Household Chores and a Thin Silver Lining

Thunderthighs has known how to use the washing machine ever since I was a support driver on Northern Cross back in 2017, and showed him lest they ran out of socks while I was away…

For some time he’s done most of his own ironing.

When Ferretfingers and I were in the RVI he took our mucky stuff home, put them through the washer, hung them out and brought them in.  

At the same time he also did all his and, presumably, his father’s laundry.  

Fortunately I have enough blouses and underwear that ironing my stuff wasn’t necessary.

A few evenings after we got home I noticed his bed linen in the wash basket, said blithely “Oh I’ll put them through the wash tomorrow” and noticed his face fall a little.

The next morning we had a little chat.

“You know you’ve been doing all the washing while I’ve been away…”

“Yes.”

“Well, last night I just steamed in and took over.  Would you like to do all your own washing?  Bedding and the lot?”

Face lit up and “Yes.  On a Monday and Thursday after I’ve been to the gym.”

One less chore for mummy and more autonomy for him.

He will also do the dishes, voluntarily, two or three times a week.

Dishes, not pans or the vast number of plastic tubs for recycling.

Ferretfiners does not volunteer but will do things when asked.

He actually likes putting away the clean dry dishes and cutlery; although he has to be called back several times to complete the job.

If I put the dishes and cutlery in the washing up bowl and fill it with hot soapy water he will wash them, but only them, nothing else.  The reproachful look I get if I try to slip something extra in when he’s getting to the end would soften an unhardened heart.   

When he gets to the bottom of the bowl he empties it immediately.

He will also hoover, in a fashion, if I get the hoover out, switch it on and hand it to him.

As to Fester?

He cooks our teas.   

Except Saturday when we get a takeaway.   

And on Friday Thunderthighs gets fish and chips for himself and his brother.  

(We are well served with takeaways)

He will do the dishes if sufficiently bored, and needs a break from the endless list of pits, including pans,.  The double decker dish drying rack confounds him, and stacking either clean or dirty dishes is a skill that completely passed him by.  As has the concept that doing the dishes ‘properly’ includes cleaning the work surfaces and hob

He will hoover the stairs, occasionally, when prompted.

To be fair neither he nor Ferretfingers produce much laundry – they’d both wear all their clothes for a week if allowed to.

I’m getting more like Edie Pegden  every day.

 

Hiatus - The Aftermath

After getting home from the RVI I was utterly exhausted.   

More used up emotionally and mentally than I actually realised.   

For the best part of three weeks I had been holding myself together because that was the only way to cope with the situation.  

All the fear was pressed down. 

I’m not stupid, 

I know how serious things are when a hospital bed is provided at a few moments’ notice.   

But I chose not to think about that because I had Ferretfingers to look after.   

And pride. 

(There’s a line in Charles Aznavour’s She “No one’s allowed to see her when she cries.”)

Then there was the horror of seeing the infected wound that first time.

And the subsequent times when the various dressings were applied.

Realising the wound was six inches long, at least an inch wide at its widest, and similarly deep; only we couldn’t tell how deep because of the clot that filled it.

And the discoloured skin curling up at the sides that looked as if it could never knit together again.

Screams had been held in.

The distress of holding Ferretfingers still and calm during all the various procedures – for my benefit as much as his.

There were no sobs or tears shed in the RVI.

There have been a few private ones since.

The strain of ‘keeping up appearances’ and being polite to all the various staff on the ward at all times.  This was partly out of respect and politeness, but also because I know you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.  To be honest it wasn’t that difficult because they were all caring and supportive, and sometimes wonderfully unconsciously funny. But never relaxing, always on the alert, never getting a good night’s sleep and the waiting – oh Lord the bloody waiting – did get to me.

When it was all over (or at least that part) the elastic snapped and it was three weeks before I got anywhere back to myself. I spent a lot of time simply sitting in the garden appreciating the sky and the sunshine, watching the sparrows, starlings, pigeons and magpies squabbling over the bird feeders.  Or in the bay window, in my rocking chair, pretending to watch television.

Thunderthighs and I went up to Holy Island on Good Friday to see the Northern Cross Pilgrims safe across the sands.  That helped.

There’s been no knitting, just a tiny bit of crochet.

When Mrs Quilt said “Rest, you can lose yourself in a good book” 

I felt like screaming “That’s what I’ve been doing for the past three weeks”

but I didn’t because I like her too much and she meant well.

In that time I read: at least three Veras and another earlier Anne Cleves novel; the same number of Ian Rankin books; Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep and The Long Goodbye; and the whole of the Gerald Durrel Corfu Trilogy.

