TeeTees
New
- Messages
- 919
- Reaction score
- 1
- Points
- 0
....erm....Hi....I'm Tees, and thought I'd re-introduce myself as I haven't been around for quite a while now. 
So, what's been happening ?
Well, it's gonna be a long story so I'll brief you on towards the entry point :
Back in June/July time my Dad started to get pains in his left shoulder. It happened when he raised his arm above his head, so he went to a Chiropractor after the Doc had confirmed that it was Frozen Shoulder. After a period of sessions with the Chiropractor the pain was still relevant, so he went into the Doc's and asked for further treatment, to which they recommended a Cortisone injection. This should kick in around 24-48 hours after the injection, we were told, and so he put up with the pain. But the pain continued, his breathing had also deteriorated, at this point making it a chore for him to just walk up the stairs - considering he's a fit man; non-smoker; little drinker; always active, it just didn't seem right. So my Sister took him back to the Doctor's for an appointment, to which during conversation she replied "oh, I hope I haven't punctured the lung". A panic set into the Doctor's face, as she rang the BRI (Bristol Royal Infirmary) to get him booked in immediately.
Now onto the plot :
21st August : This was when my Sister and Mum had took him to the BRI. I waited at home, mobile in hand, looking after the dog. As the night started drawing in, more and more tests were being carried out at the hospital, and it was all a matter of waiting for the results. Eventually at 11:30pm I had received the call saying that they are keeping him in. Automatically my mind thinks "that's not so bad. They'll keep him overnight, and I'll get him in the morning with a course of tablets to collect".
22nd August : We rang the BRI to check on when we can collect him, only to be told that he'll be kept in for a while for monitoring. After finding out what ward he's in, we drove there to take him some of his things, and see how things are going. When we arrive he's sitting up in bed, looking fine (compared to the other's in there), and expecting to be discharged, even though he has the oxygen tubes going into his nostrils to help him with his breathing. Again, we get told around mid-afternoon that they'll be keeping him in. This time it's for the weekend, as there aren't many people working in this area of the Hospital on weekends. Still accepting the situation we drive off home to come back and visit on the night.
23rd August : He now has an oxygen mask on is face, and his breathing has definitely got worse ! Although able to slide the mask to continue with conversation, you can see that he has deteriorated; his face has begun looking gaunt - he had lost almost a stone before going into hospital, as his appetite was destroyed by what I thought was some kind of virus. His arms had now turned to a dark hue of blue/black where they had bruised so badly with all the blood-sucking tests they needed to carry out.
Skipping the days now, as this is when days turn into nights, nights turn into days, and days become nothing different to the ones before; just a continual cycle of getting up the Hospital for the 2:00pm one hour visiting slot, and the 7:00pm one hour visiting slot.
They had now began giving him blood-thinners, as he had began coughing up blood, which in itself was a disturbing sight to see. This turned out to be one off the worst things they could do !
I distinctly remember the 8:00pm, Tuesday night slot. Doctor Gould, a man wearing a blue surgical gown top with blue pyjama looking bottoms and rubber soled slippers, stopped us on the way out, after we had waved goodnight to my Dad. Walking out into the corridor, he took us to one side for a conversation. Without much concern or hesitiation he dropped the bomb "we've had some off the results back, and it shows that he has prostate cancer. Has he had any bleeding in his urine, or pain, or has he just been going for a pee regularly, to which the answer to all three was no. The cancer may have spread to the liver and the lungs too, as we can see lesions on both areas, and may also have spread to the bones". Struck with a wave of disbelief between my Mum, Sister, and Myself, my Mum then asks "what does all this mean?". "Well, we've also found that he has a mass of blood in the left lung, which is where he has the breathing difficulties. His oxygen levels in the blood is VERY low, and so we'll also need to do a blood transfusion". "No...no...are you sure ? What about the cancer ? Can it be treated ?". This is the point the bomb exploded ! "Well, if it's just in the prostate, we usually find that these can be treated, but if I'm right with the liver and lungs...well..."
