Looking Glass Wards - Part ten

Mark returns....

One morning I arrived to discover the isolation room occupied by another patient.  After a brief panic, I learned Carolie had transferred to a share room overnight.  Her disorientation kicked in during this exercise – she thought aliens were abducting her until she realized her destination remained earthbound.   

The small wardroom was a significant ‘comedown’ from the spacious isolation room.  The room accommodated four women ‘cozily’.  It had its own bathroom and toilet.  Spatial restrictions were much greater.  There was room for a couple of posters and a few flower vases but it felt cramped. 

A new area of risk to Carolie opened up immediately.  Nurses would move her to the bathroom for ablutions and toileting, and occasionally leave her unattended.  I arrived one morning to discover she had fallen off the toilet.  Her poor balance and lack of muscle control meant she required constant supervision when taken away from her bed (which had security rails) or safe chair, but the demands on nurses in high dependency situations are relentless.  It only took a moment unsupervised to lose her bearings and fall.  She was trying to reach for toilet paper, as you do.  Her body was jarred and bruised but nothing more serious detected.  It alarmed me nonetheless and it happened at least twice.  Again, I felt uneasy away from her side. 

Once Carolie could transfer out of bed to a wheel or ‘safe’ chair without use of an overhead harness, she was destined for the rehabilitation ward.  Although assessed ready for transfer, places were few.  This eventuality seemed a bridge to ‘normality’; hope of a return to life outside.   The anticipation of attaining ‘Rehab ward’ status grew day by day.  We waited patiently for advice a place had been found.   

The singing and physiotherapy continued apace.  A small sitting area for visitors was close to the wardroom.  We used this for singing sessions, as a swung cat would fear for its life in the new accommodation.  An old bloke would wander along to join in the singing.  He looked a tad lost, but brightened up when the lovely songsters took flight.

Another malaise manifested itself.  Carolie began to have bouts of nausea and vomiting.  The meal mush alone would have been enough to send me gushing, but the ongoing cocktail of drugs and echoes of trauma to the system were the likely causes.  Profound brain trauma can resonate through the metabolism for considerable time after surgery.   

The rate of recovery differs for all patients as metabolic responses to treatment vary in each case.  The ‘broad brush’ prognoses laid out along the way had mostly been inaccurate.  

This did not reflect poorly on the competence of medical staff, but merely reinforced the truism that we are all different.  For the next few months and without much of a cue, her regurgitated meals left those in attendance scurrying to limit the mess and clean up.  Taken with all the other travails, it did not seem fair, but if life was fair…well, you know!

To be continued....