Long Overdue Wake Up Call
I have been acutely aware of neglecting writing anything.
This is partly because there was not much to say. Things were happening of course: petty problems, misunderstandings, various frustrations. But it really felt like a bad soap and I was being petty moaning about things: the Care Home is a lot better than most and the staff are generally dedicated and caring.
But I still felt bad, and tried to rouse myself to pick up the threads. This is one of the other reasons: I am feeling more and more drained and weary. I made a big effort to shake myself out of it. Loaded the blogger application last night and spent half an hour looking at the blank page before going to bed.
This afternoon (Wednesday, which is now yesterday as I write this) I got a call from the Care Home. Was I coming in? Yes, why? Rosemarie had vomited again (I will catch this up at some point) and the doctor was coming to see her. Sounded like code to me, so I set off post haste.
I arrived later than I usually do and met the doctor at the nurse's station. He looked grave and concerned. My stomach shrank.
Rosemarie was propped up in bed but at an angle. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in a laboured, bubbling way. She did not respond in any way. The doctor said he thought that she had inhaled some of her vomit which, being very acidic, had inflamed her lungs and was causing the breathing difficulties. Her oxygen count had fallen over the last half hour from 85 to 70 to 65 and there was very real danger of tissue damage. Hospital was one option, but that would almost certainly mean the nearby Death Hospital and all they could do was give her some oxygen and intravenous antibiotics to counter the anticipated infection. If she survived the journey. Or she could stay in the Care Home, be made as comfortable as possible, and see how things went. My choice.
I can't write any more tonight. As of now she is still alive. I am deadly tired. I must sleep.
This is partly because there was not much to say. Things were happening of course: petty problems, misunderstandings, various frustrations. But it really felt like a bad soap and I was being petty moaning about things: the Care Home is a lot better than most and the staff are generally dedicated and caring.
But I still felt bad, and tried to rouse myself to pick up the threads. This is one of the other reasons: I am feeling more and more drained and weary. I made a big effort to shake myself out of it. Loaded the blogger application last night and spent half an hour looking at the blank page before going to bed.
This afternoon (Wednesday, which is now yesterday as I write this) I got a call from the Care Home. Was I coming in? Yes, why? Rosemarie had vomited again (I will catch this up at some point) and the doctor was coming to see her. Sounded like code to me, so I set off post haste.
I arrived later than I usually do and met the doctor at the nurse's station. He looked grave and concerned. My stomach shrank.
Rosemarie was propped up in bed but at an angle. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing in a laboured, bubbling way. She did not respond in any way. The doctor said he thought that she had inhaled some of her vomit which, being very acidic, had inflamed her lungs and was causing the breathing difficulties. Her oxygen count had fallen over the last half hour from 85 to 70 to 65 and there was very real danger of tissue damage. Hospital was one option, but that would almost certainly mean the nearby Death Hospital and all they could do was give her some oxygen and intravenous antibiotics to counter the anticipated infection. If she survived the journey. Or she could stay in the Care Home, be made as comfortable as possible, and see how things went. My choice.
I can't write any more tonight. As of now she is still alive. I am deadly tired. I must sleep.
posted by Other Kosh at 11:20 pm
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