Hospital shambles

I spent about 6 hours yesterday sitting in A&E of the Royal Infirmary with my dad from 6am to 12noon.

Not once did anyone use the antibacterial handwash in his bay. Not once. But then it was empty so they wouldn’t have had much joy anyway. I did ask a few folk if they’d give me a new one but no joy.

Dad was hooked up to 15 minute blood pressure which was taken automatically, along with his oxygen level and resps. From time to time a nurse had to come in and write these figures down. Most of the time they didn’t say a word to my Dad. No “How are you?” No “I’m just taking a note of this for your file.” No “Everything is looking fine, don’t worry.” No “Can you get you anything?” No nursing. Just note-taking.

At around 8am Dad decided it was breakfast time.  I asked a nurse if it was okay to get him a coffee from the machine in the waiting room. “No,” she replied, “we’ll get it. Just give me a minute.”  An hour later I asked the same nurse if he could get a drink as he suffers from dehydration occasionally and is diabetic.  ”Here’s a cup of water.”  At 10am I asked a nurse who had come to write things down again if they ever got breakfast in this place.  (For I’m pretty sure all the nurses did.) “Only if they are well enough to eat and drink,” was the reply.  ”Well, he is,” I said. “<Sigh> Alright, I’ll get someone to get it for him. Toast ok? Coffee?”  A young smiley nurse brought it to us 10 minutes later. I didn’t see anyone else being offered anything and not all of them were on death’s door. Far from it, as far as I could see. No wonder they are ill.

The doctor was called away 3 times in the course of speaking to us. I have no complaint about that. There were other sick people. He always came back, sometimes after an hour, and apologised. (Dad thought he was too young to be a consultant!)

Dad was to be kept in for observation for it may have been a heart attack but there were no beds.  We were told we’d just have to wait.  But then someone came in who was quite poorly so dad was put out of his cubicle and parked beside the nurses bay in the corridor.  He was meant to be on oxygen but the nurse who was going to get some portable oxygen never returned.

In the course of our time there I watched nurses deal with a drug overdose patient hand-cuffed to 2 policemen. They wore gloves while dealing with her but then would come out and answer the phone while wearing the gloves. What about the next person who picks up with phone without gloves?

I saw lots of things. What I didn’t see was nursing. What I didn’t see was caring.

Is that too harsh?  Were they busy? Yes, I’d say they were kept pretty busy.  But how much longer would it have taken to talk while doing the blood-taking, or the ECG, or pillow plumping – oh sorry, I forgot, there were no pillows. A shortage.  I didn’t see hand-holding, reassuring arms round shoulders, listening. Too busy to listen perhaps? A listening shortage.  I saw nurses deal with a patient and go back to the computer screens and stand and click the mouse until the next task. Filling in on-line forms? Possibly. But most of the time they didn’t type anything, just stood and swirled the mouse around while looking about – but never catching a relative’s eye.

I realise that emergency medicine is different from ward nursing. But I don’t accept that they are too busy to talk and reassure. And I don’t accept that a system can’t be put in place that someone makes breakfast for those in the emergency ward. For they were not all emergencies, as far as I could see.

Bring back Matron. Not to swish around checking the nurses are all working. No, a Matron who walks round the beds asking the patients if everything is okay.

Arrivaderci Roma

Just back from a quick birthday jaunt to Rome with Son #2. It was gloriouso in every way, not to mention very scorchio. there is not a sight that has not been seen and photographed from every angle by said son.  I have been to Rome before – just for the day many, many years ago with Brother Basil and two friends and we ‘did’ St Peter’s and the Vatican Museum. I remember coming away impressed and with fresco neck. This time it was less of the religious stuff and more of the ruins although many churches were visited en route. And Son #2 did want to do St P and Vatican so I was delighted to do it again. Much has changed, not least the amount of people and the noise.

But for now I must leave you with that tantalising tease for I must sleep before the parish outing to Lindisfarne tomorrow.

Garage sale

Son #1 has finished his finals (and passed!) and is taking a year out before going on to do the Masters. (Scottish Lit in case you’re interested.) He is looking for temp jobs and they don’t seem to have fallen in his lap quite as quickly as he thought they would. Plan B involves selling his goods and chattels on EBay. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But this has involved raking through boxes in the garage and making a considerable mess in the process, hauling them all indoors to be photographed and listed, interrupting me constantly to ask advice – heh! what do I know?

I fear it will all end in tears. Or at least it will be me who has to run up and down to the Post Office. And just how much does it cost to send a book to Japan?

