Two nights from hell, attacked by a mad client.

26th May 2004.

The last two nights have been bloody awful. As well as doing my usual
day time hours I've sandwiched in two night shifts on Monday and
Tuesday.

I was with an elderly man who has just come out of hospital after a
very long, 20 month stay. They only let him home to die the way he
chose.

The first night he didn't close his eyes once. He was disorientated and
hadn't a clue where he was. He had panic attack after panic attack and
the hospital, in their wisdom, had released him without an oxygen tank.
He is demented, depressed, aggressive and poorly, he should never have
been released with only night care for two 'settling' nights laid on.
After five minutes assessment it was obvious that this man was never
going to manage on his own and couldn't be left unattended for even a
minute. I had to ring the office immediately to arrange 24 hr care.
This of course had to be okayed by the Social Services and all this was
put in motion at eight o clock at night.

Two in the morning, he started with the runs, I'm not even going to
attempt the 'D' word. He messed the bed three times and himself, on the
way to the loo, twice more. I was terrified that he was going to start
throwing up. I checked his stomach and it was full of gas. His
respirations were awful and he had probably the lowest pulse I've ever
read, though Tant also had a very low pulse rate of about forty. Wilf's
pulse was just 28 beats a minute. I took it three times to ensure I
hadn't read it wrong.

What a palaver I had getting a doctor out to him. I called at three and
he never arrived until five. Wilf was very poorly and distressed but
his records show that his pulse was always unnaturally low. That meant
that he wasn't quite critical enough to need an ambulance. If Joe
Public ring for an ambulance unnecessarily they get a right old telling
off. If Medical staff do it we get hauled over the coals. The company
would be billed for it and I'd have to carry the can. It was one of
those 'do I or don't I' decisions. The doctor came and informed us that
ward seven, the ward wilf had just been released from, was overrun with
a very contagious tummy bug. All he did was leave some Imodium. We got
through the night, and thank God he wasn't actually sick.

Last night I dreaded going in. I had worked my morning calls and never
got to bed because I had a stream of people calling yesterday afternoon
when I had some sleep hours.

I had imagined all day walking into a house splattered with puke.
After all, he hadn't managed to contain his other end well and the doc
had told us to expect it to get worse before it improved. When I got
there he was already in bed. I relieved my boss who had taken on the
evening shift due to lack of staff. She said he was much better, so I
settled in for a quiet night. Oh the optimism of the woman! Bless me,
how wrong can you be?

At eleven o clock he woke up, fighting fit? and fighting. For three
hours he roamed the house. He hadn't a clue where he was. He was very
confused and became increasingly aggressive. He flatly refused to get
into bed. He accused me of having his best tweed suit on and demanded I
give it back. I was wearing my usual green uniform, which incidentally
is way too big for me and desperately needs to be replaced by one at
least five sizes smaller. He emptied every cupboard in the house and
charged round like a madman stumbling and falling into things. First he
was looking for 'important papers', next, after finding an old
electricity bill dated 2001, which seemed to pacify him, he was looking
for his boots. I asked him why he wanted his boots and he said that he
was going to see his bank manager and then he was off to Dublin. I
explained that his bank manager wouldn't be there at two in the
morning. He demanded that I ring him. I said that I didn't have his
number and it would probably be best to sort it out after a good
night's sleep and he flew into a rage. He was convinced that I was
keeping his bank manager from him so that I could steal all his money.
This brought on another panic attack and at least he was still for a
few minutes while I hooked him up to his oxygen which arrived today. He
rambled on and on about Dublin. I tried to get him talking about why he
wanted to go, but he was very cagey. I'm suspecting either a passionate
and illicit affair while his wife was alive, or some dodgy dealing (It
turns out, from asking his nephew, that he's never been to Dublin) I'd
love to know what the attraction was.