At this point my life had ended for a split-second. It was when I looked at my Mum's face that I knew I couldn't breakdown. She was whiter than white, and speechless; shaking and just wanting to get out of there.
I remember watching the Doctor's face when he was telling us all off this, and distinctly remember seeing him smile, all the way through. Just one off those picture memories that sticks in your mind. How could someone be so happy when giving out such information ?
We all had the same sense at this moment - 'are they saying that my Dad will never see the light of day again ? Is this it ??'
With the mind feeling like someone had thrown an encylopedia of destruction at it, the fight or flight feeling kicked in, and we had no other intentions apart to GET OUT OF THERE. Making our way down the corridor towards the lifts I held back, as the last thing I wanted was for my Mum to see that the 'man' who is supposed to be her rock at times like these, has just washed away like a grain of sand in a sea of tears. Lucky for me, my older Sister was struck by a motion of inner-disbelief, and so when my Mum finally broke down whilst waiting for the lifts, she was the shoulder strong enough for my Mum to cry on.
Needless to say, none off us got any sleep that night !
I'm not religious, apart from my own beliefs. But that night I prayed to God, Buddha, Allah, and anybody else who may be able to assist me, and asked them to take my life, and pour my energy and soul back into my Dad, as he's worth every ounce of me and more.
The following morning the phone rang. It was the BRI ringing to tell us that he had been moved to ICU (Intensive Care Unit), and to be prepared when we arrive.
As we made our way through the doors in the new mutli-million pound extension, you can sense the importance of the unit. The whiteness of the tiles, the trees growing in the middle, the glass roof, all gave a feeling of cleanliness compared to the other building.
However, after ringing the buzzer for entrance to the ICU, the doors opened, and there was my Dad led in the bed immediately ahead of us. All off the thoughts regarding the building disappeared in a flush. He had two long pipes conjoined at the end into a single tube, entering his mouth. Five medicinal syringes pumping sedatives, antibiotics, and other stuff to help stabilize his blood pressure and heart rate - now beating at a 'steady' 126bpm (for all those not aware, this is where my heart beats after a heavy session on a stationary bike for 30 minutes, and I'm 40 years old - he's 66). Any coughing off blood would be removed by the nurse using a thin vacuum type tube that would go straight down into his lung. This would be forced down to make him cough, as the more he could bring up the less was down in his now collapsed lung. His left eye was looking at me, but his right eye was elsewhere. "He can still hear you", said the smiling nurse, upon which my Sister headed for the door in tears. Finally the hammer that knocked me for six when I broke down behind my mum in the corridor had reached her, and I had found my niche - communication. How do you talk to someone who can't respond ? How embarrasing, you think ?! Still, I started to talk to my Dad about anything and everything; jobs, cars, idiots on the road, just anything. The only response I could get was noticed in his eyes by a slight raise in the brow, or a dilation of the pupils.
He stayed on this machinery for approx 12 days, upon which the Doctor had said would be the max amount of time for the tube to stay in his mouth. During the period of sedation, he had also developed a virus, and had to be contained in an isolation unit too, to keep him away from the other patients in the area. That was a horrible place to be - very dark, as my Dad wanted the lights down being led on his back for most of the time (raising the back of the bed upon occasions). With little conversation running out, and visiting twice a day, communication was now becoming more and more difficult. One nurse who was looking after him fell asleep at his bedside, read the bible to him, sang gospel, and turned the lights back on when we left on the night so she could read her book - something that he wished for was darkness so he may get some sleep, if lucky. She got reported, as during the period she had to look after my Dad she had also left the room without informing anybody else. It had to be done, if not for my Dad's sake, but for her next patient's !
