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Wednesday, 4 January 2017
Sunday, 1 January 2017
WASPI Dilemma - To Heat or To Eat
WASPI Dilemma – To Heat Or To Eat?
Wouldn't it be better to have your cake..AND Heat it?
Now that we've finally said “goodbye” to that “Annus
Horribilis” of 2016 it's time to contemplate 2017 and beyond.
Many WASPI women, and some men, are facing still more
challenges and uncertainty from suddenly finding themselves
“pensionless pensioners” and faced with no jobs, no income and
having to stand in line with everyone else at the Jobcentre to claim
handouts, which, under this increasingly murderous Tory government,
they might never receive.
We can only continue to spread the word about the evil
and unjust way we have been robbed by the DWP and continue to fight
for a fair outcome – at the very least an interim series of,
possibly reduced, payments until we finally reach our designated
State Pension Age.
I am one of you. Like many of you I will have to wait 6
years for my state pension and was never officially informed of the
fact other than the odd whisper in the media from which I caught on
to the fact that I would probably have to wait until I was 66.
However, I consider myself to be one of the luckier
ones. I have a part-time job AND I am also self-employed, and both of
these jobs enable me to spend a lot of hours at home doing things I
love to do. I am a widow of four years and don't have any
grand-children like many of you, but if I did, I'm sure I would want
to spend time with them and thankfully both my parents are alive and
in reasonably good health, so I have not yet been called upon to be a
full-time carer for either of them, which, of course, I would do in a
flash and even with all that extra time drain, I would still be able
to keep both my jobs and my quality time at home.
My own health is reasonable but up and down. Sometimes
it takes supreme effort to get out of bed in the morning, mainly due
to the pains in my back and legs and I am also diabetic, but I try to
keep going because I know that if I give in, as I am tempted to do
many times, I will probably end up a bored and lonely old woman with
no-one to talk to and no reason to do anything at all.
So, it is with all the above in mind that I have decided
that 2017 is the year in which I will really try to get involved in
the WASPI campaign and also reach out to my fellow WASPIs with a
message that all is not lost!
Many of you have said that you feel that your lives have
come down to an everyday choice of whether to eat, or heat your home
because that's what it has become. You may have a “job” that you
were hoping to leave but can't because if you did you would be
heading for destitution. Or, worse still, you don't have a job and
feel embarassed and humiliated going to the Jobcentre to sign on for
your £70 a week, which we all know just isn't enough to live on no
matter how frugally you try to live.
So, how can you have your cake...and heat it? Well,
sadly, there is no easy answer because it really depends on your
individual circumstances and I can't answer that question for you but
I can point you in the right direction. It's called Working Tax
Credit and one of the things that the Tory government actually got
right!
Unfortunately, they don't go out of their way to teach
people how to use it and the benefits are hidden away as part of
their agenda to get everyone into “work” so that they can claim
credit for reducing the unemployment figures. It is simply referred
to as an “in work benefit” and we therefore assume it is only for
those with paying jobs. It isn't!
You don't even have to have an income to claim Working
Tax Credit. This is because it is based on the amount of hours you
“work”, not how much you are paid for that work.
Let me explain how this works for me. I have a paid job
and I am self-employed. My paid job is actually a “zero hours
contract” which, for me, is great! I can work when I want to,
mainly from home and I get paid either on actual hours worked or a
commission on sales, whichever is the greater at the end of every
month. Trust me, this is a genuine job with a recognised wine company
and my title is “Wine Adviser”. I make some of my own
appointments from home and the company provide some too and I can
potentially earn as little, or as much, as I want to. All I then have
to do is visit my customers and sell them wine. If they buy, great, I
earn commission. If they don't I get paid a considerably reduced, but
legal, hourly rate.
So, because I am only working an average of 15 hours a
week at this I don't earn a lot from it but it's enough to pay my
everyday bills. In addition to this, because my income is quite low,
I can claim housing benefit and council tax credits.