Once re-charged and energised, he was off again, demanding that I find
his boots. His feet are so badly swollen that he can't even wear a
floppy pair of slippers. By this time I'd done two days and two nights
without sleep and didn't really want to play but I thought that if I
humoured him, I might get through to him the fact that he was in no fit
state to go to Dublin or anywhere else. For the next fifteen minutes we
tried on every pair of footwear in the house. He even asked to wear my
size fives! It was a distraction until the doctor arrived. Nothing
would go over his feet so he became resigned to the fact that he'd just
have to walk to Dublin barefoot. Five minutes into his rampage I had
rung the emergency doctor to either get him sedated or have him
removed. At this point he tried to leave the house in only a pair of
thin pyjamas. I made the mistake of saying, "Wilf, you can't go out,"
poor choice of words. Wilf doesn't like to be told that he 'can't' do
something. It enraged him. He became very aggressive putting his fist
up at me and threatening to hit me. I locked the door so that he
couldn't get out and just hoped that the doctor would arrive soon. If
he'd have been steadier on his feet and in better health, I would have
let him go and called the police to bring him in. That's the standard
procedure in these situations. You have to keep yourself safe first and
then do what you can for the client. He wouldn't have made it to the
gate before he had a bad fall. The doctor was taking forever. Wilf
thought I was the police and asked me if he'd been arrested. He
couldn't understand what he'd done wrong or why he was being detained.
He had no idea where he was and his own home, that he's lived in for
forty six years, was as alien to him as a dark forest at night. He
ranted and raved about coppers all being scum and what he was going to
do to me. I tried to explain that I wasn't the police, he wasn't under
arrest and that I was only tying to help him. It just enflamed his
irrational mind.

The doctor's arrival was a pleasant diversion. He said that Wilf should
never have been allowed out of hospital in his condition and that,
unfortunately, without a committal order the best he could do was to
give him some Diazepam ?IF he would take it voluntarily. He said he was
going to put things in motion to have him committed in the morning.
Great help to me tonight, mate. Wilf, of course refused to take the
tablet. I cajoled him for another half an hour. Some of the medication
he is on has some nasty side effects. Oxygen itself causes drying of
the mouth. After one of his panic attacks he complained of having a
sticky mouth. I told him that I could give him something for it and
slyly gave him the Diazepam against his wishes. That is basically
common assault but by that point, I'd had enough. He fought the
sedation for another hour and a half, became more disorientated and
unbalanced and finally slumped into a chair to sleep at six thirty. I
left at eight after the shift from hell and had to go like the clappers
back to Dalton for my first morning call which began at eight. I was so
tired after working every day and having two bad nights on the trot
that I could have cried but the fresh sea air woke me up a bit and it
wasn't so bad. I had three blissful hours free in the afternoon and my
boss rang and took two of them, to go to the same man and prepare him
for being taken into a nursing home. That didn't go down too well with
him at all.

This was a really sad case. He wasn't a bad old fella, he was a
countryman used to walking the beach and lanes for miles everyday. All
he wanted to do as come home to die and be left alone to go where he
pleased. He didn't recognise his home when he got there and kept
telling me over and over that all he wanted to do was go home. He lives
in a fantastic, though sadly neglected, house with views that would
rocket any house price, two minutes from the beach with rolling
hillside on the other three sides. It's tragic that his home was in
such a beautiful and peaceful location. It should have been calming for
him, but he couldn't recognise it as 'home'.

Thurs?.

I'm doing another nightshift tonight. It's the permanent that I took on
last week, though permanent is probably not the best choice of word for
a stage three lung cancer. And then, hopefully, I've got the weekend
off. I've worked every day for three weeks now and can feel a burn out
coming after having Wilf this week. I rang my boss and asked if I could
have next weekend off, they like plenty of notice. She has already
given me another client this week who is to be done for an hour every
other week. Because it's a lady that she particularly wants me to take
on, and because she doesn't want the care to be messed about (clients
like to see the same faces to build rapport and routine) she said that
it wasn't a good time to have off but offered me the possibility of
this weekend off instead. That's even better for me. I've got no plans
and nothing special to do, so one is as goods as another. Of course, it
all depends on cover and whether she can place all my calls as to
whether I get it off or not.

