Following my last blog I have had lots of messages saying how bad the experience was with the agency and the Carer last weekend, and many have said that they have experienced similar problems.
I would say that for me 95% of the time, my Carers are excellent. They are friendly, hard working and are dedicated to doing a good job. As with anything in life it only takes a few rotten apples to tarnish the reputation of a whole profession.
I am pleased to say that Social Services were in touch with me on Tuesday afternoon and will take the matter further. Also I have been contacted by the Care Quality Commission and we are due to have a telephone conversation on Monday, in order that they can get a few more details before pursuing this further. So I'm pleased to be able to say that my complaint is being taken seriously, and hopefully this will result in an improvement in the service provided by the agency.
One of my real concerns when I come across this sort of service from the agency and the sort of attitude shown by the Carer, is how it effects other people. I am - at least in my mind - pretty competent and capable of coping with this sort of service and attitude, although obviously it did really annoy me last week. However I am always concerned how this impacts on those people less able to cope than I am. Those people who are older, more confused and have less support than I do.
Well on Monday evening my Carer came to me and started to tell me about a lady round the corner from me. Now several Carers have mentioned her as she is a bit of a character. She is 97 years old, and despite having dementia, lives on her own. She is often confused but is always happy and has a good laugh with her Carers. However on Monday she seemed very subdued and withdrawn.
Having sat and spent sometime talking to her it seems that on Sunday, the same Carer who had been to me had visited this old lady. Quite what the Carer did is unclear as the old lady is a bit confused about it all, but she has been upset to the point where she has said she never wants that girl to go there again. She doesn't feel she can complain, as she doesn't want her care to be affected. She was clearly very upset, over 24 hours after the girl had left.
To have caused that level of distress to anyone you are going to offer care to, let alone someone as old and vulnerable as this lady, is despicable. I have heard that the agency have stopped using the girl any more, which I sincerely hope they have, but I wonder what will happen if they find themselves in need of a Carer at short notice. And sadly there is nothing to prevent this girl going to another agency and getting work, as Carers are in such short supply, that girls are often taken on without proper references being sought.
On Wednesday I had my regular 6 weekly trip to the Royal Free Hospital, in Hampstead, for my infusion of Methylprednisolone.
My Carer came at 5.50 am to get me up, showered, dried and dressed, and after breakfast and my pills I was ready for the transport when it arrived promptly at 7.00 am.
The driver was the regular guy who picks me up, Dave, so I knew I was in safe hands, and after he had strapped me in, we were on our way. The weather forecast for Wednesday was for a really wet, horrible day, but as we were leaving it was fine, and the sun was just making an appearance. As we got down in the valley, to the main road, looking east, there was the most amazing red/orange sky. It really looked like the sky was on fire, or some sort of alien sky.
Anyway, about 30 minutes later it started to rain, and that was the end of the spectacular sky.
We headed north, round Croydon, past Thornton Heath, through Norbury, Streatham and Brixton. We skirted round Vauxhall and crossed the Thames at Waterloo Bridge. The weather was so bad that at this point you could barely see along the river. Using the Strand Underpass we then went past Euston Station, on into Camden and past the market, and up to Hampstead and the hospital.
We were there just before 8.30 am, so had made excellent time.
I went to the ward and checked in. The ward I go to is called PITU, which stands for Planned Investigation and Treatment Unit. It is a ward that is specifically there for people who need only to be at the hospital for the day, either for treatment, like me, or for simple procedures or tests which do not normally require an overnight stay. Over the past 12 months they have been doing lots of work, modernising the facilities and creating much more room, so that more patients can be treated in this way. Sadly, although they now have these great new rooms and facilities, they don't have enough staff to be able to use this new space fully, so much of it now sits empty and unused.
I am helped off with my coat, and one of the nurses checks my blood pressure, heart rate, temperature and oxygen saturation of my blood. These are all good, and just as we are finishing these, another nurse appears with a cup of nice strong tea, just the way I like it. It's one of the advantages of coming to the same hospital, and seeing the same nurses for so many years, that they know me so well that they get me a cup of tea, made just how I like it, without having to ask.
The nurse then puts the cannula in my arm, which isn't easy with my veins. We then just need to wait for the doctor to come down to prescribe the drugs. Usually the doctors take their time coming down to do this, so usually the nurses try to get all the drugs prescribed the evening before to avoid any delays. It really must be my lucky day, as a doctor turns up almost straight away, and after a quick chat, fills out the prescription.
