…as David
Bowie so poignantly wondered.
This
morning when I went in to see Nick I thought he was dead. He was lying so
still, flat out and barely breathing, it was difficult to rouse him. Of course
he had drunk a whole box of wine after I’d left him around half ten last night,
despite strict instructions not to have any more and his promises that he
wouldn’t.
He’d had
two teeth out yesterday and the dentist had told him he’d need to be very
careful with alcohol afterwards. He was tired when I left him and like a twit,
I thought that he would.
Anyway, I
wrote a big fat rant about what happened yesterday with the new carers but this
is tomorrow, baby, as another old glam rocker once sang. They’re all coming out
of the woodwork today.
Acme
arrived while I was trying to wake Nick up and as discomfited as I’d been by
the manager yesterday, meeting his partner today (the West African voice I’d
heard on the phone) felt like a huge reassurance. Well, sort of. He was kind,
approachable, intelligent, helped Nick out of bed and sussed out his needs
almost at once. I would be more than happy to leave Nick in his care, or any
team that he was managing.
Unfortunately
he may or may not be coming back as Acme are not happy with the care plan they
have been given by the social worker, who has bogged off on holiday. I’m not
casting any aspersions on social workers, God knows I’m married to one and know
exactly how hard it is.
But they
say they can’t legally carry out the things in the care plan she made, which is
totally inadequate for Nick’s needs in some parts and specifies things -
like showering him – that can’t actually be done because the bathroom doesn’t
have the right adaptations. He’s currently having a wash sitting on the edge of
his bed and we’ve been waiting six weeks now for the specialised OT team to
provide either some more specialised bathing equipment, or the go-ahead to help him have a shower again. Today for some reason he hasn’t even got hot water
and we have to boil a kettle for the strip wash. It’s all profoundly dispiriting.
T says that
Acme has told the council they can’t work like this and want to hand the case
back until they can sort out some proper support with bathing. He is sorry, but
he needs to protect Nick and not condone a contract that is plainly not
serving his needs. He’s waiting to hear what they say.
We don’t
know whether the council will agree to reinstate the Short Term Intervention
service or who will be coming in at lunchtime.
Nick is still bleary and befuddled and doesn't seem to be quite sure what is happening despite our joint attempts to keep him in the loop.
I want to
run away and hide. I can’t though. So I make yet another coffee and start
cleaning instead.
