It has been such a long time since I had been able to reconnect with my blog page.
I guess you can say 'its a miracle.' Can we also say "Miracles do happen?" I am waiting.
I am locked in the capsule of Covid lockdown never eased in my situation of being medically compromised. I am in that capsule where others now decide my fate without my say - which is a purposeful construct of autocratic states who believe rights based agenda but not of the person but of themselves. An institutional response to women, women who say 'no' when they want the answer 'yes.'
I am tired. the vibrancy has died, it had been killed and I am a sadder person trawling the time that passed and now the time stands still.
Did I learn much in the stillness? I learnt a great deal. You are never applauded for taking a high moral ground, whether justified or no.
We all have that right to argue our belief stance in our own medical care, plans, treatment and course. we are told such things as "partnership in our own care" is a policy of the institution. There are other well lauded political policies bandied about online and in documents and it is a veneer to the reality, the lived reality.
You ask for your medical files - they are not supposed to be redacted but they are. You ask for a review and that can either change nothing or change little and then you have to ask the Ombudsman's office to make the final adjudication and it can take a long time.
You ask for a medical report or results to say, an MRI but you cannot get it, you have to ask your GP and you have to wait until he reviews it and will allow a conversation around it, but you may have to ask for a copy under FOI.
You are asked "why do you want to get your notes under FOI?"
Most should know but they appear to be confused or in disbelief.
They say they have not the time, but its a legal right and you may have to ask three times before someone will capitulate and agree but you may be asked for time, for certain conditions and it can take a long time.
There is a "Rare Diseases Plan" for Ireland, there is a "chronic diseases plan" in Ireland and there is also a "neurological diseases plan" and these are theoretical but in fact they are wonderfully compiled sets of criteria for care. the problem is, they are paper thin and only serve 'to look good' to the searcher on how Ireland does its planning but don't ask the patient, or the diseased because our lived reality is very far removed from their reality.
they will then look and sound confused when you describe the lack of clothing on these files, the nakedness, the bare bottom facts of life.
They are hurt, they are upset and then this all turns to anger, alas the little boys and girls waving from the side lines, raise the pink bowler hats and claim, "HEY! MA? The Emperor is wearing no clothes!"
"Shush child, they will HEAR you!"
"But Ma, his little W. is for all to see, do you see IT?"
"Oh Gud, I can't take you anywhere so I can't." but word is now out and the rebound is the W can be seen by all, especially those considered subservient by experience, age, professionalism and clout.
but the Word IS out, the W is out too for all to see!
You get terribly tired of it all.
you build up a portfolio of hatred not to mention four file cabinets lining a spare room (room wasted in real terms) tabulated, documenting the scurrilous abuse of burocratic power against the woman, the sick woman.
You just get tired and afraid.
so now in Lock down the only question worth answering it seems because holding hope for more has failed and now of vital importance is whether or not you are toileting in a normal fashion, not leaving a trail of brown bowel excreta down the corridor or indeed wetting yourself involuntarily.
the flourish of presentation saw two women waiting and watching the cul de sac outside, the dogs bark in excitable expectancy and the twins yawn their relentless boredom and some fear, they are here. Doors are open and two women step out and cleanse their hands with purposeful intent, don the plastic aprons, put on the masks and pick up the clip board and set forth for the hall door. We have an engagement like none other, that the real reason for being here is whether you widdle badly or whether you have scuffed bedsores on elbows, butt or heels.
"Did you know I had a stroke, nurse?"
"No I did not, when?"
in 2013 and it is 2022 now Nurse.
Its far more important to ask did I want incontinent pads and the decency has gone out the window and lost on them.
These sorts of questions can be asked over the phone, not in the home of women protecting themselves from Covid facing two women who have been in and out of multiple bugs and viruses turning up all widdle intent.
I thought our professional staff were at a premium.
can the nurse who is on desk duty not ask these vital questions rather than sent two others with an overburdened work load? Having to case the joints of every over 65's asking the important professional questions of problems of widdle and poo, seems of vital importance, these are vital questions.
I sigh.
No comments:
Post a Comment