Thursday, 29 July 2010
Sinus Problems.
I have been feeling depressed and very sluggish since my brother's Inquest began. I'm having headaches, feel heavy headed and have aches and pains too. Just trying to do normal everyday things is so hard; I feel as if I'm wading through treacle. I know it's because I'm upset at being rejected and shunned by my family. I try not to dwell on it and I try not to feel depressed and sad over everything that is going on but it's probably more of a problem with my subconscious mind rather than my conscious mind. It doesn't matter how much I try not to feel down and depressed, I am affected with even the best will in the world.
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Inquest.
My brother's Inquest was finally heard on Wednesday 21st July'10. I had wanted to attend but I was laid up with an infection after having a tooth removed. I had booked 3 days leave from work to attend the Inquest.
The evening before the Inquest, I knew I wouldn't be able to go and accepted I could do nothing about the situation. I hoped that my nephew would call me, to ask if I was going to his Father's Inquest. I had always told him I would be there and I was sure he would give me a call even if it was late evening. My nephew and I had a good relationship. I have kept in touch with him, phoned him often; he would come to see me at the library where I work, I would take a break and we would go for lunch. Sometimes he would meet me after work and we would go to my home together. He'd have dinner with me and my family and stay the night. I didn't get the call I was waiting for and that made me feel sad.
The next day I had no idea whether the Inquest had gone ahead or not. I'd had no contact from my nephew, my brother's ex-wife, or my baby brother and there was no way my sister nisha was going to contact me.
As usual I watched the BBC news at 6pm and then the BBC local SE news about 6.30pm. My brother's Inquest came on the news about halfway through the programe. I was very shocked even though I had had a feeling all day that the Inquest may be on the local news. It was weird, surreal. I saw photos of my brother and our family and then nisha was speaking to the camera on behalf of the family. I wasn't phased but I was shocked. I did realise that nisha was quite able of making this item on the local BBC news happen. She's a political being, she has contacts and she's articulate. It's the only good thing she has done in years. I'm glad that people were made aware - that if their beloved son, brother, husband, or Father, had to go into hospital, with mental health problems, within a couple of days or a couple of hours, they could be dead. We should have made people aware 5 years ago when my brother died.
The next day the Inquest continued. I have no idea what happened at the Inquest that day either. All my relatives are far too selfish to be bothered with me no matter how much I may have done for them in the past. Again there was a small piece on the BBC local SE news. There were more photos and a piece of video too. It seemed as if the Inquest had questioned whether my brother should have been given a powerful drug known as accuphase. That seemed quite positive; I had been expecting nothing to come to light at such a late stage. It seemed as if my brother's sons would be able to sue Hillingdon hospital for negligence. It was a lot more than I had expected.
On Friday 23rd July, the 5th anniversary of my brother's death, I watched the BBC local SE news again. I assumed the Inquest was still being heard. There was no mention of my brother that day. It was a bit strange as they had not said the Inquest was over the day before and I expected to hear that the Inquest had continued and that a conclusion or decision had been reached. There was a short piece on the BBC local news website but there was no further update on the Inquest. So I felt in limbo not knowing what had happened. I didn't know whether the Inquest was over or not and I didn't know the outcome of the Inquest. Obviously I felt a bit sad and depressed. Not one of my rotten, selfish family could be asked to pick up the phone to let me know what had happened at my brother's Inquest. You wouldn't treat a stranger the way they treat me. Oh dear, time to get the violins out!
The worst thing about the whole thing - no contact, watching my sister nisha on the TV - was watching her acting and talking as if she ever cared a damn about my brother. It was a great performance from nisha, Oscar worthy. The only problem with it was that it lacked honesty and it smacked of two facedness and the hypocrite in nisha was sreaming at me through my TV set. Nice try nisha, but you are a loser big time. I know and you know and our dead brother knows how much of a hypocrite you are. You hated his guts while he was alive but since he's been dead you've been the grieving sister to the tee. What is the point of hating someone while they are alive and then loving them when they are dead and long gone? I have no idea. But this is how it is for quite a few of us in our family. For nisha to give a damn about you - you have to be dead with a capital D; or you have no hope in hell of nisha giving a toss for you or yours. SAD but true.
I'm still none the wiser about what happened at the Inquest. I know as much as anybody else knows, who didn't attend my brother's Inquest. Days have passed since the Inquest was over and still no one from my family has called me or contacted me. I may as well be dead.
The evening before the Inquest, I knew I wouldn't be able to go and accepted I could do nothing about the situation. I hoped that my nephew would call me, to ask if I was going to his Father's Inquest. I had always told him I would be there and I was sure he would give me a call even if it was late evening. My nephew and I had a good relationship. I have kept in touch with him, phoned him often; he would come to see me at the library where I work, I would take a break and we would go for lunch. Sometimes he would meet me after work and we would go to my home together. He'd have dinner with me and my family and stay the night. I didn't get the call I was waiting for and that made me feel sad.
The next day I had no idea whether the Inquest had gone ahead or not. I'd had no contact from my nephew, my brother's ex-wife, or my baby brother and there was no way my sister nisha was going to contact me.
As usual I watched the BBC news at 6pm and then the BBC local SE news about 6.30pm. My brother's Inquest came on the news about halfway through the programe. I was very shocked even though I had had a feeling all day that the Inquest may be on the local news. It was weird, surreal. I saw photos of my brother and our family and then nisha was speaking to the camera on behalf of the family. I wasn't phased but I was shocked. I did realise that nisha was quite able of making this item on the local BBC news happen. She's a political being, she has contacts and she's articulate. It's the only good thing she has done in years. I'm glad that people were made aware - that if their beloved son, brother, husband, or Father, had to go into hospital, with mental health problems, within a couple of days or a couple of hours, they could be dead. We should have made people aware 5 years ago when my brother died.
