Got an email this morning pleading for some tracky-daks because learning crutches, whilst wearing a hospital gown, left nothing to the imagination! After a quick whiz around Rebel Sport in the new Mid-City-Centre, I got stuff plain enough to suit me. BUT ... I forgot that the hospital was hot. Why are places like this so over-heated. Normal people have to strip down to t-shirt and shorts. The daks weren't too bad but she was better off with a t-shirt than the tracky-top.
Arriving just before 3pm, Kirsten was all ready for the physio for a stair-climbing session. Earlier her caste had been removed, and one of those swanky castes that resemble ski-boots was ready. To me, $100 for one of those seemed reasonable. Eager to show off her skills, she was off up the corridor whence Ally had scooted the day before. I went back for the camera, to find on my return, her in a wheel-chair under the guidance of the physio. A short lift-ride away and we entered the rehab room. The hospital is well-equipped. Kirsten was shown how to go up steps with crutches. How to up using one crutch and a railing. How to go up and down steps on her bum It is going to be tiring. Their apartment is on the second floor. Each set of steps has maybe a dozen steps, an interim landing, another dozen steps, to the next floor. Two lots of that.
The dietitian had been and gone. There was a screed about how to liquify and how to combine ingredients for a balanced meal. So much to take it. I think Kirsten will spend most of her day, preparing and eating meals. Her mouth is wired shut probably until early into September, although everything seems to have been happening early. Kirsten thinks this is because she is fit, and only 32. Yes, she is going home, but this is based on where she is on the recovery chart. She is where many people are on Day 21.
The Nurse Manager was setting up home help for Kirsten for the first week - user pays. The nurse will come in each day for an hour; change the dressing on the trachy and on the leg; and, supervise Kirsten in the shower. They are having a shower board put in over the bath, and installing on of those European shower-heads on hose.
It was this Nurse Manage, much to her severe embarrassment, who let the cat out of the bag, that home day is Wednesday and not Thursday. How sweet, and terribly affecting. Kirsten has arranged to be home for my birthday. I never want material things for my celebrations: just rather do things with people. I got the shock of my life, and rolled upside down on her bed. Luckily, she was ensconced in the chair at the time!! Really noice.
So, home help is organised. The dietitian is organised. The physio is organised. And, I left Kirsten talking with the Speechie, whom I really liked. There will be a lot of work getting the production of air for speaking back to how it had been At the moment there is a fair bit of pain in the area of the trachy hole. Not much to do with the incision, I gather, but everthing to do with the elastoplast for the dressing around the small wound. It has been taken on and off so often, in a really senitive part of the skin.
Kirsten has a cornucopia of drugs to take home with her. She mentioned to a nurse (in my hearing) that the jawbone pain was up to 7/10 again. She will have some endone and some panadeine to take home with her.
Kirsten is craving a good night's sleep and is desperate to repair her relationship with her daughter. Tomorrow, I go over early (7:30am) to play with Ally whilst Darren goes out to a client's business very close to MUH. I muck around with my grand-daughter whilst Darren does a smidge of work, then bowles into the hospital, picks up his wife and brings her home to Double Bay. Hip Hip hip ...
I need to get me a census number because the silly buggers have me locked out. Nobody knocked upon my door bearibg registration numbers.
So, we come to the 9th and for mine, most perplexing verse of Yeat'S 'Prayer for my daughter'. He sounds like a whistled, old curmudgeon. Without further, Yeats Verse 8:
|An intellectual hatred is the worst,
So let her think opinions are accursed,
Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
Out of the mouth of Plenty's HOrn,
Because of her opinionated mind
Barter that horn and every good
By quiet natures understood
For an old fellow full of angry wind?