How life can take a turn for the worse :-(

Life is an imperfect merry-go-round - plenty of ups and buckets-full of lows. This week is definitely in the arse end of life and one I hope I don’t have to experience again for a very long time.

I’ve been off for the past week – well, I say off. I’ve probably spent more time in the hospital than if I’d been working!

It started on Friday afternoon. Mum rang the ward (highly embarrassing; I remember when she rang the school to tell them I’d forgotten to put my knickers on that morning) to tell me that Gramps (my lovely Grandad) had been taken to A & E with suspected pneumonia. I wasn’t overly worried as Gramps has COPD and had become a regular visitor to the hospital. He usually got admitted for a few days while they cleared the infection and then went home, right as rain.

I assured Mum that I would pop down there on my break to see how he was doing. She huffed and puffed a bit, but I was quite firm with her and she hung up in a bit of a mood. 

I did as any dutiful grand-daughter would do and popped in after lunch. I found him still in a cubicle, waiting for a bed to become free on the medical assessment ward. He looked frail and breathless, but very pleased to see me and we had a chilled-out break together. I promised him I would find him at the end of my shift and see if he needed anything before I went home.
The afternoon was really busy on the ward and I kind of put Gramps to the back of my mind. I had so many new patients to admit and process, that my feet didn’t touch the ground.

At the end of my shift, I took a detour to the medial assessment ward and was quite surprised to hear that Gramps wasn’t there yet. I felt a bit irritated as I was knackered and wanted nothing more than a hot bath and my bed, but nevertheless I traipsed back to A & E to hunt down my Gramps.

He wasn’t there either. 

So, I did what I do whenever I feel stressed, I rang Mum. She answered quickly and really did shout at me. She told me I worked at the hospital, and I’d seen Gramps that afternoon so I should know that he’d taken a turn for the worse. They suspected a heart attack, caused by the effort it was taking to fight the infection and his already weakened body and he had been admitted to Coronary Care.

I was gutted. Why hadn’t anyone told me? I was literally two floors up from where Gramps had lain all afternoon and no-one had told me. I flew over to the ward and the nurse in charge immediately told me to calm down. I noticed how sedate and peaceful the ward was compared to ours; don’t get me wrong, the staff were very busy but they glided around the ward as though they were on roller skates. There was no shouting, no banging about, it was all so peaceful.

The nurse brought me up to speed with Gramps. She told me he had suffered a massive heart attack in A & E but they’d managed to stabilise him before admitting him onto the ward. She said it was still touch and go, and then, seeing the tears dripping down my face, told me to pull myself together or she wouldn’t let me see him.

I was allowed to stand at the end of the bed. He was hooked up to monitoring machines and everything hummed or beeped. Gramps looked so tiny, lying on those crisp white sheets. I studied his beautiful face – his crinkly eyes; wrinkles caused by so much laughter over the years. His emaciated arms with the faded tattoos, arms that had been so strong in his younger days that his nickname had been Popeye. I just wanted to climb onto the bed and hold him, like he used to hold me when I was a little girl, but all I could do was stand there and cry.

I stayed there most of the night, just sitting at the end of the bed watching his chest rise and fall. Mum came the next morning and instructed me to go home. I returned later on and kept a vigil during the night.

And that’s how it was for the next 3 days, until, in his usual quiet, unassuming and selfless way, my Gramps slipped away. No drama, no fireworks, just no longer there.

I’m not ashamed to say I fell apart. Mum had to drag me away from the ward, such was the level of my hysteria and bundled me into her car, away from prying eyes. We said nothing to each other, there was nothing to say that would bring my beautiful Gramps back.

I still had so much to tell him, so much love to give, but I wouldn’t get that chance.

It’s been a week now since Gramps died, and I’ve done a hell of a lot of reflecting. Despite being a fully trained, competent and employednurse, none of that entered my head when I was watching my Gramps die. I’ve felt more than a little guilty that I didn’t do anything nurse-like to help him, but I feel even more guilty that I wasn’t there for him when he needed me; I was too busy being super-nurse to the patients on my ward. My Mum didn’t help matters. She told me that Gramps had told her not to worry about him and that ‘Florrie will be back soon – she will look after me’. That was one of his last sentences spoken, and I let him down. You see, I assumed he would be alright, as he’d been alright so many times before. I assumed he would always be there, in the background of my crazy, busy life. I never stepped off the hamster-wheel of life to just spend time with him, just because I wanted to. I was always too busy, and now it was too late.

Gramps was probably my biggest teacher in life, and I think he would like me to take something away from his passing. I’m struggling to do that at the moment; my cup doesn’t feel half-full, my heart feels so empty. If I can take anything from this, it will be most importantly never to assume. Whoever said ‘To Assume makes an Ass of U and Me’ was spot on. Because of my assumptions, I kept putting off spending time with Gramps, and wouldn’t get that chance again.

I think I have also learned the power of empathy. I was one of those relatives who sat on the other side of the story, and now I’ve truly experienced the feelings of helplessness and hopelessness.

Will it make me a better nurse? No, it will make me a betterperson.

Sleep soundly Gramps – love you to the moon and back xx