It is with an incredibly heavy heart that I am writing and publishing this deeply personal blog about a local service, which is not just found wanting but is in fact, failing.
Starting on a couple of positives. My Mom died at Walsall Manor Hospital in the Intensive Care Unit. The care she received was fantastic. She had been a patient on that ward and also the High Dependency Unit there previously and again, her care had been faultless. My youngest has been a patient on the children's ward several times, again the care was good.
Dad had a stroke on 7th February. Within an hour of him having that stroke he was in A&E at New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton and he was given the best possible chance of making a recovery from the stroke because of the quick and efficient response of West Midlands Ambulance Service and the quick and efficient actions of the staff on A&E.
The morning after the stroke I was chasing him around the ward because he kept going walkabout. He was mobile and it seemed as though recovery had begun.
He spent the next two weeks on the Acute Stroke Unit at New Cross and the care he received there from nurses, health care assistants, ancillary staff, speech therapists, occupational therapists, doctors, everyone, was fantastic. (There was minor wobble but this was quickly resolved.) There was always someone available to speak to, nurse or doctor. Not once did I have to play hunt the medic.
On the 21st February he was transferred to the Stroke Rehabilitation Unit at the Manor Hospital, Walsall and immediately it all began to fall apart. I totally understand that patients when transferred have to be isolated for the purposes of disease/infection control but Dad was placed in a room on his own for a whole week. It was a rare event for a member of staff to enter the room. He was left alone for hours and he began to deteriorate.
If I explain, Dad is blind, deaf, elderly and of moderate frailty. The stroke took away is speech. He is therefore unable to communicate in a meaningful way, although now he can respond with a yes or no. At New Cross he smiled an awful lot, in his own way he interacted with the staff and us and he was making progress, he responded well to music and various members of staff would pop a CD in his player so he could enjoy listening because his hearing aid was on. He was fully mobile and continent until unfortunately another health problem meant he had to be fitted with a permanent catheter.
Can you even begin to imagine how he must have felt being isolated for a whole week and being unable to communicate his needs and his unhappiness? He was to be fair, depressed prior to the stroke but I hate to think just how that depression has grown since arriving on Ward 4. His CDs were ignored, he didn't even have his hearing aid on a lot of the time. The first time I arrived on the ward he was unable to arise from the chair he was sitting in because his urine bag had just been thrown on the floor thereby causing a trip hazard for a blind person.
He wasn't helped to eat, we didn't even get a menu to choose his food. He went days without being shaved and even longer without being showered. He withdrew and showed open signs of deep unhappiness.
I played hunt the medic every day to bring attention to staff the shortcomings in his basic care.
Just a few days after arriving on the ward and whilst still being left alone in his solitary room, I was given a discharge date for him. Unbelievable. He was so far from being medically fit for discharge (and remains so) it was untrue and there had been no planning together with therapists of his rehabilitation programme and what realistic targets could be set and hopefully achieved. No, nothing. Just a discharge date. A date at that time that was less than two weeks away. Nobody had bothered to speak about personal circumstances or take into account just how devastated we were feeling or if there were other problems that could perhaps affect how we could handle the situation being presented.
I complained to Patient Liaison. That was a complete waste of time. Things improved for a whole day and then it all returned to how it had been prior to the contact with patient liaison. So I returned to playing hunt the medic and attempting to get Dad the care he needed. I cannot tell you how the stress of this, day in, day out affected me and members of my family. I dread visiting him, not because I don't want to see him but because I know what faces me when I walk onto that ward I felt as though I was banging my head against a brick wall. I was. I still am. Nobody listens. Well that's a little unfair, some listen, some of the staff care. Some of the staff are incredible but they work on a ward that has a toxic atmosphere and eventually that must drag them down to the level of those common uncaring denominators.
Dad was moved to a bay and seemed to improve a little. At least there was company and more bodies coming in and out, he wasn't being left to rot but basic care was still lacking and there was still no sign of menus. Eventually I pinned this notice behind his bed, hoping to shame staff into attending to the bare necessities.