Whilst I'm waiting for the drugs to be made up, a few more patients turn up. As we are sitting there we hear a very posh sounding lady, in the corridor outside of the room ask one of the nurses, where the psychiatric ward is. The nurse replied that it was in another building but asked why she needed the psychiatric ward.
Now before I tell you the ladies reply, let me say that none of us in the room could see the lady, but based on the posh sounding voice that had originally asked the question, we had no warning of the reply that was given.
Still in a very posh voice she said, "I need some knickers. I wasn't given any this morning."
Fortunately I didn't have a mouthful of tea, otherwise it could have been very messy.
The lady then went on to say that she needed to see a doctor, but only a white doctor. She was most empathic on this point.
The conversation spiralled from there around the woman's need to find the psychiatric ward, some knickers and a white doctor. But it was a good example of how we had all heard the initial enquiry, and based on the sound of the ladies voice, had jumped to a conclusion about her, which was instantly smashed by her need for some knickers.
I'm not sure how this ended, as my drugs turned up and I was then distracted by the nurse connecting me up.
I have known Lorna for at least 10 years and she has looked after me very well in all the time I have known her. I think of her more as a friend than a nurse. We get on very well, and she often shows me pictures of her young daughter, who she takes great pride in. Well today it was my turn to show her some pictures on my mobile, of me standing in my new wheelchair. She was very excited about this and grabbed the phone and went off to show the pictures to the other nurses, and to some of the other patients.
The infusion only takes an hour to run through, and after a saline flush of the IV line, I am disconnected, have the cannula out and my coat back on by 11.00 am.
I need to see my respiratory physio, Christine, so I give her a call and she agrees to come up and see me on the ward. Whilst I'm waiting I go and arrange the date for my next treatment.
Christine arrives about 11.45 am, and has brought one of her colleagues, Steve, with her. We want to do a blood gases test, and also try to do a lung function test, so we head off to the new department.
The old lung function area was based on the ground floor, near the entrance of the hospital. The department was based in a small room, where they had three testing stations, plus clerical areas, and it was a real obstacle course getting in and out in my wheelchair. The new department is up near PITU ward, and has all been newly refurbished and equipped, and there is masses of space. However, again they don't have the staff to use all the nice new facilities.
We grab a room and Steve smears my earlobe with Deep Heat cream, to warm up the lobe and to bring the blood vessels to the surface. Whilst he is doing this, Christine goes off to see if there is anyone free to do the lung function tests.
The blood gases test is to see the make up of the gases in the blood, and the volume of each gas. They use the earlobe as the blood here has come from the lungs, and it is the easiest place to get blood that has been freshly oxygenated. After heating the ear to draw the blood vessels to the surface, they then nick the ear with a scalpel and collect the blood in a small tube, or straw. This is then put into a machine and it analyses the blood, and the combination of gases and their volume.
As we wait for the earlobe to warm up, Christine, comes back to say that there is no one available to do the lung function test, but she will definitely arrange this and book it for the date of my next treatment.
Christine has previously asked me about wheelchairs, and I show her the photos of me standing in my new chair. She has asked me to email her the details so that she has them if any one ever asks her about stand up wheelchairs.
Steve, makes the nick on my earlobe and collects the blood. He quickly gets a plaster on the lobe, as it does tend to bleed a lot after they have done this. I can't take the plaster off for at least 24 hours or it is likely to bleed again.
After analysing the blood they are pleased to say that all the gases and the levels are as they should be, except for the oxygen. This should be 11.00% but my result is 10.92%. Christine isn't concerned by this as all the other results are normal.
I then make my way to the transport lounge and check in. Its about 12.30 pm by this point, and one of the nurses gives me a cup of tea and a packet of "Bourbon" biscuits while I wait.
About 2.00 pm, Dave, comes in and says he will be taking me home. Outside its really wet and miserable, so I get into the ambulance and we are on our way quickly.
Going home, there are lots of hold ups in central London, so we head off in a slightly different way, to coming. We head off down past Lord's Cricket Ground, and then down to Baker Street. I've been along Baker Street many times, but never really taken much notice of it. Today the traffic is slow, so I get a good look at the Sherlock Holmes museum - which doubles as the café below the flat in the BBC series Sherlock - and see the number of tourists coming out of 221b Baker Street. There is a section of pavement cordoned off, where a man dressed in a period police uniform stands ready to have his picture taken. Really sad is the man stood next to him, dressed in a long tweed cloak/coat with a deer-stalker hat, trying to be Sherlock Holmes. I'm sure you can have your picture taken with him, for a reasonable fee, but I have to say he looks nothing like the Sherlock Holmes described in any of the books, seen in any of the films or TV adaptions.
