that I took the opportunity to go further down the street to buy her puzzle magazines. On return I found her choosing fabrics and ribands on the upper level. We then drove to have the disability parking permit renewed. The attendant believed a doctor's details were needed until he checked on the system. He had only minor problems having her stare straight ahead while taking her photograph.
The day was turning out well. Home about 3:30, we both went about our hobbies, she making her toiletry mags, me genealogy. Maybe an hour later I heard a "squeak"; didn't pay any attention, heard the same noise again before I went to investigate. There she was at the doorway to her sewing room, hanging onto the door jamb with one hand, the other grasping a shelf in the built in cupboard inside the room, no more that 2 metres from a chair within the room, about 2 metres from her CB radio left on the kitchen table where she had been cutting out. She was panic stricken. Sweating. Moaning, the noises I heard. She had been in that position some time, unable to go one way or the other, stooped, hanging on for grim death as if she was standing on a window ledge on the outside of a tall building. I squeezed past her to pull a chair over for her to sit on. Then I attempted to help her stand, she was unable. She was distressed. I squeezed out of the room for the wheelchair, unfortunately she and the chair were facing into the sewing room, impossible to slip her into the wheel chair. So I squeezed past her again and somehow dragged her on the chair around sufficiently the to pull her into the wheelchair. I must have used the lifting sling but don't remember. Out in the back room we both calmed down. She had gone into the sewing room for a knitting needle and on leaving had frozen in the doorway, unable to return to a chair in the room or reach for her CB radio left behind on the kitchen table. I told her she must keep the CB on its lanyard around her neck or in a pocket; both annoy her. I spent considerable time surfing for a small pendant transmitter for her and an alarm device for me but was unable to find anything more suitable the the CBs we already have. I notice that this morning she has the CB lanyard around her neck as she continues to make toiletry bags; a lesson learnt.
She has made another reference to her abilities switching from easy to difficult as she constructs these toiletry bags. She showed me the simple task (I couldn't do it!) of pinning rectangular pieces of fabric together prior to stitching. When she is off she places pieces in the wrong place, I think, then can't figure out how to make a correction. She hardly ever does any Lumosity exercises; I'm attempting to encourage her doing the ones she finds pleasant.
Anyway, yesterday switched from being an uncomfortable blundering morning, to an active almost normal afternoon to one of fear and stress late in the afternoon. This morning she doubted whether she will cope at her "Sheltered Workshop" (Respite) after the holiday break next Tuesday.
posted by Kilpike | 10:41 am
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home