PLEASE
PUT BOTH DENTURES IN MY MOUTH SO THAT I CAN EAT MY FOOD
PUT MY HEARING AID ON (AND MAKE SURE THAT THE BATTERIES ARE LIVE) SO THAT I CAN HEAR YOU WITHOUT YOU NEEDING TO SHOUT
PUT JUICE INTO MY WATER. I HATE PLAIN WATER
TAKE MY BELT OFF MY TROUSERS WHEN UNDRESSING ME SO THAT I HAVE IT TO KEEP MY TROUSERS UP THE FOLLOWING DAY
MAKE SURE I HAVE SWALLOWED MY MEDICATION
LEAVE A MENU ON MY TABLE FOR MY FAMILY TO COMPLETE SO THAT THEY CAN CHOOSE FOOD THAT I LIKE TO EAT
Dad now refuses food. This is probably because he has lived on corned beef hash or shepherds pie for over a month. He LOATHES mashed potato and yet it is still served up and still no menus arrive to be completed. For two days, they were popped on his table and I completed them. Guess what? They were never collected. Some staff have tried to help by asking about what he likes to eat and trying to obtain it for him (I applaud them) however, when they are not on duty the toxic attitude returns.
Dad can no longer use his right hand, He can barely lift a drink (still plain water when we are not there) to his mouth and as a consequence he has been treated for dehydration several times in the last two weeks, yet he is left to manage his food alone. I know from his clothes if he has been left to attempt feeding himself because I wash them. If the clothes are reasonably clean then he has been helped, otherwise the food lies in lumps all down his clothes because more has landed on him than in his mouth. Perhaps the only thing he has to look forward to his a decent meal but 9/10 he is denied that.
He was moved to a solitary room again, apparently he had 'sickness and diarrhoea' He had definitely been sick as his clothes were placed in a bag, unrinsed and rancid, for me to collect but diarrhoea? Not according to his stool chart. It took another complaint to Patient Liaison to get him moved back to a bay.
Recently I have discovered that staff new to the ward have actually been told to just leave his food in front of him. No wonder so little food is being consumed. No wonder he is losing colossal amounts of weight. His cheeks are hollow and you can see and feel his bones. His skin is dry. He smells because he never gets a shower. He rarely gets shaved. He is still being left with plain water. The menus have never arrived. His dentures are not being cleaned and they are not always in his mouth. His hearing aid is frequently left off. He is so frail now he cannot shift his wait in his bedside chair and therefore slips down all the time, trapping his useless right arm. A slip mat was provided to prevent slipping but it is not put in place.
He is deteriorating rapidly due to a lack of care, care that he is entitled to. What do we have to do to elicit any response from senior staff other than a shrug of the shoulders or a grunt? Sometimes they promise to sort things out but it never happens. The ward is a toxic bad joke. I apologise to the good, kind and hard working staff on that ward that do care. Unfortunately you are a minority. If you were a majority I wouldn't be writing this.
By the time my Dad was 7 years old in 1939, his father had died. On Saturdays at that age he used to take the first 3 buses of the day, on his own, from Aldridge to Dudley Port to spend a day working at Hadley's Dairy for which he was paid the princely sum of a shilling (5 pence in new money). He was probably overpaid as there was a family connection. When he had taken those three buses home, he would hand over that shilling to his Mom, my Grandmother. He was given a penny in return for his efforts. He was working full time by the age of 13 and the day before his stroke he had gone to work for the two hours a week he still did. A proud man. A hard working man. A man who has paid his dues all of his life and is entitled to decent healthcare.
I have asked these questions so many times since 21st February. How would you feel if this was your Father being treated with such a lack of care and respect and compassion? Why do you rob him of dignity in his final days? Why do they feel it is OK to treat my Dad like this?
The emotional toll this is taking is incredible. How this is being allowed to happen on one ward I don't know. Why nobody cares, I don't know. How some of these people keep their jobs, I don't know. It's almost as though they feel so safe and protected they can treat those in their care badly and never feel the consequences. I am in despair.
Why do I publish such a personal thing for everyone to read? The story has to be told. Publishing is the only way anyone takes any notice. So many people suffer in silence and their story is never told or known. This sort of story should be told. People should be aware. Complaints are treated with disdain. Lessons will be learned they say. They never are. Cynical yes. Be aware I love our NHS, the care, compassion and treatment by the majority is second to none anywhere in the world. Unfortunately sometimes you discover little pockets of rot. When you do, you have to speak out in order that the rot does not spread.