The next day the Inquest continued. I have no idea what happened at the Inquest that day either. All my relatives are far too selfish to be bothered with me no matter how much I may have done for them in the past. Again there was a small piece on the BBC local SE news. There were more photos and a piece of video too. It seemed as if the Inquest had questioned whether my brother should have been given a powerful drug known as accuphase. That seemed quite positive; I had been expecting nothing to come to light at such a late stage. It seemed as if my brother's sons would be able to sue Hillingdon hospital for negligence. It was a lot more than I had expected.
On Friday 23rd July, the 5th anniversary of my brother's death, I watched the BBC local SE news again. I assumed the Inquest was still being heard. There was no mention of my brother that day. It was a bit strange as they had not said the Inquest was over the day before and I expected to hear that the Inquest had continued and that a conclusion or decision had been reached. There was a short piece on the BBC local news website but there was no further update on the Inquest. So I felt in limbo not knowing what had happened. I didn't know whether the Inquest was over or not and I didn't know the outcome of the Inquest. Obviously I felt a bit sad and depressed. Not one of my rotten, selfish family could be asked to pick up the phone to let me know what had happened at my brother's Inquest. You wouldn't treat a stranger the way they treat me. Oh dear, time to get the violins out!
The worst thing about the whole thing - no contact, watching my sister nisha on the TV - was watching her acting and talking as if she ever cared a damn about my brother. It was a great performance from nisha, Oscar worthy. The only problem with it was that it lacked honesty and it smacked of two facedness and the hypocrite in nisha was sreaming at me through my TV set. Nice try nisha, but you are a loser big time. I know and you know and our dead brother knows how much of a hypocrite you are. You hated his guts while he was alive but since he's been dead you've been the grieving sister to the tee. What is the point of hating someone while they are alive and then loving them when they are dead and long gone? I have no idea. But this is how it is for quite a few of us in our family. For nisha to give a damn about you - you have to be dead with a capital D; or you have no hope in hell of nisha giving a toss for you or yours. SAD but true.
I'm still none the wiser about what happened at the Inquest. I know as much as anybody else knows, who didn't attend my brother's Inquest. Days have passed since the Inquest was over and still no one from my family has called me or contacted me. I may as well be dead.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
Pulling Teeth.
I had a nasty molar out Friday 16th July 8.30am. Not a clever decision. The tooth had been bothering me since Christmas and I procrastinated for soooo long; finally the week before my brother's Inquest I decided to bite the bullet and get rid of the tooth.
Thursday afternoon I called for an appointment with my regular dentist. I was told it was his last day and he had already left the building. OMG! So I made a brave/stupid decision to have my tooth out first thing next morning with a new dentist.
My hubby took me to the dentist bright and early. I was nervous as hell. I got called in, saw the dentist for the first time and thought he's not as good looking as my regular dentist. Bad omen. He was very nice though, very polite and thoughtful too. So I relaxed. He agreed my tooth needed pulling out. So he gave me a couple of injections to numb the area. One was horrid; left hand corner of my upper and lower jaw - nasty. Then I went out to wait for a fat lip to arrive.
OK all nice and numb - he poked around, I couldn't feel anything. So he started pulling. It took at tiny little while, longer than I would have liked and then I felt the tooth fall on to my tongue; I spat it out and caught it! Yuk! I had my eyes closed the whole time. I can't stand the sight of those long needles they stick in your gums and jaw and I didn't want to see the forceps he'd asked for either. I had these very stylish shades on that he had given me to wear, so at least I looked cool. He was happy with my catch and complimented me; (ironic - I could never catch a ball at school and was the bane of the PE teacher's life).
The dentist told me how to care for the wound and told me to take pain killers asap. So all good. We were on our way home pretty soon after arriving. I was also told to give him a call if I had any problems.
I went home chilled out for a while, the anisthetic wore off. I'd had some paracetamol and I went to work at lunch time. I got some goodies from M & S as I was starving. Got trifle, rice pudding, jelly and tucked in when I got to work. I had more pain relief when the time came round and did a salt water rinse at the prescribed time. I worked for about 4 hours and went home. I dosed up with pain relief, did the rinsing and had some soup for dinner. I took a sleeping tablet and got a good sleep. I got up early on Saturday and my mouth was throbbing with pain at the site of the jab in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I called the dentist; he had a day off. Great. I didn't want to see another dentist so I left it at that.
That day was horrid, pain and more pain. I stayed on a soft food diet and lots of painkillers. That night I took another sleeping tablet; I got 2 hours sleep. It seemed as if the night would never be over. I was in a bad way.
Sunday was worse. More pain, more swelling in my mouth and I was popping pills and brushing my teeth for England. I was exactly like a bear with a sore head. Snappy to say the least. That night I took 1 and a half sleeping tablets. I went to bed at about 11pm but I was climbing the walls until about 3.30am; had no sleep at all and I was ready to go to A & E. Luckily due to exhaustion I slept for a few hours.
Monday morning: back to the dentist. He had a look. He was more than a teeny bit concerned; he said there was an abcess and I needed antibiotics; he gave me 2 different ones. Then the bad news - if my mouth was no better in 24 hours I would have to go to A & E to have the abcess lanced. Lovely.
I took the meds religiously. I brushed and rinsed like a crazy person and I prayed that I wouldn't end up in hospital. More pain all day and all night but I took 2 sleeping tablets and was knocked out thankfully.
Tuesday morning: no better. Phoned dentist, he advised that I go to A & E. Went to local A & E with hubby and was told by the doc that they didn't deal with teeth or mouths and my dentist should not have passed the buck. But he said he'd make some calls to see if he could get me seen somewhere. So he asked me to get an x-ray done of my mouth while I waited. After the x-ray I was sent to Ashford hospital with a letter for them to take a look at me.
