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At last
It's here! I have two weeks off now. Not going on holiday, I've got much better stuff to do. The skip is arriving on Monday and I am going to be clearing out the 'dining room' and the loft. The dining room has remained untouched since we bought this house, as a derelict property, 13 years ago. It has become the dumping ground for everyones 'I might use this again' items. This has been handy for Hubby as he uses the fact that it is absolutely overflowing as an excuse for not starting it, so I issued an invitation to all the off-spring to come and reclaim anything they didn't want me to throw out, very little disappeared, so I now consider that I have carte-blanche to blitz the room. My timescale for the room clearing is 5 days, I then move into the loft ( not literally ) and repeat the exercise, whilst Hubby rips out the ceiling and floor boards in the dining-room. That will be exciting!
I'm not abandoning work entirely, I still have parentcraft classes to teach, a union meeting to attend, a study day to go on, and a visit to a birthing centre. In the scheme of things though not too taxing. The visit to the birth centre is a fact-finding, idea provoking mission, but I'm looking forward to it. I work bank shifts in a stand-alone unit (it's not attached to a maternity/obstetric unit) so this is an opportunity to see one functioning alongside a main unit. The unit I work from as a community midwife is merging with another unit 15 miles away, the main one will be where I work but we are working toward having a birth unit ( staffed only by midwives ) either within the main unit or, preferably, at the site of the unit that is closing. We have been having loads of meeting, hot, heated affairs, with consultant obstetricians, trust board members, health authorities, user groups, NCT and local councillors. Some cautiously backing the idea, others vehemently against it, our Head of Midwifery is firmly championing the fight and helping us all the way. I'm now on the steering group deciding the layout and working out the costs, hence the visit, with my Head of Midwifery.
This week at work was busy, as usual. One of my women failed to turn up to have her baby monitored, so I was despatched to check out what was going on. Her excuse was that she had overslept, her appointment was for 2pm. We are monitoring the baby due to Mum's alcohol abuse, baby's growth was virtually stopped and it was suggested baby would be 'better out than in'. When I saw her baby was not moving around and it's heartbeat was racing along slightly faster than I would have liked. I needed to send her in but she said she didn't have anyone who could give her a lift, she hadn't got any money, so she suggested I should pay for a taxi. Our insurance doesn't cover us transporting people in our cars so my only option was to call an ambulance. When she got to the hospital they did a caesarian that night and a little, 4lbs, girl was born. Is she better out than in? It's situations like that little girls that make me unhappy, what is her life going to be like? Yesterday I walked into the office and was immediately given information that made me, and my colleagues groan. A woman, living in the area I cover, had been in labour all night, was refusing to come in to hospital, had concealed the pregnancy, and had previously had a Caesarian Section. Her Mother had phoned demanding that a midwife go out to her and when she was told her daughter must come into hospital she had put the phone down. Oh great! Our supervisors and managers told us what we already knew, we had to attend. My job-share partner and I grabbed the emergency bags and set off on a 15 mile drive towards god-knows what. Virtually immediately I got stuck, on country roads, behind a VW camper van and a skip lorry. This did nothing for my stress levels and unfortuntely gave me time to think about what might greet us the other end. My mind raced through possibilities ranging from early labour or baby having been born by the time we got there and everything being okay, to scars giving way and losing Mum and baby to baby having not made it through this far and having to break this news to Mum. Eventually I got to less twisty roads and roared past the two offending vehicles, my adrenaline levels went through the roof as I drove like a maniac, constantly apologising to my poor little car for the excess I was subjecting her to. When I arrived the pregnant Mum was on all-fours in the hallway, her Mother was fluttering around like a trapped bird, and her step-father had shut himself in the sitting-room. The woman was actually quite reasonable once I had introduced myself, sent her Mum off to make me a coffee, and was then able to chat to her without interuption from the totally weird Mother. By the time my colleague had arrived we were discussing why it was unlikely she would catch MRSA from us, and more importantly the hospital. After examining her and listening to the baby we convinced her that going into hospital would be a good idea. Preparing for that was interesting, she had nothing ready. No baby clothes, no nappies, no clean knickers - nothing. Eventually she was on her way though, and we could report back to the Mothership that all was well. As a result of our little expedition we had a backlog of visits, a cancelled clinic and didn't finish until 7pm. I had indigestion last night, I wonder why?
Censorship
I am debating whether to continue with my meandering blogs due to Jack's Mummy having found my blog. I admit that she didn't have to look very hard, of far, but before I have always been safe in the knowledge that didn't surf for fun. Now it's all changed though, she has broadband. Last night she told me how amusing her and partner had found one of my blog entries. It's good that they enjoyed it but I have always imagined that I could, more or less, write anonymously. I have been thinking of changing my nom-de-plume to remain incognito, being paranoid though I know she would find me. Guess I will just have to be careful what I write.
Addicted
Well, I pondered and decided that I will keep blogging, guess I can't do without the interaction. Daughter has promised me that she will not read my blog, and I am choosing to believe her!!!! I can't begin to think that curiosity will not get the better of her, especially since she reads her Aunts and Uncles blogs and is very interested in how all the 20six babies are doing as they are all around the same age as Jack.
My skip is full, and my knees are bruised. (To get into our loft you have to lever yourself up about three feet from the top of the ladder and through the hatch, landing on your knees.) The loft is now the tidiest area of my house, all the boxes are organised into categories and labelled and all the c**p has been thrown out, well most of it, unless it is of a sentimental nature and then it can't go. I came across my diaries from when I was pregnant with my babies and spent ages remembering things that the 'rosy glow' of Motherhood had banished to the deep recesses of my cluttered mind. The comments I jotted down following two of the births had me mentally crossing my legs in sympathy and wondering why, after the first, I carried on procreating. They were worth it though, hardly any lasting scars.