From here we go down through Shepherds Bush and onto Hammersmith. We cross Hammersmith Bridge, which is a old narrow bridge. This has traffic restrictions on it because of how narrow it is and its age but the best thing about this bridge is that in the past when the soldiers from the nearby barracks used to march across the bridge, they had to break stride, otherwise the uniform beat of the left, right, left, right rhythm of their feet would cause the bridge to sway.
From here we head down through Putney, Roehampton and down the side of Richmond Park. We then cut over and round Sutton, and then round Purley, and get home about 3.30 pm just as the cloud breaks and the sun comes out.
And that was the highlight of my week.
The infusion only takes an hour to run through, and after a saline flush of the IV line, I am disconnected, have the cannula out and my coat back on by 11.00 am.
I need to see my respiratory physio, Christine, so I give her a call and she agrees to come up and see me on the ward. Whilst I'm waiting I go and arrange the date for my next treatment.
Christine arrives about 11.45 am, and has brought one of her colleagues, Steve, with her. We want to do a blood gases test, and also try to do a lung function test, so we head off to the new department.
The old lung function area was based on the ground floor, near the entrance of the hospital. The department was based in a small room, where they had three testing stations, plus clerical areas, and it was a real obstacle course getting in and out in my wheelchair. The new department is up near PITU ward, and has all been newly refurbished and equipped, and there is masses of space. However, again they don't have the staff to use all the nice new facilities.
We grab a room and Steve smears my earlobe with Deep Heat cream, to warm up the lobe and to bring the blood vessels to the surface. Whilst he is doing this, Christine goes off to see if there is anyone free to do the lung function tests.
The blood gases test is to see the make up of the gases in the blood, and the volume of each gas. They use the earlobe as the blood here has come from the lungs, and it is the easiest place to get blood that has been freshly oxygenated. After heating the ear to draw the blood vessels to the surface, they then nick the ear with a scalpel and collect the blood in a small tube, or straw. This is then put into a machine and it analyses the blood, and the combination of gases and their volume.
As we wait for the earlobe to warm up, Christine, comes back to say that there is no one available to do the lung function test, but she will definitely arrange this and book it for the date of my next treatment.
Christine has previously asked me about wheelchairs, and I show her the photos of me standing in my new chair. She has asked me to email her the details so that she has them if any one ever asks her about stand up wheelchairs.
Steve, makes the nick on my earlobe and collects the blood. He quickly gets a plaster on the lobe, as it does tend to bleed a lot after they have done this. I can't take the plaster off for at least 24 hours or it is likely to bleed again.
After analysing the blood they are pleased to say that all the gases and the levels are as they should be, except for the oxygen. This should be 11.00% but my result is 10.92%. Christine isn't concerned by this as all the other results are normal.
I then make my way to the transport lounge and check in. Its about 12.30 pm by this point, and one of the nurses gives me a cup of tea and a packet of "Bourbon" biscuits while I wait.
About 2.00 pm, Dave, comes in and says he will be taking me home. Outside its really wet and miserable, so I get into the ambulance and we are on our way quickly.
Going home, there are lots of hold ups in central London, so we head off in a slightly different way, to coming. We head off down past Lord's Cricket Ground, and then down to Baker Street. I've been along Baker Street many times, but never really taken much notice of it. Today the traffic is slow, so I get a good look at the Sherlock Holmes museum - which doubles as the café below the flat in the BBC series Sherlock - and see the number of tourists coming out of 221b Baker Street. There is a section of pavement cordoned off, where a man dressed in a period police uniform stands ready to have his picture taken. Really sad is the man stood next to him, dressed in a long tweed cloak/coat with a deer-stalker hat, trying to be Sherlock Holmes. I'm sure you can have your picture taken with him, for a reasonable fee, but I have to say he looks nothing like the Sherlock Holmes described in any of the books, seen in any of the films or TV adaptions.
From here we go down through Shepherds Bush and onto Hammersmith. We cross Hammersmith Bridge, which is a old narrow bridge. This has traffic restrictions on it because of how narrow it is and its age but the best thing about this bridge is that in the past when the soldiers from the nearby barracks used to march across the bridge, they had to break stride, otherwise the uniform beat of the left, right, left, right rhythm of their feet would cause the bridge to sway.
From here we head down through Putney, Roehampton and down the side of Richmond Park. We then cut over and round Sutton, and then round Purley, and get home about 3.30 pm just as the cloud breaks and the sun comes out.
And that was the highlight of my week.
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