As soon as the viral infection was discovered to be bacterial, they were able to release him back to the land of the living; back to the brighter ward where you could see things going on around you. However, he now had the issue with the pipe - if they were to replace the pipe with another one, he was likely to get another infection. So they replaced it with the tightest mask I had ever seen....Hannibal Lecter sprung to mind when I walked in that day. He was in such distress and pain, that we needed to ask for the Doctor when we were leaving, just to have a chat with him. His first words were to apologise for the way he portrayed the problems on that Tuesday night. He reassured us that the breathing issues is NOT a problem at all, and the Prostate cancer is something as common in men as breast cancer to women; and even that worst case scenario is that they'll completely remove the prostate. He apologised for revealing that it may have spread, but said that they must tell us everything. This we found out not be true either - apparently my Dad had died on the table when they had done THREE blood transfusions ! I think the Doc just spared us of as much 'negative' and 'unnecessary' information as possible after he had seen us fade away on that Tuesday night. It was after the apology that the decision was made between us to go ahead with a Tracheostomy, so that my Dad could be relieved of the 'Hannibal' mask. "It would only be a temporary thing, and your Dad WILL be able to speak again afterwards", he told us. "Have you done many of these Doc ?", I asked. "Yeah, roughly 4-5 every week", he reassured me. My reason for asking was that the internet turned out to be my enemy when I discovered that Stephen Hawking had the same operation - his vocal chords got severed during the operation and that's how he lost his speech; and it was due to him having Pneumonia, which it was now confirmed my Dad had !
Phew! The Tracheostomy was successful. My Dad was only able to communicate with us for the time being through my Sister attempting to lip-read, and me reading his disgraceful writing by looking down the barrel of the pen as he wrote (it's easier to make out what people are writing by doing this, I discovered).
With less and less of the sedation being pumped into him, his blood-pressure levelling out, and his heart rate now beating around 90bpm's, things were starting to look up for him, even though he wouldn't believe us no matter how many times we told him the Tracheostomy was temporary....he believed he wouldn't be speaking again.
Since no-one had approached us regarding my Dad's biopsies, and blood tests, we took the 'ignorance is bliss' approach and buried our heads in the sand, hoping to deal with things one step at a time. My Dad got moved down to Level 4, High Depency Unit. What a disaster for us, the patients ! They were stricter than strict with visiting times, and "only two people are allowed" was a regular jungle call from all the nurses and rececptionists <groan>.
The Tracheostomy was removed when they were happy with the small level of oxygen my Dad was relying on to help assist his lungs. A diet of Meal Replacement Shakes, and soup <yeuch> was the only things he could risk at the time due to the tracheostomy, and his appetite hasn't got much better since. He's looking like a bag of bones; skin hanging off his arms like a victim of a record liposuction session.
After speaking with Doc Gould, he confirmed that my Dad's blood transfusions were caused by neglegence in the first ward he was in : they should have done an x-ray before thinning the blood to remove what they 'believed' to be a blood clot....and it was the blood transfusions that nearly killed him.
So, once my Dad was okay with breathing without the aid of any oxygen pipes up the nose, or masks, the Doc's were okay with him being discharged. This was not the end though ! They were to send him on for a bone scan.
We went in Yesterday, hoping that he may be let out sooner rather than later. The Doc seen us infront of my Dad and said "I think I'll let your Dad explain this to you". Another sense of blood draining from my body kicks in. Me and Mum sat down, as my Sister was still trying find a parking space. With a tremor in his voice, and eyes starting to glaze over as he tells us that it's been confirmed that also has bone cancer of the skull, left shoulder (where the pain initially started), and down the right side of the body. With nothing else for the Hospital to do for him, as he'll be on daily medication and monthly injections, we asked if he could be allowed to go home. Apart from his body being covered in a spread of rash like spots/lumps; a reaction to all the medication; he was fine to be discharged, and so they let us take him home with a cupboard full off medication and ointments (for the rash).
Since then, he's now on hormone therapy, and a shed load of other medication and injections, but he's doing fine (apart from the night sweats and occasional quick pain releases).
So it does make you wonder whether me being out of a job for 14 months too was a blessing in disguise as it gave me the time and devotion to ensure my Dad was being looked after and cared for in his major times of need.
I just hope that this has opened the eyes off many people, and will make us all realise that life really is too precious to go taking for granted. My Dad was a very fit and healthy person, and is determined to not let these 'problems' take over. I pray that he will have many more years left in him.
