About that restful day I was supposed to have, scrap it. I did crash until midday when my sister rang, just a bit upset. There aren't enough home nurses for the breast cancer patients so when they knew she was a nurse, they assumed that she would care for the drainage tubes so they could send Mum home early. Sis was on the spot and had to say yes but she can't do it. She's nursing in a geriatric sub-acute ward and it's full on hard yakka. So I'm out of bed and half way to the hospital like Madame DeFarge looking for heads to roll. When it was explained just what was involved and that Mum sitting in a bed just to have tubes drained was a waste of hospital space that someone else could need then I volunteered to learn the procedure and have sis supervise the first couple of times. They gave me a video to watch and a book to take home for study and it's not a problem. I'll go back tomorrow and watch the nurse do the draining and the old cockroach can come home Monday, that's MONDAY not Sunday because I'm religious and I don't work on the Sabbath, I read the papers and eat chocolate. I'm very religious about my chocolate.
I wasn't being impolite when I referred to her as the old cockroach, she'd out live a cockroach. After my talk with the nurses, I walked in to find her sitting up, no drip in, good colour and, for her, coherent. She's already been up, walking to the toilet and giving a lesson on colostomies to a trainee and complaining about the food. Golly goshness, they expect her to eat fresh vegetables, what a trial.
The tumour was much bigger than expected even with all the scans and tests that were done. There were, for a better word, tentacles growing across her breastbone which were scraped off but nothing in the right breast. They're now talking some radiotherapy but we'll jump that hurdle when we come to it. There'll be a word with the doctor who wants her back at the hospital two days after she comes home, just to look at the drain tubes. That will be 5 minutes for him and about 2 hours for us getting Mum there and back. He can visit or send a nurse or if he's game he can talk to me.
Just in case Civitus is lurking. This surrogate nursing doesn't mean my DSP is a fraud. I'll be living on pain killers, being tired and aching in every bone for the time it takes for her to need me. It's a thank you for everything my sister did for my father that I couldn't. And think how much money I'm saving the system, I'm almost paying for my own pension.