I waited at Ashford with my hubby for the consultant to come out of surgery. The only thing that kept me from going stir crazy was the thought of seeing somebody who could take the pain away, even if they were going to stick a scalpel in my mouth. Pretty desperate.
I got to see the consultant fairly quickly, she looked very young and was pleasant and caring. Good omen. After asking what had gone on she had a look at the offending area of my mouth. She flushed the area 3 times with antibacterial and then packed the socket where the molar had been with clove paste. She prescribed a new antibiotic and told me to rinse with corsodyl 4 times a day. I asked her about the abcess; she said she couldn't see one. I thought - was it ever there? But then I thought great, at least it's not going to burst in my mouth!
We got back home around 3.30pm. I had some soup and one of the superduper new tablets - at least that's what I told myself they were. I managed to stay awake for about half an hour and then had to go to bed. Slept like a baby. Four hours later my hubby woke me up for my next dose of magic meds. Things were looking up. I could sleep, the pain was bearable and I was almost a happy bunny!
Wednesday: much better today; almost human. Able to do my morning regime almost 100% just left out drying my hair due to lack of energy. So not bad. I had a lovely day being spoiled rotten; my daugter looked after me and got me soup and scrambled eggs and anything I wanted. She even watched 4 episodes of Coronation Street with me; (she hates Corrie). A perfect pick me up.
After Wednesday things were on the up. My mouth was better. I could open it a bit wider and I could stick my tongue out a bit. I was also able to get off the soft food diet.
Thursday was good. I was almost normal. I spent the morning getting myself sorted out and after lunch time I went out to a lovely little parade of shops with my daughter. The first time I'd been out for pleasure in days. It felt good to be doing normal things at last.
Friday I was back to normal. The pain was gone; I was eating a more normal diet and I could almost stick my tongue out properly. I just had a tiny little soreness at the site of the injection in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I even felt like going out in the afternoon for a couple of hours to paint some pottery. Very theraputic and relaxing. It was the 5th Anniversary of my brother's death. I was happy to spend part of the day peacefully doing something I really enjoy. I hope he would agree that I made a good choice. I hope he has peace now where ever he is.
Thursday afternoon I called for an appointment with my regular dentist. I was told it was his last day and he had already left the building. OMG! So I made a brave/stupid decision to have my tooth out first thing next morning with a new dentist.
My hubby took me to the dentist bright and early. I was nervous as hell. I got called in, saw the dentist for the first time and thought he's not as good looking as my regular dentist. Bad omen. He was very nice though, very polite and thoughtful too. So I relaxed. He agreed my tooth needed pulling out. So he gave me a couple of injections to numb the area. One was horrid; left hand corner of my upper and lower jaw - nasty. Then I went out to wait for a fat lip to arrive.
OK all nice and numb - he poked around, I couldn't feel anything. So he started pulling. It took at tiny little while, longer than I would have liked and then I felt the tooth fall on to my tongue; I spat it out and caught it! Yuk! I had my eyes closed the whole time. I can't stand the sight of those long needles they stick in your gums and jaw and I didn't want to see the forceps he'd asked for either. I had these very stylish shades on that he had given me to wear, so at least I looked cool. He was happy with my catch and complimented me; (ironic - I could never catch a ball at school and was the bane of the PE teacher's life).
The dentist told me how to care for the wound and told me to take pain killers asap. So all good. We were on our way home pretty soon after arriving. I was also told to give him a call if I had any problems.
I went home chilled out for a while, the anisthetic wore off. I'd had some paracetamol and I went to work at lunch time. I got some goodies from M & S as I was starving. Got trifle, rice pudding, jelly and tucked in when I got to work. I had more pain relief when the time came round and did a salt water rinse at the prescribed time. I worked for about 4 hours and went home. I dosed up with pain relief, did the rinsing and had some soup for dinner. I took a sleeping tablet and got a good sleep. I got up early on Saturday and my mouth was throbbing with pain at the site of the jab in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I called the dentist; he had a day off. Great. I didn't want to see another dentist so I left it at that.
That day was horrid, pain and more pain. I stayed on a soft food diet and lots of painkillers. That night I took another sleeping tablet; I got 2 hours sleep. It seemed as if the night would never be over. I was in a bad way.
Sunday was worse. More pain, more swelling in my mouth and I was popping pills and brushing my teeth for England. I was exactly like a bear with a sore head. Snappy to say the least. That night I took 1 and a half sleeping tablets. I went to bed at about 11pm but I was climbing the walls until about 3.30am; had no sleep at all and I was ready to go to A & E. Luckily due to exhaustion I slept for a few hours.
Monday morning: back to the dentist. He had a look. He was more than a teeny bit concerned; he said there was an abcess and I needed antibiotics; he gave me 2 different ones. Then the bad news - if my mouth was no better in 24 hours I would have to go to A & E to have the abcess lanced. Lovely.
I took the meds religiously. I brushed and rinsed like a crazy person and I prayed that I wouldn't end up in hospital. More pain all day and all night but I took 2 sleeping tablets and was knocked out thankfully.
Tuesday morning: no better. Phoned dentist, he advised that I go to A & E. Went to local A & E with hubby and was told by the doc that they didn't deal with teeth or mouths and my dentist should not have passed the buck. But he said he'd make some calls to see if he could get me seen somewhere. So he asked me to get an x-ray done of my mouth while I waited. After the x-ray I was sent to Ashford hospital with a letter for them to take a look at me.
I waited at Ashford with my hubby for the consultant to come out of surgery. The only thing that kept me from going stir crazy was the thought of seeing somebody who could take the pain away, even if they were going to stick a scalpel in my mouth. Pretty desperate.
I got to see the consultant fairly quickly, she looked very young and was pleasant and caring. Good omen. After asking what had gone on she had a look at the offending area of my mouth. She flushed the area 3 times with antibacterial and then packed the socket where the molar had been with clove paste. She prescribed a new antibiotic and told me to rinse with corsodyl 4 times a day. I asked her about the abcess; she said she couldn't see one. I thought - was it ever there? But then I thought great, at least it's not going to burst in my mouth!
