Saturday, June 1, 2013

A fistful of life!-is it?

Allan was brought in all of ninety six years old,semi-concious,barely whimpering.Lives in a nursing home ,lost his wife in January of this month.The ambulance brought him in,there was no other history than the one his GP had hastily scribbled,confused,a known diabetic ,?uncontrolled sugar.
When I saw him he was balled into himself.
We asked for a relative to be called,he was 'cheyne-stoking'.
Emperically treated him for sepsis and ordered a CT scan,while the results were awaited.
The staff in the hospital made him comfortable.
There was not much to go by.
The son came in,rather matter of fact.'We lost our mom in January-she was the centre of his world,we did not think he would survive this long.'
We worked hard on Alan.By the evening he had started responding.
One of the first things he did was to catch my hand and hold it.
We get patients like these all the time.
In the moment there is a connection,and then it is lost in the hustle and bustle of the work to be done and the shifting around that happens forever.
Alan was born in 1916.He's been through it all.
Even as he lies in his hospital bed-all I could make of him at this crucial time is that' he had a wife who dearly loved him and was loved in return'-atleast that is what I got from his only son.

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