The Courier & Advertiser (Perth and Perthshire Edition)
The unwelcome task that follows the shock of the fall
Fiona’s father’s accident was upsetting enough but now the job of persuading her mum and feisty dad they must move house looms...
My father is in hospital, having fallen down the stairs in the middle of the night.
The story is, he woke up and could not remember if the gas fire was switched off. So he put on his dressing gown and went to check.
Better safe than sorry, you see… The problem is, my dad did not see fit to switch the light on so he could see where he was putting his feet.
It is a nasty break. But recriminations are useless at this stage. We are where we are.
That said, he is not a good patient. Then, who would be cheery lying flat out with a sheet of metal in your thigh?
I drive south and organise to take my mother to see the invalid. He has been operated on and we are told he may still be a little confused after the procedure to pin his leg.
But we are prepared – and we arrive bearing the special orange juice we know he likes. This is important, as the doctors say he must drink or he will become dehydrated.
We sit by his bed and I hold his hand. My mum pours the liquid into a cup and gently lifts it to his lips. He takes a sip and we are pleased.
“There, I’ll leave it on the table and you can help yourself to a drink when you want one”, she says solicitously.
“Thank you. But I’m obviously not going to help myself to a drink when I don’t want one…”
My father is a feisty 87. He is a survivor and he is obviously not as woozy as we imagine.
We keep fingers and toes crossed. At least he can still wiggle those, which is what he did to reassure himself when lying on the hall floor for more than two hours before the ambulance arrived.
I think this is unacceptable. I then hear from another man who had to wait five hours before help got there for his broken limb.
I do not blame the paramedics. They are heroes and heroines. But the more you talk, the more horror stories you come across.
One lady tells me of her 94-year-old gran who waited 11 hours with a broken hip.
I know that NHS-bashing is something of a fashion at the moment, but something will have to give. Let us hope it is not the whole system.
As it is, all this mercy to-ing and fro-ing takes me away from home for several days, which is hard on the MacNaughties.
They sadly watched the bag being packed last weekend. They saw it briefly unpacked on Friday – and I must go south again.
Plans have to be made. It is clear that my poor parents can no longer live safely in the rambling Victorian house they have inhabited for 50 years.
The chief and I agree that a bungalow beckons. But who is going to be brave enough to tell my father?!
I know NHS-bashing is something of a fashion at the momen, but something will have to give. Let us hope it is not the whole system.