Rick has sent me a response to my diary. Next time he gets in touch,
which probably won't be long because despite asking him not to bother
me he still does most days, I'm going to ask him if he wants me to add
it to my diary. I thought from his first letter that it was his
intention, but he hasn't changed any of the names so, I think maybe he
wants it keeping personal. I'll ask. I'm not bothered either way.

It's only three weeks until the wedding of the year. Leah and Ken marry
soon. One of her bridesmaids is having trouble and is probably going to
drop out, so Leah asked if I'd like to step in, assuming of course that
the dress will fit me. Not bloody likely, I don't want to ponce about
all day in a daft foo-foo dress pandering to the Lady Leah.

We had a laugh though. As a surprise for Keith, she is putting on a
'Stars in their Eyes' night at her reception. She asked me if I'd
participate and do, Black Velvet by Alannah Miles. I said, "Um, isn't
the idea that you're supposed to look something like these
people?"

"Well," said Leah, irritably, "if she's blonde or summat we can get you
a wig." Neither of us had any idea what this lady looks like. "She's
probably a forty stone black woman," remarked Leah. We went on the net
to see if we could find a picture of Allannah miles.

We found one!

She is gorgeous. She has a waist the size of a toilet roll holder and
is stunning with long curly chestnut hair and the face of a
pixie.

Her picture came up, clarified, and settled. We stared at it in silence
without saying a word. Leah finally turned to me, she looked me up and
down, screwed up her face and said in a perplexed voice, "What else you
do sing, darling?" Cheeky cow! It was funny, she can be so dry
sometimes.

The polecats are doing brilliantly. They have more than doubled in size
and are into everything. They have really developed individual
personalities now. Darcy is quick-witted and bolshy?he bites! Bear is
bigger and slower than his brother. He loves to be cuddled and lives
for his food. Bear tires easily and is always ready to go to sleep
faster than Darcy. When he's had enough, Bear 'chooks' for his brother,
he will not go looking for him, he's too lazy, he makes Darcy come to
him. Then, he flops down across his brother's back and, once suitably
pinned, he forces Darcy to go to sleep whether he wants to or not. They
always lie on top of each other to sleep. Yesterday, I had Darcy on my
knee. On the table beside me I had a glass of peach cordial. I looked
away for a second and Darcy wasted no time in flinging his head in the
glass to help himself to a drink. They really are adorable.

Life goes on after Rick. I have this weekend off. I've worked every day
for weeks and gone out every Friday night, having to get up for work
the next morning. This week, I don't have to... and guess what? I've
got no plans at all. I suppose I could ring Kez and see if she fancies
an hour or two out, but then I'd have to go and get some money and I
don't really want to do that. I am bored though. It's Friday night,
normally I'd be so excited about Rick coming. It all feels a bit
flat.

I had to buy a booster thing for my car today. It cost forty
pounds.

I've just had a strange conversation with a workman who knocked at my
door.

"Hiya love, bad news I'm afraid. I've just bumped your car."

"Oh, that's alright, don't worry about it."

"Well, don't you want to come and look at the damage?"

"Is it just cosmetic?"

"Well it's crushed one of the doors."

We went out and looked. It was a big wagon and it has crumpled the
passenger side door. But what's one more mangled car. It's no biggie in
the great scheme of things.

"It'll still drive won't it?" I asked.

"Well yeah, I should think so. Do you want to try it and see?"

"I can't love, it won't start. Don't worry it'll be alright."

"Well, I didn't expect you to be this laid back about it. Are you sure
you don't want to swap insurance details or something?"

"No, as long as it gets me to work it'll be fine. It's hardly in
showroom condition is it? And anyway, the odd bump and mangle adds
character."

He looked at me suspiciously. "It is your car isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's mine. Do you want to buy it? It's in good nick apart from a
bloody great dent that some pillock put in the passenger's side." I
grinned my most charming grin so that he wouldn't take offence.

"Um, no thanks. I think I might just quit while I'm ahead." He looked
at me funny again. "Are you sure you're alright about this?" He seemed
quite concerned about me, or maybe he just figured I was mad.

He left ?quickly. Bless, poor Fearless looks even more sorry for
himself than ever now. My car and I suit each other perfectly. Both
old, both knackered and both knocked about a bit.