The patience of Job

I trained to Wauchope last Sunday afternoon, and returned to Sydney last Tuesday night. My younger brother, Ross, and his wife, Robyn, drove there from Newcastle this afternoon and return tomorrow afternoon. I go up there again this coming Thursday and Friday. Each trip costs me about$150. I want to continue to go up there each fortnight for a while longer yet.

When we were shown the results of the CT Scan on Baz in at Port Macquarie Base Hospital, the geriatrician said that many/most people who have a stroke of this severity will usually have another stroke within three months, unless the underlying problem can be treated. Barry's underlying problem is that he has an atrial flutter which is flinging clots around his body. This needs to be treated with Warfarin or, at the very least, aspirin. However, there are complications. Not only did Baz have a subacute infarct in his left temporal and occipital lobe, and a smaller subacute infarct in the cortex of his posterior right occiptal lobe, but he also had an acute haemorrhage in the inferior posterior left temporal lobe. The infact measures 11cm from back to front, and the haemorrhage is 5x4x3 cms. There has now been a followup scan, and the haemorrhage has receded minutely. Unless this haemorrhage goes, there can be no treatment with warfarin. Therefore, he is likely to have another stroke.

I have not told Barry this. However, he complained to me that the back of his head hurt and his brow. There was a sizeable indentation in his head - above the haemorrhage. And across his brow appeared to have 'bubbled'. I asked the attending physician at WDH who said this was all the swelling due to the haemorrhage and it was something Barry simply had to cope with. It is when the pain becomes suddenly sharp that they know Barry is in real strife. This cannot be masked.

Barry cannot read, and he cannot do Sodoku. He cannot watch television. However, he was playing Bingo when Ross arrived this afternoon. He calls Ross 'his brother' and he calls me 'his sister'. He can tell the time because he was anxious when I arrived on Tuesday at 10:03am. The rehab unit said that some of these smaller skills may flow in and out. I tried to browbeat him into getting into his pyjamas to go to bed each evening, and to put on casual clothing for the daylight hours. I will ask the nursing staff how this is going. I am sure they have to remind him. He is now going to the toilet approrpriately, rather than using drawers or waste paper bins.


I am very pleased with the nursing home up there. Bundaleer. It appears to be very well staffed, with an adequate number of RNs to aides and cleaners. They were very kind to me, like family in many respects. I need to check just who the visiting GP is - Dr G or Dr K. I have also spoken with the private speech pathologist who will include Baz in her weekly rounds. Now to get on with the application ot the Guardianship Tribunal for the powers to oversee the financial and medical decisions that I am making. I asked Barry for permission to do this. Not sure whether I got it or not. But at least I tried to tell him, which is my legal obligation.

Ross and Robyn are doing massive amounts of work on Barry's stock of leather belts which were all around his house. Probably with a market value of close to $10,000. They have three markets lined up to try to sell them all in the lead-up to Christmas.

I have paid a young lad, who also lives on the cooperative farm, to slash the jungle around Barry's house, and to bash down the bamboo. However, with all the rain this week, the paddocks are sodden and the creeks are flooded. I need to get out there to see the condition of the house and immediate paddock. With noone living there, the situation will deteriorate rapidly. I hope his dog, Free, has stayed with his 'new owner' and not done a homing-pigeon. I have not mentioned the farm, or the dog, or the truck to Barry. And, tellingly, he has not asked. It was only this afternoon that he asked Ross where he was and how long he was going to be there.

The long and winding road

Today was Kirsten's 8th day since leaving hospital. She is looking well. She still gets tired and needs a sleep in the middle of the day. She can get herself around really well on the crutches. The trachy still has a bit of air escaping which can set up a megaphone effect which can be disconcerting, but it is easing with time. All the medical people are really really pleased with her progress.

She has a wonderful mental approach, too. She is positive without flaying herself to progress even faster. There are things she cannot do with Ally which, whilst disappointing, are to be expected. As she said to me today, 'this will just be a blip on the radar for Ally'. Darren is working like a trojan: he goes to work and works; he comes home and works. They had a daily nurse from the Royal District Nursing Service, which was worth every penny, I gather. This service has stopped now, mainly because Kirsten and Darren feel on top of both the wound care and the showering. As well as instilling confidence, this service knew how to access equipment, like bathing boards, and additional bandages of the right type.

In just a couple of weeks now, Kirsten will be able to put a bit of weight on her left leg. This changeover will be a challenge: when does just a bit become too much! But she is wise, and is looking at the longer term, rather than the short-term advantage.

Plotting a path

Oh boy, did I cop a tongue-lashing! And this was from my friend with MS. If my daughter had sprayed the same opinion there would have been guilt as well as exasperation.

Sunday morning early, I hauled the bod up the rise to Paddington Town Hall to hail a 380 bus as the 389 did not start its service until 8:18 - this being a genteel suburb. By the time we turned from the Bondi Junction interchange into Grafton Street the bus was standing room only, so crowded it was with "young folk". There are immense benefits to having Christmas in summer.

Crossing over Campbell Parade just before 8am, the glare from the ocean was extreme and I made a mental note to get me a pair of prescription sunnies from OPSM this week - EARLY. Bondi is a very open beach with wide expanses of concrete, sand and water none of which are good for sensitive systems. Taking my next set of ankle-huggers off at the top of the ramp, I noted the open blister that I am no longer capable of feeling, tied the laces together and dangled them from my back-pack, already loaded with camera gear and water.

Dry sand quickly induced brain-fog. As luck would have it, for the first half of the beach prone bodies and their assorted gear were infrequent, but the sun was biting even this early, the glare was extreme and the effort required to plot any sort of a path, that alone a relatively straight one, was immense.

The North Bondi half of the beach was littered with bodies and awash with nippers in training. Trying to keep to the dry sand and avoiding outstretched limbs became an exercise in itself. Laughable when you realise that there must be 9 parts of dry sand to 1 part of wet, packed sand! Eventually, I plomped, exhausted, on a ledge in the shade and watched mummies and daddies introduce their sprogs to the joys of the rock pool at the northern end of the bay that is Bondi. It was just after 9am. Bloody hell, thinks I, I still have to get back. You can start to word the lecture yourself, I suspect.

I tumbled through the grill that is my front door a little before 10:30 - this little ramble along the dry sand at Bondi had taken 3 hours, 5 if you count the kip that I now had to partake.

Update - Tuesday
Missed the 389 that passes at 6:01, so up the rise to Oxford Street I trundle only to find that, this being a main peak-hour thoroughfare, the service in the opposite direction is patchy and I had to wait for the 333 at 6:34 and it would not take my pension card SO I HAD TO PAY!!

However, with brain in gear this time, I think I have this routine by the short'n'curlies, if it is permissible to mangle the vernacular in this way. Managed sand-stomping fromn 7 to 8 and home by 8:45 with a litre of milk for my weet-bix. A good pattern could be: bus there (30 mins), sand stomp (60 mins), bus back (30 mins). Tomorrow I will shoot for the 6am local bus and back here by 8am.

Went half way along this time, and returned. Rest. Then did a number of legs from the wet-dry sand divide to the promenade and back. My head and body was exercised and my mind was relaxed watching the (beautiful) people and the (magnificent) landscape.