And on the Sabbath you shall rest

I don’t think so.

We kept the Feast of All Souls twice yesterday morning, reading out the names of all those known to us who have gone before. It was a long list this year and I could read most of them because most people heeded my plea to PRINT the names of their beloved. The church was still bedecked with skeletons which added a certain je ne sais quoi.

Then it was a mad dash across town to St Michael & All Saints for the celebration lunch to celebrate the restoration of the church. The green carpet is down and looks just spectacular. Red and green is a bold choice for a church but if anyone can carry it off, St Mike’s can. Lots of familiar faces and plenty clergy to hobnob with. Nice to see Fr Tom Cuthell (retired CofS minister from St Cuthbert’s) who is the most catholic presbyterian ever. A long time ago I went on one of his Assisi pilgrimages and have very fond memories.

Back home to see Son #2 off to his new flat in the centre of town, making it much easier for him to get to work. Mind you it looks like there is still a lot of detritus to clear up. Of course five minutes after he’d left and I was just enjoying the peace and quiet, Son #1 phoned and asked if he could come and stay the night. The peace was short lived.

Then back to church for our Alternative Service which had the theme of Remembering. Tisec’s training in ministry with tea lights came into its own. Lots of silence too. Bliss.

And throughout it all we had to take part in the new census of age/gender profile which is happening throughout November. Everyone who comes through the doors has to tick their age group, gender, and whether they are a family or not. There would have been a time when the vast majority would have ticked the over 60 box but no longer.

And finally, for those interested, there are 3 vacancies on St Mark’s Vestry. Names should be in by next Sunday.

A mother’s love

A mother’s love is sitting for three hours hunched over a laptop admiring Son #1’s photos of India and Nepal. There is not a temple or mountain I have not admired.

They were actually Son #1’s girlfriend’s photos so I did get to know her better too. You can learn a lot from someone’s photos. She is an artist after all – and a good photographer.

But he still has to be the messiest child (at the age of nearly 32) in Christendom. Today we deal with the aftermath.

Update on Dad

Dad is back in the Home for the Bewildered and firmly ensconced in the smoking room.  Turns out to have been bad dehydration. Clearly he’s not getting enough to drink – or not being prompted to drink it. If only he was closer to this side of town…

But we can all relax again, safe in the knowledge that I have no doubt whatsoever that he will outlive us all.

Memory test

Spent yesterday in hospital with my dad. He was in for a routine procedure in the morning and they happened to notice that his kidneys were failing. The careworker who was with him went off duty at 2pm so we got the call to go in and sit with him because they were keeping him in.

Dad has multi-infarct dementia so has trouble with his memory. He also has a tendency to confabulate which means that if he doesn’t know the answer to a question he will make it up. He does this exceedingly well. I think a lifetime in marketing and advertising means that he has a very vivid imagination and he can spin a good tale. So, its always good if we are there with him because otherwise he can be very convincing.

Amongst the many questions he was asked yesterday was the memory test. Do you know where you are? His answer was the Deaconess Hospital – which closed down years ago. Do you know what day it is? He got that right because we had just told him when he told me he was going to come and hear me preach tomorrow. Who is the Prime Minister? Maggie Thatcher… and then a pause as he sorted out in his head that that was wrong. He knew it wasn’t Tony Blair but poor old GB didn’t surface to his memory. Counting back from 20 was a little haphazard to say the least. And ‘do you know who I am?’ brought the reply ‘well, we haven’t formally been introduced’.  So all in all, I think he did very well.

Let’s hope he’s still there this morning and hasn’t wandered off, drips attached, looking for a place to have a sly ciggie. And what do you take to someone in hospital who has been told no chocs and no fruit because his potassium is so high?

Looking backwards and forwards

Happy New Year to one and all. It was a quiet hogmanay here at the Rectory as Son #2 had gone out gallavanting (with the obligatory guilty conscience at leaving his old mum alone and yes, I milk that one for all its worth!). I fell asleep in the chair and only woke at midnight when the fireworks exploded all over Edinburgh. Spoke to my sister on the phone just after because it’s her birthday today too and then went to bed. Exciting, huh? And I didn’t even get the study tidied before the old year was out so I dare say that doesn’t bode well for the new year. I did hear my first-foot creeping in at 5.30am but no sign of coal or whisky or black bun (vile stuff anyway).

Looking back, it was a good year. My little flock grew and grew like Topsy and we started lots of new things.  We were joined by Bishop Alan Smithson and his wife Jean and he insisted that I took all my holidays. What an asset they are.

