'Hospital issue' chocolate cake

Bulletin 6 2 November 2010

So, farewell Tracy (in case you need reminding, this is I-Phone predictive text for ‘Goodbye Tracheostomy’). We welcomed you with open arms, but to be quite honest, you became a bit of a pain in the neck. Gone, but not forgotten.

Today has been incredible. Around mid-morning, a multi-disciplinary team meeting convened around J’s bed. I sat in the ward dayroom, twiddling my thumbs. J’s Uncle Nigel and Auntie Ali nipped off for a late breakfast at their hotel around the corner, having done the early shift while I sorted out my poorly Polo (more of that later). Walking back to the Neuroscience Unit at the hospital, Nigel and Ali spotted a magnificent rainbow, photographed it and texted the picture to me. An omen? Not half.

Within the hour, Tracy was consigned to the hazardous waste receptacle – thanks to the gentle ministrations of delightful outreach team member Ingrid.

Next to arrive were the physio team. Knock ME down with a feather if they didn’t get James out of bed, onto his feet and ‘walked him’ a good distance down the corridor, womanfully supporting him under his armpits - with various bits of (dangly) medical paraphernalia adding to the spectacle.

Back to bed for James, a short rest and then enter Helen, the wonderful rehab supremo. Calmly and reassuringly, she offered James some information about the ‘status quo’ and asked him a few questions, prompting quiet but remarkably accurate responses. One question went like this: “Have you got a significant other, James?” “Yes,” he said. What followed was clear and insistent: “Victoria” (aka Bean, as you’ll know).

Another quiet interlude and next on the scene was Holly, the Speech Language Therapist. Working gently and methodically, Holly explained that she wanted to know how well James could swallow, following Tracy’s departure. First he managed half a teaspoon of water, then a bit more. This was followed by a main course of peach yoghurt, rounded off – unbelievably for someone who’s been on naso-gastric tube administered Osmolite for more than a fortnight – with a morsel of quite dry ‘hospital issue’ chocolate cake. Not for the first time during this saga, I was utterly speechless. And J’s effort throughout the proceedings brought beads of sweat to his brow and tears to EVERYONE’s eyes!

I’ve come back to our lovely borrowed flat for some supper – expertly prepared from a rather random selection of ingredients (sorry, Nigella – but thanks, Alison!) by Duncan (hot foot from West Cumbria) and Diana (D’s second cousin, who has flown in, courtesy of KLM, from the South of France today).

Thanks everyone – your thoughts, prayers and good wishes are doing the boy (and us) a power of good!

Penny X

P.S. Bet you weren’t expecting a commercial break for Kwik Fit, were you? Yesterday, just when I thought that nothing else could possibly go wrong, my car sighed and expired. Luckily (we seem to have shedloads of the stuff) this happened in the car park just outside our borrowed flat. Right next door, you guessed it, there’s a branch of Kwik Fit. I arrived just as the manager was closing up for the day and explained my plight. A true gentleman, he cheerfully agreed to sort out the car this morning and even offered to drive me back to the hospital if the taxi he’d ordered for me didn’t arrive “within 5 minutes”. The Polo is now back in action (something mysterious to do with the throttle – Tracy, were you having a laugh?) So next time your vehicle is on the blink, please head straight for Kwik Fit!