We got back home around 3.30pm. I had some soup and one of the superduper new tablets - at least that's what I told myself they were. I managed to stay awake for about half an hour and then had to go to bed. Slept like a baby. Four hours later my hubby woke me up for my next dose of magic meds. Things were looking up. I could sleep, the pain was bearable and I was almost a happy bunny!
Wednesday: much better today; almost human. Able to do my morning regime almost 100% just left out drying my hair due to lack of energy. So not bad. I had a lovely day being spoiled rotten; my daugter looked after me and got me soup and scrambled eggs and anything I wanted. She even watched 4 episodes of Coronation Street with me; (she hates Corrie). A perfect pick me up.
After Wednesday things were on the up. My mouth was better. I could open it a bit wider and I could stick my tongue out a bit. I was also able to get off the soft food diet.
Thursday was good. I was almost normal. I spent the morning getting myself sorted out and after lunch time I went out to a lovely little parade of shops with my daughter. The first time I'd been out for pleasure in days. It felt good to be doing normal things at last.
Friday I was back to normal. The pain was gone; I was eating a more normal diet and I could almost stick my tongue out properly. I just had a tiny little soreness at the site of the injection in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I even felt like going out in the afternoon for a couple of hours to paint some pottery. Very theraputic and relaxing. It was the 5th Anniversary of my brother's death. I was happy to spend part of the day peacefully doing something I really enjoy. I hope he would agree that I made a good choice. I hope he has peace now where ever he is.
Monday, 12 July 2010
Coventry.
I'm back in Coventry again. It was almost instant. I was only brought back for a few days and about 3 texts. Then back again to my beloved Coventry. Obviously my brother feels I have some very serious attachment to Coventry and love going there often.
I'm a sad woman. Waiting for crumbs off the table. Some small piece of recognition, some small piece of aproval, some small piece of love or even a tiny crumb of being liked. Sad.
I tried very hard for recognition, love, regard, approval, affection for exacty 32 years with my Mum and Dad. I tried for all of those things for 29 years with my older sister. In 1977 I broke my Mother's, my Father's and my older sister's hearts. I was 16 years old. I wanted desperately to be forgiven and loved or liked and respected. So I gave love, respect and affection by the ton. But I never got what I wanted. I realised 5 years after my older sister died that although she made me feel loved, respected and showed me and my family a lot of affection she never ever really forgave me. That makes me feel sad beyond words.
My parents seemed to be getting over their hurt after about 10 years or so. Then for the next 10 years no matter how much my husband, my children or I did, it never seemed to be enough. There was minimal approval and minimal appreciation for what ever we did. I made sure all we ever did was give: give love, give time, give affection, give attention, give physical effort and give finacially too. It was never good enough.
The other brother's and sisters and son's-in-law were always better than us, even if they did bugger all consistently. I think it's a rule of life: be good, give, give, give; and you get a truck load of shit in return.
So it took me decades to learn, my family think I'm shit. I'm slow. I admit it. I was told I was thick almost everyday of my life from a very early age until I was at least 14 years old; classic self fulfilling prophecy. But finally five years after my older sister died in 2004, and all I had done for almost every day for 5 years was give, I fianlly woke up and smelt the coffee. Well no I didn't really; it was spelt out for me plainly and clearly by my parents - I was of no value to them, my currency had been devalued by them to £000,000. Not that my currency had ever been worth much any way. My Mum and Dad showed me they would stand by my baby brother no matter what he did. He was their son after all. I was a mere daughter - not to be relied on, not to be trusted and to be rejected without a second thought.
So the penny finally dropped. If I can be used, all well and good. If I have an opinion about a living sibling, then I know where the door is. If I think my Mum and Dad will stand by me because I feel wronged, no way Jose. It's not happening. Not in a million years.
So all the sacrifices I made, all the time I gave up, all the love and affection I gave - what for? Rejection in capital letters.
I was dispensable big time.
The last 12 months have been for me. They have been very tough. My health suffered, my mind suffered, my kids suffered, my husband suffered too. Coming to terms with rejection from your own parents and an only brother and a sister is not easy at the age of 48 years old.
I realised that if I had shut up and put up and done my duty like a good Indian woman I would not have been rejected. But it's too high a price to pay. For no recognition, no love or respect it's not worth it.
I'm a sad woman. Waiting for crumbs off the table. Some small piece of recognition, some small piece of aproval, some small piece of love or even a tiny crumb of being liked. Sad.
I tried very hard for recognition, love, regard, approval, affection for exacty 32 years with my Mum and Dad. I tried for all of those things for 29 years with my older sister. In 1977 I broke my Mother's, my Father's and my older sister's hearts. I was 16 years old. I wanted desperately to be forgiven and loved or liked and respected. So I gave love, respect and affection by the ton. But I never got what I wanted. I realised 5 years after my older sister died that although she made me feel loved, respected and showed me and my family a lot of affection she never ever really forgave me. That makes me feel sad beyond words.
My parents seemed to be getting over their hurt after about 10 years or so. Then for the next 10 years no matter how much my husband, my children or I did, it never seemed to be enough. There was minimal approval and minimal appreciation for what ever we did. I made sure all we ever did was give: give love, give time, give affection, give attention, give physical effort and give finacially too. It was never good enough.
The other brother's and sisters and son's-in-law were always better than us, even if they did bugger all consistently. I think it's a rule of life: be good, give, give, give; and you get a truck load of shit in return.