I began the year not being able to drive much because of the cataract and it was removed in January to the accompaniment of glorious technicolour. The other one should be done this year when I can find a space in the diary. Speaking of health, I did spend an awful lot of time with my bottom exposed this year while I underwent various tests for my IBS. It would appear that I have diverticulitis and chronic biliary gastritis and a lazy bottom bowel. I think that’s enough detail on that one but the treatment is not pleasant, I can tell you. And I ended the year with the virus to end all viruses, spent two weeks indoors coughing my guts up and am still doing so over a month later.

I found a new retreat home on Holy Island and spent a week there renewing and refreshing the batteries, and am booked in for my post-Easter break. I went to Oxford with Fr K and we adored the glittering spires and watched some amazing theatre.

Son #1 continues to do exceedingly well at Edinburgh Uni and Son #2 was made redundant in the summer time and has since been travelling the southern hemisphere. It was nice to have the house to myself for a while – lonely but nice. But for an extrovert (ENFP if you are interested in Myers Briggs) I am happy with my own company. And in case the boys are reading this, yes I like your company too. And I’d like it even more if you were a bit tidier. (I am also a Virgo.)

Looking forward, what are my hopes?

That St Mark’s continues to grow from strength to strength.

For better health.

For more reading time.

That my family, flock and friends have good health and happiness in 2008 and beyond.

I think that’s it. Have a good one yourselves.

My baby is home

Lovely quiet drive to the airport yesterday morning to pick up Son #2 from Oz, via Singapore and Heathrow. He is looking very tanned and handsome – about the only person in Oz with a tan as their skin cancer rate is 1 in 2. (And yes, I did advise him to use Factor 30 but to no avail.)

His flight on Christmas Day was not as exciting as I thought it might have been. The video/TV at his seat didn’t work and they couldn’t upgrade him to 1st Class because it was full so he had to spend 10 hours with nothing to watch. They did give him a refund of $75 so he was able to watch a very expensive bottle of aftershave instead. And the turkey dinner had run out by the time they got to him too!

Picked up Son #1 on the way home. Drove through town while #2 remarked on how small Edinburgh seems after the big spaces of Oz. Small but special, we like to think. And dreich too but that didn’t deter him from sighing with happiness to be back on Scottish soil.

We opened pressies, gazed in wonder at the many clothes he brought back, and ate our Christmas lunch with relish. It is lovely to have him back – even though the house looked like a tip within minutes. Then he was off last night to a friend’s birthday in town and staggered home at 6am. Ah! Back to normal!

Christmas continues…

Some congregations are midnight people and some are day people. Apart from my curacy in a certain cathedral, all the churches I’ve worked in have been midnight people and I’ve been hard pressed to get more than single figures for Christmas Day. Yet, there is nothing quite like getting up and going to church on Christmas Day before the nonsense begins, even if it just serves as a reminder to what it’s all really about.

Bishop Alan offered to take the Christmas Day service for me and I was glad to hand over the reins, although I did warn him that there might be just the two of us plus the blessed Pat to serve at the altar. But there were 11 of us so we even sang some carols and it was divine.

Back home and I opened my presents all on my own which was very weird. No boys and no notebooks to write down what they got so they could write their thank-you letters. (Don’t know why I bother these days because they seem to be strangers to pen and paper.) Actually I did write down all of mine because the memory is not what it once was. And what a host of lovely loot! So thank you in lieu of the thank-you letters which I will get done this week.

Son #1 and his flatmate finally arrived at about 3pm and he made lunch for us all. Smoked salmon to die for – thank you Nicola. It shall make several more appearances in the days to come. And the Death by Chocolate Cake was much nicer than any Christmas pud – thank you Carol. Yes, I did very little in terms of preparation for Christmas lunch.

The boys left and I dozed in front of the TV for the rest of the evening. Pondered why clergy feel so flat after the adrenalin departs. So it was good to get a phone call from a certain Provost and we compared notes on all things Christmassy. Don’t get me wrong or feel bad for me on my own, by the way. I’m afraid I wouldnt be good company anyway. It’s good to be on your own sometimes. I take my hat off to married clergy with families – I don’t know how they do it. I can barely string 2 sentences together let alone be attentive to someone else.

And now I have been up for hours and Son #2 has phoned to say he has landed safely in Heathrow and I shall be picking him up in a few hours. And he has got me a Nintendo DS in pink. How lucky am I?!