It's been a while since I've written anything on this blog but that's because I'm not sure what to write.
My mother sent me a message one day, because I asked her if she could send me some information about Dad and his care (or lack of it) when he was sent to the hospital again. It was a sad message and I thought I would put it on here. But I can't find it.
She told us how Dad was treated like an animal in the hospital. Tied to the bed. Chained like a dog she said. She couldn't believe such a thing happened in this day and age.
I know she was shocked.
I'm fairly certain she was sad.
Then, I'm guessing, she picked herself up and said, 'To hell with this. No-one is treating the man I vowed to love through sickness and in health like this'.
The family were called.
A plan was implemented.
Mum doesn't like talking about this particular period. She told me to ask my siblings. I haven't got round to it. Perhaps if I find the email mum sent I'll publish it.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Monday, June 18, 2012
Moved, again.
Dad was moved again. He didn't stay long at the new place. When we asked Mum why they moved him out she wasn't really sure.
Perhaps the mixed messages we received at the start should have warned us. First they said, 'Yes, visit often to help him remain calm'. Then, once he was there we were told, 'No visitors for at least the first 3 weeks so he will settle in.'
We complied.
Not visiting for three weeks was very hard on Mum. Her biggest fear was that Dad would forget her.
He wasn't taken off the zombie drugs in the new place. His eyes still sagged, he dribbled, he couldn't always comprehend who was in front of him and his speech was slow and laboured. Oh how the machine had seriously fucked him up.
But we smiled when we visited.
We talked.
We tried to engage him.
We looked into his eyes.
We held his hands.
We asked if they would reduce the zombie drugs. They made promising sounds.
We lulled ourselves into thinking this nice new place was perfect, he was fitting in, they certainly were knowledgable about dementia. And then WHAM. He's moving.
Just the week previous we'd gone in and organised payments, added in little extra's like costs for a weekly podiatry and outings. All for nought.
They decided to move him.
He was put back into hospital.
His zombie drugs were increased.
And his care seriously went to hell.
Perhaps the mixed messages we received at the start should have warned us. First they said, 'Yes, visit often to help him remain calm'. Then, once he was there we were told, 'No visitors for at least the first 3 weeks so he will settle in.'
We complied.
Not visiting for three weeks was very hard on Mum. Her biggest fear was that Dad would forget her.
He wasn't taken off the zombie drugs in the new place. His eyes still sagged, he dribbled, he couldn't always comprehend who was in front of him and his speech was slow and laboured. Oh how the machine had seriously fucked him up.
But we smiled when we visited.
We talked.
We tried to engage him.
We looked into his eyes.
We held his hands.
We asked if they would reduce the zombie drugs. They made promising sounds.
We lulled ourselves into thinking this nice new place was perfect, he was fitting in, they certainly were knowledgable about dementia. And then WHAM. He's moving.
Just the week previous we'd gone in and organised payments, added in little extra's like costs for a weekly podiatry and outings. All for nought.
They decided to move him.
He was put back into hospital.
His zombie drugs were increased.
And his care seriously went to hell.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Zombie Drugs
Dad was in the dementia unit of the hospital for quite some time while the whanau and the health services tried to find another place for him to go.
He was doped to the eyeballs the whole time. He was a zombie. Sagging eyes, drooping lips that dribbled, hardly able to focus, mumbling speech, bent double and shuffling when he moved.
My sister has a video of Dad just weeks earlier dancing. Real dancing to rock and roll. Now he was reduced to a zombie shuffle.
The family kept up their regular visiting though it was so sad seeing him like this and feeling so helpless - after all we were just family. The big medical machine knew best.
Mum was asking when they would reduce his drugs. They made promises, but of course, he had a violent record and they didn't have many staff so keeping him doped and docile suited them just fine.
Another place was found and with high hopes the family executed his relocation.
The unit did seem really good. The staff seemed very knowledgable. There was a bit of space for walking around and, more importantly, there was no lock down. Yes, we thought, this place has promise and we were hopeful of long term placement and a reduction of zombie drugs.
He was doped to the eyeballs the whole time. He was a zombie. Sagging eyes, drooping lips that dribbled, hardly able to focus, mumbling speech, bent double and shuffling when he moved.
My sister has a video of Dad just weeks earlier dancing. Real dancing to rock and roll. Now he was reduced to a zombie shuffle.
The family kept up their regular visiting though it was so sad seeing him like this and feeling so helpless - after all we were just family. The big medical machine knew best.
Mum was asking when they would reduce his drugs. They made promises, but of course, he had a violent record and they didn't have many staff so keeping him doped and docile suited them just fine.
Another place was found and with high hopes the family executed his relocation.
The unit did seem really good. The staff seemed very knowledgable. There was a bit of space for walking around and, more importantly, there was no lock down. Yes, we thought, this place has promise and we were hopeful of long term placement and a reduction of zombie drugs.
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