Meanwhile, take care all. I'm sure I'll be speaking to y'all again soon, and dropping a few joke-bombs
So, what's been happening ?
Well, it's gonna be a long story so I'll brief you on towards the entry point :
Back in June/July time my Dad started to get pains in his left shoulder. It happened when he raised his arm above his head, so he went to a Chiropractor after the Doc had confirmed that it was Frozen Shoulder. After a period of sessions with the Chiropractor the pain was still relevant, so he went into the Doc's and asked for further treatment, to which they recommended a Cortisone injection. This should kick in around 24-48 hours after the injection, we were told, and so he put up with the pain. But the pain continued, his breathing had also deteriorated, at this point making it a chore for him to just walk up the stairs - considering he's a fit man; non-smoker; little drinker; always active, it just didn't seem right. So my Sister took him back to the Doctor's for an appointment, to which during conversation she replied "oh, I hope I haven't punctured the lung". A panic set into the Doctor's face, as she rang the BRI (Bristol Royal Infirmary) to get him booked in immediately.
Now onto the plot :
21st August : This was when my Sister and Mum had took him to the BRI. I waited at home, mobile in hand, looking after the dog. As the night started drawing in, more and more tests were being carried out at the hospital, and it was all a matter of waiting for the results. Eventually at 11:30pm I had received the call saying that they are keeping him in. Automatically my mind thinks "that's not so bad. They'll keep him overnight, and I'll get him in the morning with a course of tablets to collect".
22nd August : We rang the BRI to check on when we can collect him, only to be told that he'll be kept in for a while for monitoring. After finding out what ward he's in, we drove there to take him some of his things, and see how things are going. When we arrive he's sitting up in bed, looking fine (compared to the other's in there), and expecting to be discharged, even though he has the oxygen tubes going into his nostrils to help him with his breathing. Again, we get told around mid-afternoon that they'll be keeping him in. This time it's for the weekend, as there aren't many people working in this area of the Hospital on weekends. Still accepting the situation we drive off home to come back and visit on the night.
23rd August : He now has an oxygen mask on is face, and his breathing has definitely got worse ! Although able to slide the mask to continue with conversation, you can see that he has deteriorated; his face has begun looking gaunt - he had lost almost a stone before going into hospital, as his appetite was destroyed by what I thought was some kind of virus. His arms had now turned to a dark hue of blue/black where they had bruised so badly with all the blood-sucking tests they needed to carry out.
Skipping the days now, as this is when days turn into nights, nights turn into days, and days become nothing different to the ones before; just a continual cycle of getting up the Hospital for the 2:00pm one hour visiting slot, and the 7:00pm one hour visiting slot.
They had now began giving him blood-thinners, as he had began coughing up blood, which in itself was a disturbing sight to see. This turned out to be one off the worst things they could do !
I distinctly remember the 8:00pm, Tuesday night slot. Doctor Gould, a man wearing a blue surgical gown top with blue pyjama looking bottoms and rubber soled slippers, stopped us on the way out, after we had waved goodnight to my Dad. Walking out into the corridor, he took us to one side for a conversation. Without much concern or hesitiation he dropped the bomb "we've had some off the results back, and it shows that he has prostate cancer. Has he had any bleeding in his urine, or pain, or has he just been going for a pee regularly, to which the answer to all three was no. The cancer may have spread to the liver and the lungs too, as we can see lesions on both areas, and may also have spread to the bones". Struck with a wave of disbelief between my Mum, Sister, and Myself, my Mum then asks "what does all this mean?". "Well, we've also found that he has a mass of blood in the left lung, which is where he has the breathing difficulties. His oxygen levels in the blood is VERY low, and so we'll also need to do a blood transfusion". "No...no...are you sure ? What about the cancer ? Can it be treated ?". This is the point the bomb exploded ! "Well, if it's just in the prostate, we usually find that these can be treated, but if I'm right with the liver and lungs...well..."
At this point my life had ended for a split-second. It was when I looked at my Mum's face that I knew I couldn't breakdown. She was whiter than white, and speechless; shaking and just wanting to get out of there.
