11th January 2008 - Novovirus

I'd just been reading on the BBC website that the average life expectancy after diagnosis of a dementia sufferer is 'only four and a half years'. I was feeling vaguely guilty for reading the article - both because I was at work and because of the mixed reaction I had. Dad's diagnosis was almost 4 years ago. I wondered about the use of the word 'only' in the article - why 'only' four and a half year? Yesterday there had been an article about some wonderdrug that could reverse the effects of Alzheimers. But Dad doesn't have Alzheimers, I reminded myself. His dementia is different.

Just as I had finished reading and wandering down and back up my various tangents of thought that it sprung forth in my head, my mobile rang. My phone never rings. So infrequently does it ring that I'm never sure it's mine because I'm not familiar with the ringtone. I'm one of those dozy women you see in the supermarket, holding her handbag to her ear and going "Is that mine is it?" then scrabbling amongst the tissue fluff and crusty unidentifiables to see the "1 missed call". But today it was sitting beside me on my desk, illumiating the name of the home and playing it's unfamiliar tune. When I answered it, it was Karen. Karen's lovely. She really cares about Dad and knows him well. She seems genuinely fond of him and even if that is an act, at least she puts that act on. She told me that Dad had fainted. The doctor had seen him and was happy that's all it was, but Dad was in his bed and I should be told. It was just after 4, so I could leave work without comment. The home is on the way to the day nursery were Ellie miserably spends her Monday's and Friday's before telling me "I wish you didn't work Mum, and could be with me. I hate my new nursery, I've no friends and it makes me sad" - no pressure there then. Anyway, I told Karen I'd be in in 20 minutes and left work.

When I got to the home, and opened the door into the foyer shared by Dad's unit and the unit below his ( it's a two storey building ) the smell was almost palpable. It hit you in the face, in the eyes, in the back of the throat. "Jesus, someone's not well in the downstairs unit" I thought and opened the combination door into the inner foyer that leads only to Dad's unit. The smell didn't disappear, but I assumed it had just wafted in with me. As I climbed the stairs, though, the smell was strengthening. My eyes were watering and I was starting to gag. Through two more doors and I was inside. Retching. Staff were flurrying about, either ashen faced or red and blustery, all either donning or removing disposable plastic aprons and rubber gloves. "It's Ina this time Mags, in toilet 4 - all up the walls an aw. And Preti's needs help wi Tam, he's barfed over Agnes and she's no happy" said Francine as she scuttled past "Hi there Jeanie, it's a nice place in here today eh? 20 out of the 40 of them huv that novotel virus - puke and shite everywhere and I think I'm coming oot in sympathy oany minute".

I have a friend who's child has always produced - regardless of food input - the worst smelling wind and excrement I have ever encountered. The child's seemingly angelic face masks a body that manufactures noxious poison. Once, when tasked with baby sitting, I needed to change a nappy. At first whiff I thought I'd put it off - her mother would be back in 20 minutes after all. But it worsened, and there was no way I could suggest I hadn't noticed when she came back. Indeed when the mother herself did come back, with the offending article disposed of outside, the windows opened and the air artificially freshened, she was still incredulous as the strench. So, change the nappy I did - I gagged, I retched, I held my breath and at the time I thought I'd smelled the worst smell I'd ever smell.

I was wrong. Each resident that I passed seemed to bring a fresh onslaught of smell. The incontinence pad is not particularly effective in hiding the smell of pee, but at least it copes with the pee itself, it absorbs it and stops it from escaping. The incontinence pad is not designed to cope with diaorrhea. Especially not diaorrhea that is projected. I only saw one resident have an episode but it would appear that the bouts of diaorrhea are accompanied by a stomach spasm, and a huge burst of gas then projects it out of the body. No inconitence pad is a match for that. It requires an immediate shower and change of everything from the waist down.

It really was like a battle ground. The residents didn't understand what was happening to them, some were embarassed at sitting in their own excrement, some were trying to examine it, some were trying to get to the loo and some, like poor Agnes, where sitting unable to move as the person next to them threw up. It must be very frightening, very bewildering.

Dad's room was a welcoming haven to me that I doubt he's ever felt it was to him. He was lying in bed, securely tucked in. The room was dark and his TV was on. He was sleeping, grey in the face, small and frail looking. I pulled up a footstool to his bedside and sat down. It didn't really register to me that I'd put the chair on the pressure mat, and although I noticed the light on the alarm on the wall, I didn't connect it with my actions. Dad woke. I spoke to him but when he spoke he wasn't coherent - he made no words, just noises. He slept. I was thinking of leaving when he woke again. He realised someone was in the room, that it was a visitor, for him. He roused himself a bit and managed to say a few words. I quietened the TV and tried to understand him before giving up and asking him how he was feeling. He tried to tell me, but looking at him was more information than any words he managed to give me. Karen came in to cancel the alarm my chair had set off and told me more direct information. She said he was looking a lot brighter, and I wondered how bad he must have looked before. She left. Dad's eyelids drooped, almost closed and his eyes rolled from side to side underneath them. I had a huge sensation of deja vu - we've been in that room after he's fainted before and his eyes have typewritered back and forth under his lids.

"What time is it?" he asked. I was surprised he managed to ask. "It's almost five Dad" I replied. He expressed surprise. "If you ask them, they might make you a cup of tea" he said. "Not for me Dad, they're very busy out there and anyway I can't really stay, I need to pick up the kids and get home and make the tea" I started to tumble out excuses, any reason to avoid going back to those smells and sights. "I meant for me" he interrupted. It was the most coherent back and forth interaction of conversation we'd had in weeks. He had said something, I replied, he understood, he understood and followed on, I replied and he understood, corrected and made his meaning clear. I was really pleased. "Sorry, Dad. I'll make you a cuppa, don't worry. You stay here" I said redundantly "and I'll be back in two ticks".

A deep breath, and I lunged through to the kitchen, made tea and tried not to breath.

Dad drank his tea with alarming speed considering the temperature of the liquid, but he seemed to enjoy it. His lucidity had left him, though, he was back in his fug. "Cheese, cheeser, cheesly. Carmon isn't it? Or actually, point of fact, it's chchchonber."

I left soon after, with a kiss to his cheek and a promise to visit tomorrow. When I pick up Ellie she's pleased to see me and cuddles me loads. We go to pick up Mark. We go to M&S to order a birthday cake for Ellie's 4th birthday which is coming up. And we go home.

A few hours later, I hear Ellie shouting from her bed. When I go in I smell a familiar smell and see she's surrounding by piles of puke. Hopefully she'll not get diaorrhea too. As I calm her and clean her and tell her not to worry, my mind races ahead to mentally cancel the following couple of days events, replanning the weekend to ensure we don't carry infection to anyone. At least she'll be through it by her birthday. She'll be better by then. Should I stay away from Dad tomorrow I wonder? He's already surrounded by some kind of vomiting bug, if it's the same one surely it won't harm if I go in? But if it's not the same bug will I make things worse? Or am I just looking for an excuse not to go back in?