The
ward was in better shape than its Sydney equivalent. The building stock was not as old, but the
day-to-day equipment was hardly state-of-the-art. Some of the BP monitors were old and other
equipment look tired. However, the place
felt light and airy compared to Sydney.
The overhead hoist worked fine and
Carolie spent increasing periods out of bed.
She would dwell on the posters and the impressive
view from the large windows. Big smiles
would now greet nurses and new arrivals. Whenever I turned up, the reward was
one of these smiles and occasional acknowledgement via hand pressing. I chatted away and continued with the IPod
music sessions. ABC FM was available through a small hand line speaker. After a week or so, I leased TV coverage.
The
area around the nurses’ station was the ward hub. Corridors led off in four directions to
various wardrooms, most of which accommodated four patients. Other facilities on the floor included a
small visitor’s lounge and a rehabilitation gym. There were two isolation rooms adjacent to
the station, one of which Carolie occupied.
An elderly man of South Pacific islander origin took the other. In addition to his current neurological
situation, he had a dementia condition.
This was manifest in regular bouts of loud shouting. I nicknamed him the
‘king of Samoa’ - waging battles with savage enemies assaulting him from all
sides. At all hours, a blood-curdling
cry would suddenly reverberate around the hub, and a nurse would be dispatched
to assess the damage. Booming
declarations in his mother tongue were redolent with past warrior skirmishes,
imagined or real.
He may have been
replaying vigorous rugby matches with fierce opponents. It was alarming to begin with and I was glad
of Carolie’s seeming detachment from his aural assaults. I understand he would occasionally launch
himself out of his room, sometimes without clothes. Over time, I grew a soft spot for the
troubled warrior, and wished him well in his ‘battle royale’.
The
main change was Carolie’s new alertness.
Friends and colleagues now visited in abundance. She was aware of them and clearly recognized
most. Some read to her, others sang,
while others updated her on current events in the school and the Canberra education
scene. Whole classes made wonderful
posters, with bright colours, imaginative designs and personal messages from
individual children. Some included the
photos of the school kids. All of these
thrilled her.
The room had a large
painted wall at the foot of the bed, which we decorated with the posters. A friend set up a visitor’s schedule to avoid
crowding. On occasion food left by
visitors supplemented my diet. Flowers
and cards filled the room. A half
cupboard ran the length of the corridor window and this provided a perfect
display point for well-wisher’s paraphernalia.
A shelf and board near the bed for personal items harboured the
overflow.
The
banks of machinery that had dominated the ICU landscape had dwindled to a few
calibrated dispensers of food, water and drugs.
I anticipated nervously the removal of the tracheostomy. Would she be able to speak? How much brain damage had events and
interventions wrought? It took ages to
obtain the clearances from the various specialists involved. Strict protocols surrounding tracheostomy
removal require boxes ticked by these specialists.
Eventually all the ducks lined up and a nurse
popped the miniature engineering marvel out.
After all the fuss, I was amazed how easy it was. If I blinked, I would have missed it.
The trachea puncture hole was dressed simply
and that was that. I had been rubbing
body cream on Carolie’s lower limbs prior to the removal. Her first words were, “My skin gets dry from
the air-conditioning”. My heart leapt as
I agreed with her and I laughed aloud.
She had talked immediately and coherently. Her simple observation signalled a key area
of recovery – normal speech – was fully attainable.
Disoriented
by drugs and cognitive befuddlement, Carolie described repeatedly the view out
of her window as ‘Brindhavan
Gardens’, which is a popular tourist destination in South India. I have often remarked on the similarity of
the Canberra surrounds to areas familiar to us in India, so it was no surprise
that she made this connection. The high
proportion of nurses and doctors originating from the Indian
sub-continent and other Asian regions reinforced the confusion. Our many years of living in India probably
played a part, particularly her experience of being hospitalized briefly in New
Delhi.
The ‘Indian’ connection was doubtless comforting, as that part of the
world has played a profoundly positive role in shaping our life together. For instance, Carolie began to flex and
stretch her legs in yoga postures we
had practised since our time as students together in Mumbai.
 |
| Carolie at mealtime |
Carolie
could now eat for herself. She was
restricted to ‘soft’ foods that were mush of various colours. She needed help with eating and, considering
the cocktail of drugs in her system, had a reasonable appetite. Her visitors assisted with meals, marrying
food with chatter.
Sister Lou visited
most evenings to help with eating, personal grooming and to update familial
gossip and other happenings. Skirmishes
broke out about clothes choices, along with other sisterly disputes surrounding
toiletry matters, but the loving attention was therapeutic. It is impossible to quantify the benefits of
close personal care and attention in the early days of recovery but it was
tangible.
My role took on precise
parameters. I was responsible for all laundry; was a self-appointed assistant
meal manager and general logistics factotum.
As Carolie’s responses became more animated, my perfunctory daily
routine went by in a blur.
Carolie’s
smiles of recognition widened from day to day.
Her awareness was on the rise.
Her first targeted rehabilitation therapy was music. Friends from the ANU School of Music sang
with Carolie. They took it upon
themselves to come every day to sing and make healing music. They brought beautiful handcrafted percussion
instruments to supplement the singing and encourage hand-eye-ear
coordination. She would grapple with
these but barely detectable improvements were discernible over time.
The music
therapy continued throughout her stay as a rehabilitation in-patient and for
some months on departure from the hospital.
The ward nurses welcomed the singing sessions, and patients from other
rooms wandered along to listen. The
singing was sublime; the music played a pivotal role in speech and cognitive
recovery. We will return to the singing
therapy.
To be continued...
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