Telling A good Story

Brothers. And sisters ( +inlaws) before the trache

Working in palliative care, I understand all too well the power of the diversion story, something that deflects the attention from death, dying, symptoms and sadness

This post from fifteen years ago is a case in point

“ My brother was tired when I visited him this evening. He was also rather weary and fed up with the tracheostomy which is to be expected.

Unable to speak , interaction can be a little difficult for him and for us, and when visiting , being in the hospital. I was reminded of when I used to take my mother out from her nursing home room, and I was glad that the story I recalled got my brother, sister in law and visiting nephew Peter smiling.

My mother in the months before her death was a terribly difficult character. A chronic bronchitic and un diagnosed COPD sufferer she was confined to her room on an oxygen concentrator which she found dreadfully frustrating seeing that she was a 60 cigarette a day lady!). To take her out, she needed bottled oxygen, so on my weekly visit from Sheffield ( a 200 mile round trip) I used to "borrow" one of the huge oxygen cylinders from work! which I used to smuggle out of the spinal unit ( by using one of the patient's wheelchairs as a trolley and a big woollen blanket!)

When I finally reached Prestatyn, I would have to toilet my mother (not the most pleasant of jobs) , then trundle her down into The Prof’s nissan micra for her weekly afternoon out!

 I had learnt early on that she would have to be sat on a selection of incontinence pads ( or if these ran short some subtly sculptured plastic carrier bags overlapped to catch the drips) and after getting her sitting comfortably and connected up to the massive oxygen cylinder, we set off for the outing of her choice.
Now she was a bit of a cheap date!

Her favourite trips included :

*A fish and chip supper in the car park at Prestatyn Beach ( the car windows would always be full of coughed up mushy peas afterwards much to The Proff’s amusement)
*A drive up to Gwaenysgor Hillside
* or ( and most importantly) a trip to Sainsbury's car park! ( which is a supermarket for those that don't know)

At Sainsbury's I would set her up with a cigarette and a crossword (praying that a spark would not ignite the flammable Oxygen- now don't worry too much I WOULD always turn the O2 off when she lit up) and I would go into the store to purchase her weekly "treats" as she would sit quite happily in the passenger seat, waving as passers by like Princess Margaret 

These treats would always be the same

2 strawberry tarts ( with cream)
2-3 miniature bottles of gin
1 crossword book with pen
A selection of sweets ( to bribe the Nursing home staff so that they would take her for more fags during the day!)
A box of tissues
20 fags,

She was a crafty old cuss too, for every week after she  accepted her booty, she would suddenly "remember" some other item she had supposedly forgotten! 
I went along with this ruse....and would dutifully go and get her another miniature gin " for tomorrow night" she would say.........and as I did, she would enjoy one of her sneaky 50ml bottles of Gordons, before jamming the plastic bottle in the ash tray or down the air con vent flap!

It was nice to see my brother smiling at my memory....mind you, he would have told the story better if he could talk...he was always a better storyteller than I would ever be”