I remember watching the Doctor's face when he was telling us all off this, and distinctly remember seeing him smile, all the way through. Just one off those picture memories that sticks in your mind. How could someone be so happy when giving out such information ?
We all had the same sense at this moment - 'are they saying that my Dad will never see the light of day again ? Is this it ??'
With the mind feeling like someone had thrown an encylopedia of destruction at it, the fight or flight feeling kicked in, and we had no other intentions apart to GET OUT OF THERE. Making our way down the corridor towards the lifts I held back, as the last thing I wanted was for my Mum to see that the 'man' who is supposed to be her rock at times like these, has just washed away like a grain of sand in a sea of tears. Lucky for me, my older Sister was struck by a motion of inner-disbelief, and so when my Mum finally broke down whilst waiting for the lifts, she was the shoulder strong enough for my Mum to cry on.
Needless to say, none off us got any sleep that night !
I'm not religious, apart from my own beliefs. But that night I prayed to God, Buddha, Allah, and anybody else who may be able to assist me, and asked them to take my life, and pour my energy and soul back into my Dad, as he's worth every ounce of me and more.
The following morning the phone rang. It was the BRI ringing to tell us that he had been moved to ICU (Intensive Care Unit), and to be prepared when we arrive.
As we made our way through the doors in the new mutli-million pound extension, you can sense the importance of the unit. The whiteness of the tiles, the trees growing in the middle, the glass roof, all gave a feeling of cleanliness compared to the other building.
However, after ringing the buzzer for entrance to the ICU, the doors opened, and there was my Dad led in the bed immediately ahead of us. All off the thoughts regarding the building disappeared in a flush. He had two long pipes conjoined at the end into a single tube, entering his mouth. Five medicinal syringes pumping sedatives, antibiotics, and other stuff to help stabilize his blood pressure and heart rate - now beating at a 'steady' 126bpm (for all those not aware, this is where my heart beats after a heavy session on a stationary bike for 30 minutes, and I'm 40 years old - he's 66). Any coughing off blood would be removed by the nurse using a thin vacuum type tube that would go straight down into his lung. This would be forced down to make him cough, as the more he could bring up the less was down in his now collapsed lung. His left eye was looking at me, but his right eye was elsewhere. "He can still hear you", said the smiling nurse, upon which my Sister headed for the door in tears. Finally the hammer that knocked me for six when I broke down behind my mum in the corridor had reached her, and I had found my niche - communication. How do you talk to someone who can't respond ? How embarrasing, you think ?! Still, I started to talk to my Dad about anything and everything; jobs, cars, idiots on the road, just anything. The only response I could get was noticed in his eyes by a slight raise in the brow, or a dilation of the pupils.
He stayed on this machinery for approx 12 days, upon which the Doctor had said would be the max amount of time for the tube to stay in his mouth. During the period of sedation, he had also developed a virus, and had to be contained in an isolation unit too, to keep him away from the other patients in the area. That was a horrible place to be - very dark, as my Dad wanted the lights down being led on his back for most of the time (raising the back of the bed upon occasions). With little conversation running out, and visiting twice a day, communication was now becoming more and more difficult. One nurse who was looking after him fell asleep at his bedside, read the bible to him, sang gospel, and turned the lights back on when we left on the night so she could read her book - something that he wished for was darkness so he may get some sleep, if lucky. She got reported, as during the period she had to look after my Dad she had also left the room without informing anybody else. It had to be done, if not for my Dad's sake, but for her next patient's !
