About a couple of hours after our hospital visit to MiL it was announced she was being moved to a 'special' ward (I won't name it as that would identify hospital) and that ward said, and I quote, "oh we'll get that sorted out in a week"!!!!!!!
WHAT THE FUCK. grrrrrrrrrrr.
Hub spoke to SiL today who told us that she went to hosp at 9pm that night and told that ward everything that we had done/ the complaint and everything. I told him that would not prevent us going to PALS, but it is possible that the paperwork we tried to get yesterday ie the original admissions paperwork from her first brief stay there (and when the accident happened) could now be more difficult to get (I am not paranoid, just realistic). Mum was transferred to another hospital for 'rehabilitation' but could not do it as she felt so ill, we did not realise this and gave her pep talks to try harder etc. Then when her heart rate soared and temperature went through the roof they transferred her back to original hospital, it was downhill from there.
We went to PALS office yesterday and had to leave message on the answerphone thingy and whilst doing that couldn't remember mums birthdate, as some bloke came out and spoke to us whilst I was doing that, so I lost my thread and went to try again, hub decided to leave it and phone tomorrow (today) - as we walked away I said "so close, so close to actually dealing with it" grrrr. Eventually he has not phoned today and we are going in tomorrow tho we may not get a meeting straight away. That will piss him off but he will not listen to me regarding procedures etc.
Aaannyhooo, today SiL has said "oh don't do anything without telling me as we don't want to upset anyone".....what the fuckin fuck. (In spite of the fact that when trying to get mum in care home she would ignore hub's suggestions, turn up earlier than him at the homes and basically have the meeting before he got there and sometimes hedged/lied about mum's condition. They ain't daft these care home Manager's. Anyway it was the latest one that went to see mum and found the MRSA page on her notes and let us know!
Hub worked damn hard writing up the notes for our case and she wants to ignore it and brush it under the carpet. Well, No Actually, we are going to do this, I don't care if it upsets her (she hates me anyway) she lives in fluffy wuffy fairyland, doesn't believe swearing is necessary at all in real life and no-one should raise their voice. ever. Well bollocks to that, real life is shit, get on with it.
I am common, but that doesn't mean I can't manage a good, productive meeting, getting my point across politely but firmly (asking for 'help' along the way from whoever the meeting is with).
Mum went into hospital with two smallish wounds from falling over and investigation was needed to discover why (this was done within about 72 hours) by this time the accident had happened. Within 10 weeks from diagnosis her vascular dementia is advanced and not helped by the severe infection (now known to be MRSA) that could have been "sorted out" WEEKS ago. SiL asked if she had MRSA three times and was told 'No'.
Anyway, about me now - had blood test, not too bad with 20mg of diazepam and 2 armloads of emla cream. The lady at the cottage hospital is so good I wish I could take her back in time to do all my painful/bruising/stressful ones from the past. Walked miles 'cos obviously can't drive under the influence so bit tired but at least had exercise, tho went thru high street/charity shops.....ooops, etc on way to dentist; thought I would make the most of the diazepam lol.
Lord alone knows what the results will be, cholesterol/thyroid/diabetes etc. Too many crisps, not enough porridge is my problem. I had an oveeractive thyroid a few years ago and went down to under 8 stone and size 10- I thought I looked gawjus darling, but the doc said no dear, you are ill - 'bugger' sez I. You should see my passport picture I look absofuckinlutely terrible).
If the nurse suggests I go to gym etc with my lesser half (as he has been recommended/referred to do, I swear I will tie a kettlebell to his dick and throw him in the pool. I used to go three years ago and Loved It, pilates/aquatherapy/floating with style (can't swim)/gym etc) and had to stop when he was home and kept asking where I was going/when going to be back etc, then the money ran out and that was it. So - results awaited with trepidation/anguish. (Oh yeah The FW is losing weight - bastard!).
N'night all (PALS office in morning, hey ho)
PS Readers will note did not use the epithet (ooh get me) 'The FW' when relating the MiL story, I might dislike/hate him (depending the day/occasion) but am not that cruel.
PPS Am actually getting tiny bit used to him being at home, ie am not shocked when I walk into kitchen and he is sitting there, larf. We even laugh at stuff sometimes, that doesn't mean we will ever share a bed or even a room again. I am just coming to terms with the situation.