Starting on a couple of positives. My Mom died at Walsall Manor Hospital in the Intensive Care Unit. The care she received was fantastic. She had been a patient on that ward and also the High Dependency Unit there previously and again, her care had been faultless. My youngest has been a patient on the children's ward several times, again the care was good.
Dad had a stroke on 7th February. Within an hour of him having that stroke he was in A&E at New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton and he was given the best possible chance of making a recovery from the stroke because of the quick and efficient response of West Midlands Ambulance Service and the quick and efficient actions of the staff on A&E.
The morning after the stroke I was chasing him around the ward because he kept going walkabout. He was mobile and it seemed as though recovery had begun.
He spent the next two weeks on the Acute Stroke Unit at New Cross and the care he received there from nurses, health care assistants, ancillary staff, speech therapists, occupational therapists, doctors, everyone, was fantastic. (There was minor wobble but this was quickly resolved.) There was always someone available to speak to, nurse or doctor. Not once did I have to play hunt the medic.
On the 21st February he was transferred to the Stroke Rehabilitation Unit at the Manor Hospital, Walsall and immediately it all began to fall apart. I totally understand that patients when transferred have to be isolated for the purposes of disease/infection control but Dad was placed in a room on his own for a whole week. It was a rare event for a member of staff to enter the room. He was left alone for hours and he began to deteriorate.
If I explain, Dad is blind, deaf, elderly and of moderate frailty. The stroke took away is speech. He is therefore unable to communicate in a meaningful way, although now he can respond with a yes or no. At New Cross he smiled an awful lot, in his own way he interacted with the staff and us and he was making progress, he responded well to music and various members of staff would pop a CD in his player so he could enjoy listening because his hearing aid was on. He was fully mobile and continent until unfortunately another health problem meant he had to be fitted with a permanent catheter.
Can you even begin to imagine how he must have felt being isolated for a whole week and being unable to communicate his needs and his unhappiness? He was to be fair, depressed prior to the stroke but I hate to think just how that depression has grown since arriving on Ward 4. His CDs were ignored, he didn't even have his hearing aid on a lot of the time. The first time I arrived on the ward he was unable to arise from the chair he was sitting in because his urine bag had just been thrown on the floor thereby causing a trip hazard for a blind person.
He wasn't helped to eat, we didn't even get a menu to choose his food. He went days without being shaved and even longer without being showered. He withdrew and showed open signs of deep unhappiness.
I played hunt the medic every day to bring attention to staff the shortcomings in his basic care.
Just a few days after arriving on the ward and whilst still being left alone in his solitary room, I was given a discharge date for him. Unbelievable. He was so far from being medically fit for discharge (and remains so) it was untrue and there had been no planning together with therapists of his rehabilitation programme and what realistic targets could be set and hopefully achieved. No, nothing. Just a discharge date. A date at that time that was less than two weeks away. Nobody had bothered to speak about personal circumstances or take into account just how devastated we were feeling or if there were other problems that could perhaps affect how we could handle the situation being presented.
I complained to Patient Liaison. That was a complete waste of time. Things improved for a whole day and then it all returned to how it had been prior to the contact with patient liaison. So I returned to playing hunt the medic and attempting to get Dad the care he needed. I cannot tell you how the stress of this, day in, day out affected me and members of my family. I dread visiting him, not because I don't want to see him but because I know what faces me when I walk onto that ward I felt as though I was banging my head against a brick wall. I was. I still am. Nobody listens. Well that's a little unfair, some listen, some of the staff care. Some of the staff are incredible but they work on a ward that has a toxic atmosphere and eventually that must drag them down to the level of those common uncaring denominators.
Dad was moved to a bay and seemed to improve a little. At least there was company and more bodies coming in and out, he wasn't being left to rot but basic care was still lacking and there was still no sign of menus. Eventually I pinned this notice behind his bed, hoping to shame staff into attending to the bare necessities.