As soon as the viral infection was discovered to be bacterial, they were able to release him back to the land of the living; back to the brighter ward where you could see things going on around you. However, he now had the issue with the pipe - if they were to replace the pipe with another one, he was likely to get another infection. So they replaced it with the tightest mask I had ever seen....Hannibal Lecter sprung to mind when I walked in that day. He was in such distress and pain, that we needed to ask for the Doctor when we were leaving, just to have a chat with him. His first words were to apologise for the way he portrayed the problems on that Tuesday night. He reassured us that the breathing issues is NOT a problem at all, and the Prostate cancer is something as common in men as breast cancer to women; and even that worst case scenario is that they'll completely remove the prostate. He apologised for revealing that it may have spread, but said that they must tell us everything. This we found out not be true either - apparently my Dad had died on the table when they had done THREE blood transfusions ! I think the Doc just spared us of as much 'negative' and 'unnecessary' information as possible after he had seen us fade away on that Tuesday night. It was after the apology that the decision was made between us to go ahead with a Tracheostomy, so that my Dad could be relieved of the 'Hannibal' mask. "It would only be a temporary thing, and your Dad WILL be able to speak again afterwards", he told us. "Have you done many of these Doc ?", I asked. "Yeah, roughly 4-5 every week", he reassured me. My reason for asking was that the internet turned out to be my enemy when I discovered that Stephen Hawking had the same operation - his vocal chords got severed during the operation and that's how he lost his speech; and it was due to him having Pneumonia, which it was now confirmed my Dad had !
Phew! The Tracheostomy was successful. My Dad was only able to communicate with us for the time being through my Sister attempting to lip-read, and me reading his disgraceful writing by looking down the barrel of the pen as he wrote (it's easier to make out what people are writing by doing this, I discovered).
With less and less of the sedation being pumped into him, his blood-pressure levelling out, and his heart rate now beating around 90bpm's, things were starting to look up for him, even though he wouldn't believe us no matter how many times we told him the Tracheostomy was temporary....he believed he wouldn't be speaking again.
Since no-one had approached us regarding my Dad's biopsies, and blood tests, we took the 'ignorance is bliss' approach and buried our heads in the sand, hoping to deal with things one step at a time. My Dad got moved down to Level 4, High Depency Unit. What a disaster for us, the patients ! They were stricter than strict with visiting times, and "only two people are allowed" was a regular jungle call from all the nurses and rececptionists <groan>.
The Tracheostomy was removed when they were happy with the small level of oxygen my Dad was relying on to help assist his lungs. A diet of Meal Replacement Shakes, and soup <yeuch> was the only things he could risk at the time due to the tracheostomy, and his appetite hasn't got much better since. He's looking like a bag of bones; skin hanging off his arms like a victim of a record liposuction session.
After speaking with Doc Gould, he confirmed that my Dad's blood transfusions were caused by neglegence in the first ward he was in : they should have done an x-ray before thinning the blood to remove what they 'believed' to be a blood clot....and it was the blood transfusions that nearly killed him.
So, once my Dad was okay with breathing without the aid of any oxygen pipes up the nose, or masks, the Doc's were okay with him being discharged. This was not the end though ! They were to send him on for a bone scan.
We went in Yesterday, hoping that he may be let out sooner rather than later. The Doc seen us infront of my Dad and said "I think I'll let your Dad explain this to you". Another sense of blood draining from my body kicks in. Me and Mum sat down, as my Sister was still trying find a parking space. With a tremor in his voice, and eyes starting to glaze over as he tells us that it's been confirmed that also has bone cancer of the skull, left shoulder (where the pain initially started), and down the right side of the body. With nothing else for the Hospital to do for him, as he'll be on daily medication and monthly injections, we asked if he could be allowed to go home. Apart from his body being covered in a spread of rash like spots/lumps; a reaction to all the medication; he was fine to be discharged, and so they let us take him home with a cupboard full off medication and ointments (for the rash).
Since then, he's now on hormone therapy, and a shed load of other medication and injections, but he's doing fine (apart from the night sweats and occasional quick pain releases).
So it does make you wonder whether me being out of a job for 14 months too was a blessing in disguise as it gave me the time and devotion to ensure my Dad was being looked after and cared for in his major times of need.
I just hope that this has opened the eyes off many people, and will make us all realise that life really is too precious to go taking for granted. My Dad was a very fit and healthy person, and is determined to not let these 'problems' take over. I pray that he will have many more years left in him.
Meanwhile, take care all. I'm sure I'll be speaking to y'all again soon, and dropping a few joke-bombs
