|This was SO not me.
Arrival at the house was fine - got the heating on and the water switched on. Then my mum's neighbour and I headed off to pick up two perching stools and a loo seat with handles. After a bit of dicking about (where we were left hovering in a hallway surrounded by No Entry signs) a wee man came with the stuff. I signed a form. We stood looking at each other. 'Is that it, then?' I asked after a bit. 'Aye,' he replied before disappearing back through the swing doors and into whatever strange Santa's Grotto it is that they make these things.
I and the neighbour carried the stuff out to the car, having a wee sad head-shaking moment at the guy's lack of communication, not to mention being stranded in the hallway with no-where to go and no-one coming to speak to us.
But that was NOTHING as to trying to get the physio, district nurse and OT to visit Juno. But, I'm racing ahead of myself.
Juno arrived home mid afternoon, after her lengthy chauffeured drive by my brother. Who had a cup of coffee and promptly drove home again. To Birmingham. Too busy with work to have an overnight. Some employers need their arses well-kicked.
She proved herself sprightly on her crutches - getting up and down the stairs, going to the loo, getting her jammies on etc. Which was great.
I actually did no nurse-maiding at all, other than making suggestions about carrying a cross-body bag so that she could carry things in it - like her phone and the telly remote control (as she kept changing chair and discovering that the remote was 'miles away' on the other chair.
It was odd, seeing mum hobbling about on crutches. And being very pleasant. She called me 'dear' several times. Which she doesn't usually do. I'm not sure that I liked her being so compliant, it felt quite alien.
She ate pretty much everything that I gave her.
'I have no appetite,' she said wanly.
Only for two bars of chocolate, some ginger fudge cake, some biscuits and liquorice sweeties. I went out to the shops and bought vegetables. Tinned vegetables, but she's on blummin crutches and tinned veg are better than no veg.
The doctor came and inspected the long white elastoplast that ran from the middle of her outer thigh up around her buttock and disappeared under her comfy pj top. It was long, but it wasn't bad looking. Easy for me to say when it isn't my buttock that has been scythed through.
'What about physio?' I asked.
'oh yes, we need to organise that as a matter of urgency,' he replied. Which is good. Until you realise that 'urgent' for a GP quite different to what you or I might regard as urgent. Here we are a week later and nothing has been done. No one has been in touch and we have made loads of telephone calls to various people, each directing us onwards to someone else who then directs us on to someone else.
God help anyone elderly who has to cope with this on their own.
Today, however, Juno got the bit between her teeth and lo! Many telephone calls later, a physio has agreed to come and see her at home.
Still nothing from the OT.....
Still nothing from Social Services about the neck alarm that she needs.....
Since coming home from the hospital and being - according to the hospital - about 3 weeks ahead in her recovery progress, she has hit a brick wall. And that brick wall is made up of poor communication, no communication and confused communication. THIS is where the NHS needs to focus its efforts - get the communication running smoothly and patients will be much happier.
I'm back up this weekend. She's stopped calling me dear on the telephone. Looking forward to normal, fairly grumpy, service when I see her.