PLEASE
PUT BOTH DENTURES IN MY MOUTH SO THAT I CAN EAT MY FOOD
PUT MY HEARING AID ON (AND MAKE SURE THAT THE BATTERIES ARE LIVE) SO THAT I CAN HEAR YOU WITHOUT YOU NEEDING TO SHOUT
PUT JUICE INTO MY WATER. I HATE PLAIN WATER
TAKE MY BELT OFF MY TROUSERS WHEN UNDRESSING ME SO THAT I HAVE IT TO KEEP MY TROUSERS UP THE FOLLOWING DAY
MAKE SURE I HAVE SWALLOWED MY MEDICATION
LEAVE A MENU ON MY TABLE FOR MY FAMILY TO COMPLETE SO THAT THEY CAN CHOOSE FOOD THAT I LIKE TO EAT
Dad now refuses food. This is probably because he has lived on corned beef hash or shepherds pie for over a month. He LOATHES mashed potato and yet it is still served up and still no menus arrive to be completed. For two days, they were popped on his table and I completed them. Guess what? They were never collected. Some staff have tried to help by asking about what he likes to eat and trying to obtain it for him (I applaud them) however, when they are not on duty the toxic attitude returns.
Dad can no longer use his right hand, He can barely lift a drink (still plain water when we are not there) to his mouth and as a consequence he has been treated for dehydration several times in the last two weeks, yet he is left to manage his food alone. I know from his clothes if he has been left to attempt feeding himself because I wash them. If the clothes are reasonably clean then he has been helped, otherwise the food lies in lumps all down his clothes because more has landed on him than in his mouth. Perhaps the only thing he has to look forward to his a decent meal but 9/10 he is denied that.
He was moved to a solitary room again, apparently he had 'sickness and diarrhoea' He had definitely been sick as his clothes were placed in a bag, unrinsed and rancid, for me to collect but diarrhoea? Not according to his stool chart. It took another complaint to Patient Liaison to get him moved back to a bay.
Recently I have discovered that staff new to the ward have actually been told to just leave his food in front of him. No wonder so little food is being consumed. No wonder he is losing colossal amounts of weight. His cheeks are hollow and you can see and feel his bones. His skin is dry. He smells because he never gets a shower. He rarely gets shaved. He is still being left with plain water. The menus have never arrived. His dentures are not being cleaned and they are not always in his mouth. His hearing aid is frequently left off. He is so frail now he cannot shift his wait in his bedside chair and therefore slips down all the time, trapping his useless right arm. A slip mat was provided to prevent slipping but it is not put in place.
He is deteriorating rapidly due to a lack of care, care that he is entitled to. What do we have to do to elicit any response from senior staff other than a shrug of the shoulders or a grunt? Sometimes they promise to sort things out but it never happens. The ward is a toxic bad joke. I apologise to the good, kind and hard working staff on that ward that do care. Unfortunately you are a minority. If you were a majority I wouldn't be writing this.
By the time my Dad was 7 years old in 1939, his father had died. On Saturdays at that age he used to take the first 3 buses of the day, on his own, from Aldridge to Dudley Port to spend a day working at Hadley's Dairy for which he was paid the princely sum of a shilling (5 pence in new money). He was probably overpaid as there was a family connection. When he had taken those three buses home, he would hand over that shilling to his Mom, my Grandmother. He was given a penny in return for his efforts. He was working full time by the age of 13 and the day before his stroke he had gone to work for the two hours a week he still did. A proud man. A hard working man. A man who has paid his dues all of his life and is entitled to decent healthcare.
I have asked these questions so many times since 21st February. How would you feel if this was your Father being treated with such a lack of care and respect and compassion? Why do you rob him of dignity in his final days? Why do they feel it is OK to treat my Dad like this?
The emotional toll this is taking is incredible. How this is being allowed to happen on one ward I don't know. Why nobody cares, I don't know. How some of these people keep their jobs, I don't know. It's almost as though they feel so safe and protected they can treat those in their care badly and never feel the consequences. I am in despair.
Why do I publish such a personal thing for everyone to read? The story has to be told. Publishing is the only way anyone takes any notice. So many people suffer in silence and their story is never told or known. This sort of story should be told. People should be aware. Complaints are treated with disdain. Lessons will be learned they say. They never are. Cynical yes. Be aware I love our NHS, the care, compassion and treatment by the majority is second to none anywhere in the world. Unfortunately sometimes you discover little pockets of rot. When you do, you have to speak out in order that the rot does not spread.
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