So it took me decades to learn, my family think I'm shit. I'm slow. I admit it. I was told I was thick almost everyday of my life from a very early age until I was at least 14 years old; classic self fulfilling prophecy. But finally five years after my older sister died in 2004, and all I had done for almost every day for 5 years was give, I fianlly woke up and smelt the coffee. Well no I didn't really; it was spelt out for me plainly and clearly by my parents - I was of no value to them, my currency had been devalued by them to £000,000. Not that my currency had ever been worth much any way. My Mum and Dad showed me they would stand by my baby brother no matter what he did. He was their son after all. I was a mere daughter - not to be relied on, not to be trusted and to be rejected without a second thought.
So the penny finally dropped. If I can be used, all well and good. If I have an opinion about a living sibling, then I know where the door is. If I think my Mum and Dad will stand by me because I feel wronged, no way Jose. It's not happening. Not in a million years.
So all the sacrifices I made, all the time I gave up, all the love and affection I gave - what for? Rejection in capital letters.
I was dispensable big time.
The last 12 months have been for me. They have been very tough. My health suffered, my mind suffered, my kids suffered, my husband suffered too. Coming to terms with rejection from your own parents and an only brother and a sister is not easy at the age of 48 years old.
I realised that if I had shut up and put up and done my duty like a good Indian woman I would not have been rejected. But it's too high a price to pay. For no recognition, no love or respect it's not worth it.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Inquest.
It's my brother's Inquest on 21st July'10. It has been almost five years since my brother died in hospital on a psychiatric ward. My brother was also bi-polar for all of his adult life. He had had many episodes before he died and had always recoverd except for July'05. My brother died in Hillingdon hospital on 23rd July'05. My husband got the call at about 9am; he was told that my brother had died. It was 2 days after he was re-admitted; 2 days after the 21/07 bombers were caught.
On 21st July'05 my brother was taken back to the psych ward by my husband after going missing from the hospital. All the staff, nurses, doctors and ancillary staff were crowded round the TV watching the bombers being rounded up. My brother needed to be re-admitted but nobody could be bothered to do their job, they just wanted to watch the TV.
While my brother was waiting to be re-addmitted he was very agitated and upset; my husband was with him. I was in another part of the hospital; I couldn't face waiting for him to be addmitted, go throught the upset and heartache - I didn't have the stomache for it this time - I was feeling flakey. My brother begged my husband not to leave him there in the hospital, he was actually crying and begging my husband. My bother never ever cried. He told my husband that they would kill him if he was left in the hospital again; he meant the staff would kill him. We didn't believe him as he'd been in and out of hospital so many times before. We thought he was being paranoid and trying to get out of staying in hospital; he had always made it difficult for us. We didn't think anything of it. We were wrong. They did kill him. I truely believe that.
My brother was drugged up as soon as the formalities were over, when the staff tore themselves away, finally, from the TV to re-addmit him; they gave him an injection to dope him up. They should have stopped a drug called Depakote because they were giving him a massive dose of drugs to knock him out. My brother's consultant didn't tell the nurses to stop the Depakote. My brother was being given too many drugs.
I was phoning the hospital every 3 hours or so to find out how my brother was. I was told he was asleep every time I phoned. I didn't visit my bother the next day. He'd been in hospital 1 night. I would normally have gone to see him. My brother's social worker did see him that day; he was up and going to make a cup of tea apparently.
That evening around 6pm my brother was having problems breathing. A doctor was called from the main hospital. The doc checked my brother over. He said all was ok and if the staff were concerned they should call him again as he was on duty during the night. My brother went to bed that night and never woke up. He was 42 years old, he left 2 sons of 13 years old and 17 years old.
The next morning my brother didn't get up for his meds. When the meds had been given out the staff checked on my brother. He was on the floor of his bedroom, not breathing. The nurse who found him raised the alarm. Somebody gave him mouth to mouth resusitation. The crash team were called from the main hospital; they worked on my brother for 45 minutes. They shocked his heart God only knows how many times, injected his veins with drugs dozens of times and also stuck a needle into the side of his neck with drugs to bring him back. (Later I was shown a yellow plastic hazard waste bag, one third full of needles, syringes, tubes, dressings, plastic wrapping, ect.). Too late. He was gone.
During that 45 minutes none of us were called. My father should have been called as next of kin. My brother was divorced from his wife; his children were too young to be informed first. We should have been told that my brother was fighting for his life. When the crash team gave up hope of bringing my brother back, a nurse called my husband. My husband, in shock told me what had happened. For some reason I knew the news I was going to be told. We weren't used to getting calls early at the weekend. I knew something was wrong. It was obvious that the news was bad and it was about my brother.
We got out of the house as quickly as possible to go to the hospital. My brother-in-law was living a minute down the road from us, my husband and I decided to ask him to come with us to the hospital. I wish we hadn't, there was no need. What we didn't do was go to my Mum and Dad in West London, 20 minutes away and take my Mum with us to the hospital. Unfortunately Hillingdon hospital was nearer to me so we went straight there without thinking things through.
We got to the hospital, were taken into a small room and told that my brother had died, he'd been found on the floor not breathing. We were asked if we wanted to see him; we did want to see him. We were aksed to be as discreet and quiet as possible before going in to see my brother; the staff didn't want the other patients upset. My husband, my brother-in-law and I went in to see my brother. He was laid on the bed, covered with a blanket. He had a white sleeveless vest on. It was horrid to see him lying there dead. He looked asleep. I sat on the bed next to him, I cried. I touched his face and stroked his hair the way my Mum used to stroke his hair. I think somewhere in my head I knew that my Mum needed to be there and I was doing what she would have done. I felt so sad that he had been alone when he died. He had no one to tell him that they loved him. He may have been trying to get help. He may have had problems breathing. We would never know. Within a minute or two the ward manager who had brought us in to see my brother had tucked the blanket under my brother's feet and was holding on to my brother's feet and bouncing him up and down on the bed as if it were a ritual or custom. I wish I had told him to stop! It wasn't his brother, it wasn't my ritual or custom. But I didn't tell him to stop. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't think at all. I could see my brother lying in front of me dead. He would never get up again, he would never see his children again and my Mother would be devastated.
