29 March 2022
Tuesday mornings, it has turned out, are my only unscheduled hours of the week. Joyce has mid-morning dressing changes Monday, Wednesday and Friday and physical therapy on Thursdays. Every afternoon is spent at St. Francis for hyperbaric therapy.
The in-home nurses don't much like to switch from morning dressing changes to post-hyperbaric changes around 4 p.m. when we get home. It's too late in the day for them.
Which has been a problem taking care of my mother. I do, without fail, make it over there on Wednesdays but lately only around 4:30 p.m. and only for an hour. I have to shop for food at Trader Joe's in Westlake to have something to make for dinner right after that.
And none of this is engraved in stone.
Yesterday morning, for example, the clinic called to schedule Joyce for a Wednesday evaluation by Dr. Tong. She wasn't going to see Dr. Tong until April 7 but I sent a photo of the wound to her on Friday, alarmed at the growth of the yellow slough again. And she responded. Nobody wants it to get out of hand.
So Wednesday morning, we'll effectively do the dressing change at the clinic.
When we went to St. Francis yesterday, I asked them if it would be convenient for them if we came a bit earlier than our usual 12:30 or so. "How about 11?" Kathy the LVN said. "Great!"
So we can go directly from the clinic to the session at St. Francis without killing an hour and a half.
I just had to tell the in-home nurse, Vic. But he beat me to it. He can't make it Wednesday, he said, because his father died.
Oh dear.
He said Donna the RN would probably come instead, but they'll be in touch. And he'll let the office know we won't need anyone.
Which means I many get to my mother's by 4 p.m. instead of 4:30, which doesn't seem like a lot.
But every minute counts these days.