I haven’t been able to write for the past two weeks. I now realise I have been in a state of denial and have been shutting out all my emotions. This was brought to my attention on Friday evening at the pub, when one of my new colleagues commended me on how well I was coping with everything: my new job and dealing with visiting my mum every weekend in hospital some 110 miles from where I live. I told him that I do break down from time to time but can usually compartmentalise my emotions in my personal life from my work life. Having been through a similar ordeal with his own mother, he understands what a difficult time it is for me, probably more so than I do myself, I now realise.
Last Saturday and the one before, my mum recognised me and was able to communicate with me in a limited way, but enough for me to know that she enjoyed the freshly squeezed juice and having her hair brushed. The past few visits were better than the ones before and we have been managing just fine lately. Which is why I was not prepared for yesterday’s visit.
On arrival at the hospital I knew something was not quite right by the way the staff looked at me when I said I was there to visit my mum. When I entered her ward, the sight that greeted me was shocking. My mum’s bed had been risen high off the floor and was angled backwards. The sides of her bed had been pushed up and had padded covers attached. My mum was on all fours, trying to get out of the bed, and a nurse was fighting to keep my mum from hurting herself. She looked like a trapped animal, and had no sense of her surroundings. For an hour I tried everything I could think of to try and distract my mum but all she would do was continually try to get out of the bed – often head first. A couple of days previously she had been wandering round the wards causing a disturbance to other patients, and losing her balance, and thus presented a danger not only to herself but also to others. Which is why she had to be contained in this way.
For an hour I coped with this, tears slowly running down my face yet completely unaware of my own feelings. The visitors at the next bed could not keep from looking, and I felt so bad for my mum, knowing how horrified she would be if she knew she was like this. I tried calming her down by stroking her forehead and talking gently but nothing worked. All I could think of was how she resembled a frightened animal and the only way I could help her was by ending it all for her and easing her suffering, yet I could not.
After an hour I had to call for assistance and my mum needed attending to by the care assistants. I waited outside while they tidied her up, and stood by the nurses desk in a complete state. I was suddenly aware how upset I was, and a nurse came along and took me into a quiet room where I broke down. The tears would not stop and all I needed was a hug and someone to listen. The nurse listened, but to be honest she was no help at all. None of her words were in any way comforting. How could they be? All I wanted was for someone to do the kindest thing and put her out of this suffering. How long and uncomfortable her days must be.
After I had managed somehow to pull myself together, I returned to my mum and started the whole process all over again. I left the hospital feeling emotionally drained and empty. Mum didn’t even know I had been there trying to help her.
The only thing we can do is to wait for the meeting with the Multi-Disciplinary Team on Monday to find out what is happening with the place in the nursing home we are desperately hoping for. While we wait, I desperately hope that this disease will run its course as quickly as possible to end all of our suffering. I don’t feel guilty for wanting that anymore. If I could end it myself I would. And I don’t feel guilty about that either.