After a short time with my brother we went out to meet with my brother's consultant Dr. Hllade. He seemed relaxed and a little blase about my brother's death. He didn't seem worried, concerned or upset at all. That was unsettling and upsetting. We asked him questions about my brother. I don't know what I said or what he said to us. If I had had my wits about me I could probably have got a lot of useful information from that doctor. Unforunately I didn't have my wits or anything else useful about me.
I had already informed nisha about our brother's death. She was on her way to our parents home. I went home to Mum and Dad to tell them of the death of their son. My Mum opened the door. I was going to sit her down and tell her my brother had died; I didn't get the chance - as we all went into the living room, my brother-in-law told my Mum her son was dead, while she was still in the hallway. I couldn't believe what he had done. He had shown no respect, no humility and no humanity or love for a fellow human being. As soon as I realised what he had done I looked at him and made it be known, without words, exactly how dissapointed I was, not that it made a jot of difference to him. My Mum was devastated as I knew she would be. The apple of her eye, her favourite child, the son gifted to her by God, had died and left her bereft.
After that the boys had to be told. That was very difficult and sad. I can't imagine how they felt that day or in the years after their Father's death. It has been an awful ordeal for the boys. The younger one hasn't coped at all well after his Father's death. He has had very little support from the extended family on both sides. The older son has done better and seems to have come to terms with his loss although not without problems.
My brother's Inquest has been far too long coming. It will begin being heard on 21st July'10, the same day he was re-admitted to hospital 5 years ago. The inquest will close on 23rd July'10, the same day my brother died 5 years ago. Who ever thought or didn't think about this has some questions to answer as well as the inquest having questions to answer.
I don't think we will ever know what happened to my brother on that day 5 years ago. If the Inquest had been heard within a year or two, we may have got some where nearer to the truth.
On 21st July'05 my brother was taken back to the psych ward by my husband after going missing from the hospital. All the staff, nurses, doctors and ancillary staff were crowded round the TV watching the bombers being rounded up. My brother needed to be re-admitted but nobody could be bothered to do their job, they just wanted to watch the TV.
While my brother was waiting to be re-addmitted he was very agitated and upset; my husband was with him. I was in another part of the hospital; I couldn't face waiting for him to be addmitted, go throught the upset and heartache - I didn't have the stomache for it this time - I was feeling flakey. My brother begged my husband not to leave him there in the hospital, he was actually crying and begging my husband. My bother never ever cried. He told my husband that they would kill him if he was left in the hospital again; he meant the staff would kill him. We didn't believe him as he'd been in and out of hospital so many times before. We thought he was being paranoid and trying to get out of staying in hospital; he had always made it difficult for us. We didn't think anything of it. We were wrong. They did kill him. I truely believe that.
My brother was drugged up as soon as the formalities were over, when the staff tore themselves away, finally, from the TV to re-addmit him; they gave him an injection to dope him up. They should have stopped a drug called Depakote because they were giving him a massive dose of drugs to knock him out. My brother's consultant didn't tell the nurses to stop the Depakote. My brother was being given too many drugs.
I was phoning the hospital every 3 hours or so to find out how my brother was. I was told he was asleep every time I phoned. I didn't visit my bother the next day. He'd been in hospital 1 night. I would normally have gone to see him. My brother's social worker did see him that day; he was up and going to make a cup of tea apparently.
That evening around 6pm my brother was having problems breathing. A doctor was called from the main hospital. The doc checked my brother over. He said all was ok and if the staff were concerned they should call him again as he was on duty during the night. My brother went to bed that night and never woke up. He was 42 years old, he left 2 sons of 13 years old and 17 years old.
The next morning my brother didn't get up for his meds. When the meds had been given out the staff checked on my brother. He was on the floor of his bedroom, not breathing. The nurse who found him raised the alarm. Somebody gave him mouth to mouth resusitation. The crash team were called from the main hospital; they worked on my brother for 45 minutes. They shocked his heart God only knows how many times, injected his veins with drugs dozens of times and also stuck a needle into the side of his neck with drugs to bring him back. (Later I was shown a yellow plastic hazard waste bag, one third full of needles, syringes, tubes, dressings, plastic wrapping, ect.). Too late. He was gone.
During that 45 minutes none of us were called. My father should have been called as next of kin. My brother was divorced from his wife; his children were too young to be informed first. We should have been told that my brother was fighting for his life. When the crash team gave up hope of bringing my brother back, a nurse called my husband. My husband, in shock told me what had happened. For some reason I knew the news I was going to be told. We weren't used to getting calls early at the weekend. I knew something was wrong. It was obvious that the news was bad and it was about my brother.
We got out of the house as quickly as possible to go to the hospital. My brother-in-law was living a minute down the road from us, my husband and I decided to ask him to come with us to the hospital. I wish we hadn't, there was no need. What we didn't do was go to my Mum and Dad in West London, 20 minutes away and take my Mum with us to the hospital. Unfortunately Hillingdon hospital was nearer to me so we went straight there without thinking things through.
We got to the hospital, were taken into a small room and told that my brother had died, he'd been found on the floor not breathing. We were asked if we wanted to see him; we did want to see him. We were aksed to be as discreet and quiet as possible before going in to see my brother; the staff didn't want the other patients upset. My husband, my brother-in-law and I went in to see my brother. He was laid on the bed, covered with a blanket. He had a white sleeveless vest on. It was horrid to see him lying there dead. He looked asleep. I sat on the bed next to him, I cried. I touched his face and stroked his hair the way my Mum used to stroke his hair. I think somewhere in my head I knew that my Mum needed to be there and I was doing what she would have done. I felt so sad that he had been alone when he died. He had no one to tell him that they loved him. He may have been trying to get help. He may have had problems breathing. We would never know. Within a minute or two the ward manager who had brought us in to see my brother had tucked the blanket under my brother's feet and was holding on to my brother's feet and bouncing him up and down on the bed as if it were a ritual or custom. I wish I had told him to stop! It wasn't his brother, it wasn't my ritual or custom. But I didn't tell him to stop. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't think at all. I could see my brother lying in front of me dead. He would never get up again, he would never see his children again and my Mother would be devastated.