I don't think I shall be able to lose myself in a book for a while.

I am still practicing selfcare; only doing those things that are absolutely necessary, 

I want to do, or get pleasure or satisfaction from doing. 

Sadly I have no patience left.   

There is no ‘light blue touch paper and retire’ for Fester and the boys.   

It’s more ‘set off a tripwire and BOOM’.

At my carer’s annual medical last week, the physician’s assistant asked if counselling would help.  

I declined.   

I’ve come to realise that just as writing in the journal helped me get through it, transcribing and blogging it is helping me get over it.  

It’s been very cathartic.

It also saves me having to repeat the whole thing over and over again, to friends and family one at a time, which might be tedious for all of us.

One reads in magazine articles about ‘journaling’ being an aid to wellbeing and mental health.   

It seems I’ve been self-medicating with 'journaling' for most of my adult life.

I thought I was just getting things off my chest in a safe way.

Thank you to everyone who’s been following these blogs, and for all the kind messages through it all.  I appreciate them and all the kindness that has been shown to me.

In a phonecall before Ferretfingers first dressingchange appointment after the operation to remove the metal from his ankle, Middlesister said 

“Well it’s been a long drag but at last you can see light at the end of the tunnel.”

“What if” I replied “it’s the light of an oncoming train?”

Which it was – big time.

I believe we are finally out of the tunnel.

But we’re not out of the woods yet.

 

 

Hiatus - Follow-up Appointments

A fortnight after getting out of the RVI we returned to the Freeman to see Mrs OsteoConsultant.  

First port of call was the dressings room where the, dressings nurse was most impressed with the Pico-vac.  They couldn’t examine the wound without taking it off and to their great embarrassment they didn’t have one in stock to replace it.

“Can you come back next week and we’ll make sure we have one?”

So a week later we went back. 

They had a Pico-vac dressing and there was a long discussion about getting one put aside for his next visit.

Mrs OsteoConsultant was very pleased with progress.  

So pleased she doesn’t want to see Ferretfingers until 18^th June.

The hospital dressing’s nurses and sister were fascinated by the Pico-vac dressing.  

The sister applied it with three nurses observing, including the poor soul that discovered the infection beneath the bandages all those weeks ago. 

I tried my best not to say “The District Nurse did it such and such a way”.

Then I asked about Ferretfingers’ medication as we would soon run out of the Fluoxicillin we brought back from the RVI, and the stuff I went back in to collect the weekend after.  Mrs OsteoConsultant checked the records and emailed a prescription to the Freeman’s pharmacy.  We went down and were told it would take two hours to fill (there were a lot of people waiting) so went to have lunch.

Ferretfingers takes 4 Fluoxicillin 4 times a day, plus a Rimpamicin twice a day.   

Thankfully he no longer needs painkillers.    

The antibiotics finish on 23^rd June – when we should be in Bournemouth.

We’ll find out on 18^th June whether that will be possible.

 

Hiatus - The Pico-vac Dressing

The morning after we got home a Community Nurse came and applied a Pico-vac dressing to Ferretfingers wound. Absolutely tiny compared to the hospital one, and much simpler to apply

 

Firstly it has everything incorporated into it: the dressing, airtight adhesive surround and little integral tube are all in one piece.  It has to have an airtight seal to keep the dressing "on the bed of the wound" to help it 'granulate'.  The dressing is put in place and the cover taken off the adhesive film, which is pressed down.  Sometimes it isn’t airtight, but there are spare bits of sealant to go around the edge to make it so.

The tube is attached to another which goes into a tiny pump, smaller than a cigarette packet.   It is powered by two AA batteries and the pack lasts about a week.  Roll on some 'yellow stripe' and ankle socks and we're done.  The tube can go up the inside of a trouser leg, out at the waistband and into his pocket.

Every Tuesday and Friday a Community Nurse calls and changes the dressing, replacing the power pack once a week

Ferretfingers is completely mobile, goes to the gym with Emil and does upper body work.   

He’s even been away on his respite weekend.  

I take him to his day centre on Mondays and Wednesdays as they are able to give him his lunchtime antibiotics.   

I’ve briefed them on what to do if the dressing stops being airtight and the pump alarm goes off, and left some pieces of sealant to put it right.

Sadly Ouseburn Farm is out of the question until this is all over and the wound completely sealed.

The pump buzzes at irregular intervals which is disturbing at night.  Luckily we have a plush penguin pencil case to put it in which muffles the sound.  Ferretfingers tucks it into the waistband of his pyjamas if he needs to walk around.   

The head and wings on the outside make him look like some strange Frankensteinian marsupial.