Keeping restraint

My dad was taken to hospital on Thursday afternoon because his heart rate was 31 and he was retching constantly.  His mobility was very poor and as his confusion was heightened.  I packed a bag for him expecting that I wouldn't have him home for a few days.  He was initially admitted to an all female ward but he was going to be moved later that night.  As the nurses gathered around him to ask him questions I pointed out that my dad has dementia and would either nod in agreement to anything and all they said or he would simply smile and try to make a joke.

The girls were lovely and I was asked to fill in a form which was more like a booklet which is given to family of those with dementia.  It is written from the patient's perspective.  eg.  My name is 'X'.  I like to be called 'X'.

Headings like:  Things that are important to me.....   Things you should know about me.....  Personal care capabilities.....etc.  I filled this out as if there was a nobel peace prize at the end of it.  I left nothing out.  As I was about to leave, a nurse came along and asked him what he'd like for tea.  She read out 4 options, the last option being a ham sandwich.

"Ham sandwich," dad said.

I apologised before I poked my nose in interjected.

"My dad will always give you the last option if the options are read out and not visual, even when there are only two options.  He can only remember the last thing you say," I said.  I told her all the things he would eat without issue and not to worry if he didn't finish everything.  He doesn't have a stomach, and what he does have is created out of Walkers crisps!

She was grateful for the information, I handed her my dad's medication which consisted of Metformin for diabetes, Iron tablets which he's only been taking for the last couple of months along with his daily memory patches.  Everything sorted, I stopped fussing and left them to it.

I spent the night at home having a pity party.  Didn't want to talk.  Didn't want to do very much actually.  So much for feeling full of vim and vigour after a couple of weeks on medication.  I think it was all in my head!

Next morning I called the hospital to see how dad was and was told that he was being discharged.  Really?  His heart rate is suddenly back to normal just like that?  I didn't really get a proper answer so I said I'd ask questions when I got there.  The nurse asked me what my name was and said that she would tell my dad that I had called.  "Don't bother," I said.  "He doesn't remember my name and wouldn't know who you meant if you said his daughter."

Having said that, she continued, "Oh I'm sorry.  Can I just ask you about the patches?  I asked your dad if he should have them and he said no."

😳

"Of course he should have them.  His information is on the box (FFS).  I filled in a whole screed about him last night before I left.  He has DEMENTIA and can't answer any of your questions plausibly," I replied.

She apologised and said she'd go and place a patch on him before I got there.  Fine!

Dad has to go for an ECHO scan which will take a closer look to see what's going on.  A letter will go to his GP then an appointment will be made at the hospital for a later date.  Why they couldn't have kept him in and done it in the next day or two is beyond me.  So home he came, tired and weary.  He didn't eat much and as night drew near he just wanted to go to bed.  As I helped him get into his pyjamas I noticed a patch on his arm and one on his back.  Jesus Christ!  He still had the patch I'd put on him 48 hours ago.  No wonder his skin is welting.

Next day I had to wake him up around 10 a.m.  He's never up that late.  He was very muddled and shuffling so slow.  He wasn't retching any more but it still worried me.  I don't know what to look for.  I'm not medically trained.  I was just worried that he'd keel over and crack his head.  This almost happened as he got himself off the chair normally, stumbled backwards and almost crashed into the glass topped table.  Luckily I was near enough to grab his wrist and managed to pull on him enough that his backside hit the arm of the chair and he slid back down into the seat.  Enough was enough.  I called the doctor again.

Doctor Attitude arrived on the doorstep.  Didn't look up as she said my dad's name...looking into a gadget in her hand that may or may not have been a phone.  I wasn't bothered, I just instantly thought how rude.  Eventually she looked at me with a questioning look, so I replied, "Yes."  I opened the door wider, stepped back and allowed her to breeze past me and go towards my dad.

"Hello Mr Duffy.  Did you know the doctor was coming?" she asked.

My dad looked at her and then at me, then back at her.  "Yes," he lied said.

"My dad has dementia," I offered.

Without looking at me again she said, "Yes I saw that in my notes."  Then she turned to me and said, "I like to go straight to the patient and get a feel for what they know."

But I just fkn told you.

"What's the matter?" she asked me, looking straight at me now.  "You look a bit stressed."

"Stressed?" I repeated.  "I'm far from stressed.  I'm absolutely FINE!"

"So," she continued.  "What is it you want me to do for him?"

"What do I want you to do?  I'm not a doctor.  I'd like to be satisfied that he doesn't need to be back in hospital since he doesn't appear to me to be any better than he was before he went in except for the retching."

Turning to my dad she asked, "Who is this lady looking after you?"

"He doesn't remember I'm his daughter," I said.

"It's Mrs Duffy!" my dad said.

"Why do you call her Mrs Duffy?" she continued.  REALLY??

THEN my dad said, "No...she's my daughter."

"Ah," Doctor Attitude looked at me 'knowingly'.  "It's intermittent then."

"Actually no," I replied, clenching my fists behind my back so as not to punch her in the throat any minute.  "He heard me say 'daughter' just after you asked.  If I'd kept my mouth shut he wouldn't have offered that to you."  I don't consider 99.9% of my day being referred to as his wife being intermittent.  Punch me if I'm wrong!

"So you just like the comfort of having a Mrs around the house then do you John?" she carried on.

"Aye," said my dad.

Mr Duffy to you b*tch.  Just get OUT!

All obs done....heart rate still slow but she explained that not doing the scan comes down to resources more than anything.  How comforting.  I'll just wait til he falls and cracks his skull on the floor before I call again then.

I think she 'got' the fact I was pissed off.  She went on to ask me about who helps me and more about me.  I told her all that she needed to know so she would leave, not before giving me a patronising pat on the shoulder with a petted "Aw, it must be hard for you."

Keeping my annoyance in check is harder.  Trust me.

So that is where we are at.

Today dad got up at 10.30 a.m.  I gave him a proper shower this morning and annoyed him by spraying his aftershave on his jumper.  This kind of annoyance I can take.

We went for coffee and a little browse around the busy shops.  We were only out for an hour or so.  By the time we got home he was back in his bed for a snooze.

He is overly tired, but if he's off his feet he's no chance of falling.  I can only keep a closer eye on him and hope for the best.

Too many worries and overthinking isn't doing me any favours.

“We can’t always protect the people we care about, but we always care about the people we protect.”