My dining room is now an empty shell, except for the boxes awaiting a car boot sale, and Hubby is looking increasingly like a cornered animal knowing that it's time is up. His pleading looks whenever I show him a colour chart will get him no where, his announcement that his hammer drill was deceased mearly sent me scuttling off to buy him a new one, I am showing no mercy.
Now I have a request. Does anyone remember Kunzel Cakes? When I was little they were a special treat. Fancy little chocolate cakes filled with some extremely sweet fondant type confection. I can't get them out of my mind, if they are still manufactured please let me know. It's really weird, I keep having these cravings, Kunzel Cakes is one and Jelly Babies are the other. Perhaps I'm coming out in sympathy with pregnant eldest daughter. More on her when Baby Bean is certain s/he wants to join our family, little bit early still, counting eggs and all that.
Things old
During my 'blitz' on treasured items I came across this, circa '86, weighs a tonne, guaranteed to ruin the line of any clothing you put it in. A 'mobile' phone.
After much searching we have found a care home willing to look after Mum-in-law. Old girl has an Alzheimers type dementia called DLB and all the other homes we contacted were unable to accept her. We were just about to start panicking when this one agreed to assess her. Part of the problem arose due to Social Services in her area having 'booked' all the beds suitable for the intense care she requires. They do this to avoid 'blocking' in their housing stock. It's all very well but this means that anyone who owns their own home has to go into a care home miles away. For Hubby it is an ideal place for her to be as it is only 5 minutes down the road from us. For her husband though it involves a 40 mile journey to visit, and he's no spring chicken at 83. This whole business has depressed me intensely, it was sad enough to find that it was going to cost £600 per week, but to then realise that money can not allow you to choose where you are cared for, makes me wonder why we all seem to seek to prolong our lives. It's not our pensions we need to worry about, infact I'm fast becoming an advocate of NOT owning your own home and always relying on the state to provide for you. That way, it seems, you will be sure of a place to go when you need round the clock care as having no money seems to ensure you will be taken care of.
Aching muscles, including heart
Started Pilates with my daughters, and the instructor hates me. Eldest daughters comment about her was ' I hate it when I look at a 70 year old, and wish I had her body'. This lithe geriatic seems to take my out-of-control body as a personal affront. For half the session she loomed over me digging her fingers into the soft, yielding expanse that is my stomach whilst exhorting me to tighten up from the top. Muscles that had retreated into anonymity decades ago were forced out of retirement, and grudgingly did their best to tighten hoping to protect the underlying vital organs. Youngest daughter commented on how relaxing she found the session, oh to be young and fit.
Visited two birth centres on the South Coast, lovely places, very helpful, informative staff. This week we will be 'feeding back' to the steering group and putting together the proposal for the Health Authority, it would be wonderful if we could open a facility like that for local women.
Mother-in-law moves into the nursing home on Monday. Yesterday we had a look around it, the staff were welcoming and the home seemed clean and organised. She is going to the 'Alzeimers suite' and Hubby found it upsetting, about 20 ladies all wandering aimlessly around. MIL appears to be in a worse state of decline than any we saw yesterday and has no idea that she is going into a residential home. I was kneeling down next to her trying to explain to her that this would be her new 'home' when she reached out and stroked my face saying 'You look very familiar. You have a face just like my daughter-in-laws.' How strange, that her memory allows her to remember a face, but not to assign an identity to it. Last night Hubby was very subdued. It's very difficult for him, I know he feels guilty about her going into a home but equally he accepts that his Step-Father can't cope any longer, and that it would be impossible for us to have her here. At least the place is only 5 minutes down the road, so he can make frequent visits and the G.P who covers the home has been our family doctor for 25 years so we trust him. The one blot on the landscape is that this is a months trial period, what happens if they feel they can't offer Mum the care she needs? Where do we turn then?
Exile
Sunday - All the troops assembled at the homestead for Sunday lunch, whilst yours truly stayed upstairs, alone. Sounds of laughter permiated up the stairs, the offspring cautiously popped their heads around the doors and enquired as to my well-being, I just lay in the bed, surrounded by cats. I had been struck down by a vicious tummy-bug of unknown origin. Luckily, I felt so bad that I didn't mind the exile, I was in no mood for close proximity to people or food.
Eldest daughter was putting forward her name suggestions for Baby Beanie, it is still Tinkerbell for a girl, whilst the top-runner for a boy is Flair. She has always been a trifle eccentric, an individual, but I am now seriously worried, is she joking? I really hope so.
Responsibilies
So, MIL went into the nursing home yesterday. This morning matron phoned up to say that Mum had fallen and cut her nose and that the community nurse was there assessing the situation. I asked if I should go down there but they said it was okay and that they would phone when the nurse had decided what the best course of action was. When they phoned, it was to say the ambulance had just arrived, and they were taking her to A & E. Now Hubby has gone to the hospital.
I have such a mixture of emotions. I feel really angry that they called an ambulance prior to telling me what was going on. In the first call the information was simply that Mum had fallen and cut her nose. They had established that I was around and willing to to the home so why call an ambulance? I could have been at the home in 5 minutes and taken her to A & E myself, not wasted precious ambulance time, and also not taken a member of staff away from her role in the home. I feel really sad for Hubby. He was guilt ridden enough about his Mum going into a care home without her ending up in A & E within the first 24 hours. I'm not blaming the home. It would be impossible to provide one-on-one supervision to all the residents.
Just when all the offspring have flown the nest, and we should be footloose and fancy-free, parents have become a replacement worry and responsibility.
Sorry, I just needed to offload.