After a short time with my brother we went out to meet with my brother's consultant Dr. Hllade. He seemed relaxed and a little blase about my brother's death. He didn't seem worried, concerned or upset at all. That was unsettling and upsetting. We asked him questions about my brother. I don't know what I said or what he said to us. If I had had my wits about me I could probably have got a lot of useful information from that doctor. Unforunately I didn't have my wits or anything else useful about me.
I had already informed nisha about our brother's death. She was on her way to our parents home. I went home to Mum and Dad to tell them of the death of their son. My Mum opened the door. I was going to sit her down and tell her my brother had died; I didn't get the chance - as we all went into the living room, my brother-in-law told my Mum her son was dead, while she was still in the hallway. I couldn't believe what he had done. He had shown no respect, no humility and no humanity or love for a fellow human being. As soon as I realised what he had done I looked at him and made it be known, without words, exactly how dissapointed I was, not that it made a jot of difference to him. My Mum was devastated as I knew she would be. The apple of her eye, her favourite child, the son gifted to her by God, had died and left her bereft.
After that the boys had to be told. That was very difficult and sad. I can't imagine how they felt that day or in the years after their Father's death. It has been an awful ordeal for the boys. The younger one hasn't coped at all well after his Father's death. He has had very little support from the extended family on both sides. The older son has done better and seems to have come to terms with his loss although not without problems.
My brother's Inquest has been far too long coming. It will begin being heard on 21st July'10, the same day he was re-admitted to hospital 5 years ago. The inquest will close on 23rd July'10, the same day my brother died 5 years ago. Who ever thought or didn't think about this has some questions to answer as well as the inquest having questions to answer.
I don't think we will ever know what happened to my brother on that day 5 years ago. If the Inquest had been heard within a year or two, we may have got some where nearer to the truth.
Monday, 5 July 2010
World Cup Final
It was the World cup final tonight - Spain versus Holland. I wasn't too fussed about watching it. I would normally sit down and watch the match with family at home.
Today when I got home from Sainsbury, it was hot in the house; I opened up the doors and windows and to my dismay the awful orphan was having a shin dig at his place. My first thought was - who let the dogs out?
There was a congratulations banner to one couple and a welcome home banner to another couple. The BBQ was on and there was general revelry going on in the back garden. I felt my heart sink. Luckily my husband was home soon after me. As I was more than a bit put out I had a late lunch and read the Sunday paper. At about 6 I decided it was time to water the garden. I went out, got the hose sorted and put the sprinkler on. I wanted to forget the sprinkler and just hose the awful orphan and his cronies down - at least it would have shut up their cackling.
I got my paper and settled down on my deck to watch the fun and games next door. Mostly I was hoping to make eye contact with anybody who would dare. I knew my face looked like thunder and I wasn't really getting very far reading the paper. The girls were trotting around in summer dresses and high heels including the awful orphan's girlfriend. I thought - bloody hell she's got it made, she's got a dream house (thanks to my husband and my son), no Mother-in-law no Father-in-law and one brother-in-law who is a walkover! Some people just get everything handed to them on a plate.
One of the cronies looked over and I gave him my scariest most angry look ever. Now if that didn't make him say something to the awful orphan nothing would. I was sure he would be wondering what he'd done to deserve that. Then it was the awful orphan's turn, he decided to make eye contact - idiot - so I gave him a dirty look to say the least; he gave as good as he got, shameless little git. I remembered to move the sprinkler every 30 minutes. After that the awful orphan was up and down the deck, in and out of the house. He decided I was too scary to look at again - wimp. My younger daughter phoned me. I told her what had gone on. I decided to stand up and walk around while I spoke to her. I was being very severe and watching all the idiots next door. The awful orphan found this amusing; he was wispering something to one of his cronies and they both looked at me and laughed. Small pleasures for small minded idiots. So I did my best to look pissed off and carried on walking, talking and watching the imbeciles. Finally I sat down and tried to be rational.
My husband and I went indoors, had dinner and watched some of the world cup final. I really couldn't be asked, my mind was on dumb ass next door, sadly. After that I carried on moving the sprinkler. I gave one more dirty look to a different male dog next door and tried to forget about the whole stinking lot of them.
I took the hose to the front of the house to water all the dying plants out there and had about 30 different conversations in my head, with one or other of the morons next door. Again sad but true. OMG! Meanwhile they were all playing a very roudy game of football in the garden next door. I hoped they would all come down the side of the awful orphan's house and I would have given them all a good soaking with the hose. Just what you need after a particularly hard game of football.
When I was being particularly mean in my head about the awful orphan, I felt as if I would black out. As soon as it happened the first time I stopped the mean, bad, dark thoughts. Then I did it again and was in blackout mode again. I tried another couple of times and it kept happening so I made an effort not to got to the dark side.
Finally I came back in the house. The match had been over long ago. Spain won by 1 goal to nil. They scored in the last few minutes of extra time. It was the first time they had ever won the world cup, bless their little cotton football socks.
Today when I got home from Sainsbury, it was hot in the house; I opened up the doors and windows and to my dismay the awful orphan was having a shin dig at his place. My first thought was - who let the dogs out?
There was a congratulations banner to one couple and a welcome home banner to another couple. The BBQ was on and there was general revelry going on in the back garden. I felt my heart sink. Luckily my husband was home soon after me. As I was more than a bit put out I had a late lunch and read the Sunday paper. At about 6 I decided it was time to water the garden. I went out, got the hose sorted and put the sprinkler on. I wanted to forget the sprinkler and just hose the awful orphan and his cronies down - at least it would have shut up their cackling.
I got my paper and settled down on my deck to watch the fun and games next door. Mostly I was hoping to make eye contact with anybody who would dare. I knew my face looked like thunder and I wasn't really getting very far reading the paper. The girls were trotting around in summer dresses and high heels including the awful orphan's girlfriend. I thought - bloody hell she's got it made, she's got a dream house (thanks to my husband and my son), no Mother-in-law no Father-in-law and one brother-in-law who is a walkover! Some people just get everything handed to them on a plate.
One of the cronies looked over and I gave him my scariest most angry look ever. Now if that didn't make him say something to the awful orphan nothing would. I was sure he would be wondering what he'd done to deserve that. Then it was the awful orphan's turn, he decided to make eye contact - idiot - so I gave him a dirty look to say the least; he gave as good as he got, shameless little git. I remembered to move the sprinkler every 30 minutes. After that the awful orphan was up and down the deck, in and out of the house. He decided I was too scary to look at again - wimp. My younger daughter phoned me. I told her what had gone on. I decided to stand up and walk around while I spoke to her. I was being very severe and watching all the idiots next door. The awful orphan found this amusing; he was wispering something to one of his cronies and they both looked at me and laughed. Small pleasures for small minded idiots. So I did my best to look pissed off and carried on walking, talking and watching the imbeciles. Finally I sat down and tried to be rational.
My husband and I went indoors, had dinner and watched some of the world cup final. I really couldn't be asked, my mind was on dumb ass next door, sadly. After that I carried on moving the sprinkler. I gave one more dirty look to a different male dog next door and tried to forget about the whole stinking lot of them.
I took the hose to the front of the house to water all the dying plants out there and had about 30 different conversations in my head, with one or other of the morons next door. Again sad but true. OMG! Meanwhile they were all playing a very roudy game of football in the garden next door. I hoped they would all come down the side of the awful orphan's house and I would have given them all a good soaking with the hose. Just what you need after a particularly hard game of football.
When I was being particularly mean in my head about the awful orphan, I felt as if I would black out. As soon as it happened the first time I stopped the mean, bad, dark thoughts. Then I did it again and was in blackout mode again. I tried another couple of times and it kept happening so I made an effort not to got to the dark side.
Finally I came back in the house. The match had been over long ago. Spain won by 1 goal to nil. They scored in the last few minutes of extra time. It was the first time they had ever won the world cup, bless their little cotton football socks.
Back from Coventry.
I was brought back from Coventry by my brother with a photo of his children on holiday at the seaside. It was a bittersweet surprise to me. I didn't even know they were on holiday. He'd sent me to Coventry as I had asked him to initiate some legal work on behalf of my Dad, that would be of benefit to my husband and me. Well he got into a strop over it; (he had the strop by text) and then sent me to Coventry again. I'm quite used to being sent to Coventry now, it happens so often.
I'm guessing the picture text of his kids was sent to nisha and it wasn't really his intention to send it to me, but he was on auto pilot and his finger just ran away with itself. Easily done. Once he hit the send button there was no getting the picture text back. Oh bugger!
So he brought me back from Coventry probably by default. I text him back, tried to sound cool, kind, calm and not too gushy in that order. He replied saying - cool.
I continued communication today after going to see my Mum. Told my brother I had done a couple of little jobs for my Mum and Dad. My bro replied. So maybe we are on again for the minute.
I'm guessing the picture text of his kids was sent to nisha and it wasn't really his intention to send it to me, but he was on auto pilot and his finger just ran away with itself. Easily done. Once he hit the send button there was no getting the picture text back. Oh bugger!
So he brought me back from Coventry probably by default. I text him back, tried to sound cool, kind, calm and not too gushy in that order. He replied saying - cool.
I continued communication today after going to see my Mum. Told my brother I had done a couple of little jobs for my Mum and Dad. My bro replied. So maybe we are on again for the minute.
Anniversaries.
We had something to celebrate and be happy about! My younger daughter's 4th wedding anniversary on 2nd July and our 33rd wedding anniversary on 3rd July! Two reasons to be happy and have fun. My daughter, her husband, my son and his girlfriend, all went to Paris for a couple of nights to celebrate their anniversary. They had a wonderful time making the most of the short time they had over there. They met up with my husband's nephew while they were in Paris and spent a lovely evening with him.
My husband and I went to Brighton for the day - we took my Godson, who is 10 years old with us. We had a great day in Brighton. It was warm and sunny all day - perfect. we all had a fish and chips supper on the Pier; that was good. We had a walk around the town, a quick look in the shops before they closed. We had a fabulous day. When we got in the car to come home at about 9pm, the car was making loud noises. We drove for a mile and stopped the car just by the sea front. We called the RAC and told them that we were stranded in Brighton and the car was making very worrying noises. They came out after about an hour and a half and said the car couldn't be fixed; we would have to be towed home!! So another hour later and the tow truck arrived. We finally got home about 1am; very tired and fed up. Not a completely stress free day but most of the day was memorable for the right reasons!
My husband and I went to Brighton for the day - we took my Godson, who is 10 years old with us. We had a great day in Brighton. It was warm and sunny all day - perfect. we all had a fish and chips supper on the Pier; that was good. We had a walk around the town, a quick look in the shops before they closed. We had a fabulous day. When we got in the car to come home at about 9pm, the car was making loud noises. We drove for a mile and stopped the car just by the sea front. We called the RAC and told them that we were stranded in Brighton and the car was making very worrying noises. They came out after about an hour and a half and said the car couldn't be fixed; we would have to be towed home!! So another hour later and the tow truck arrived. We finally got home about 1am; very tired and fed up. Not a completely stress free day but most of the day was memorable for the right reasons!
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