I am also self-employed and this takes me well over the
required hours for a 60 year old of 16 hours per week. My
self-employment is made up of a number of activities, none of which
are particularly strenuous but all of which are very enjoyable. Along
with my business partner who is 70 and claiming his state pension, we
run MiTeamShirts, a t-shirt printing and personalised goods business
which operates from his home, is mainly internet based and generates
a reasonable turnover with growth potential, but with small taxable profits.
I also have an Ebay shop, from which I sell, at a
reasonable mark-up, goods like collectibles that I pick up from
auctions and charity shops. It's great fun, gets me out of the house
and is currently ticking over nicely.
There are a couple of other income streams I have which
anyone can do that I am developing but the most important thing about
all of these is that I love doing them, and they allow me to claim
Working Tax Credits in addition and in total give me an income not
far short of what I would be receiving from the State Pension.....Roll on SPA!!
So, I'm doing okay and grateful for everything I've got
but the important message here is that provided you are over 60 and
working (employed or self-employed) at least 16 hours a week, you
could probably claim Working Tax Credit too!
If
you have an Ebay shop, or similar, that is registered as a business,
and you notify the tax authorities within one year of starting up,
then you are self-employed!
Make
it a habit to attend one auction a week for 8 hours and then spend
another 8 hours at home listing your items and shipping them out when
you sell them and you could potentially qualify for Working Tax Credits. (I
stress potentially because it really depends on how much actual
income you already have coming in but as a rough guide it could be up
to £19,000 a year including pension income).
So
please take heart from this ladies and gentlemen – all is not lost!
Check out the link below to go to the Money Advice Service for more
information on Working Tax Credit.
Money Advice Service
Please also visit the Government's own Working Tax
Credit Calculator here Tax
Credits Calculator
If you are interested in discovering other routes to
self-employment and working from home contact me on Twitter
or email me chris011056@gmail.com
and I will do my best to help.
Chrissie Fuller
January 2017
Chrissie Fuller is a WASPI member, with previous experience as an Independent Financial Adviser.
Tuesday, 23 February 2016
It has been a long time, over three years, since my last post.
In fact, I am sad to report, that on the 23rd January 2012 it was also Paul's Last Post. He finally succumbed to the dreaded alcohol and his liver simply couldn't cope any more!
It started a couple of weeks earlier at the weekend when I was with him. He had a fall whilst attempting to go to the bathroom, and unfortunately, I couldn't help him to get up so had to send for an ambulance. When they arrived the paramedics checked him over and advised him to go to hospital because his blood pressure was very low. He refused...as was his right.
They helped me to get him into bed and went on their way. A few hours later, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom again, and had another fall. Again, I couldn't get him up off the floor and this time he refused to let me call the ambulance, saying that if he went into hospital it would be for the last time...he didn't think he would be coming home again.
It was a harrowing situation. He was laid on the floor unable to do anything for himself. I cleaned him up as best I could, put a pillow under his head, and covered him with a duvet. He spent the next 12 hours there, unable to move and unwilling to let me call for assistance.
I told him that he needed help and chided him saying that he was being selfish, expecting me to sit and watch him suffer, lying on the floor like a dog, waiting for him to die, and he finally allowed me to phone his GP for advice at 3pm the following day. Her advice was to get him to hospital immediately because if he didn't go, he would almost certainly die on the floor, and very soon. He finally agreed to go and again the ambulance was called for.
As he left in the wheelchair he gave me a feeble smile, and something inside me knew that this time he might not make it through. I followed him to the hospital a short time later and by the time I arrived he was already admitted and wired up with numerous drips attached, and he had slipped into a coma.
I was invited into a consulting room by one of the medics and asked if I was aware of how seriously ill he was. That hit home and it was at that point that I asked if I should be saying "goodbye" to him. The answer was affirmative. We also discussed Paul's last request which had been to not attempt to recuscitate him and the doctor agreed to put a DNR notice on his medical notes.
This was something that Paul and I had discussed at length in the time we had together. The first time he had been "brought back" was such a traumatic experience for him, and knowing that his condition, without the self-help that he was not prepared to give himself, was terminal, he had told me that he had lived a good life, and was prepared to die. In fact, he WANTED to die, feeling that his life was worth nothing and that he had, at 53, already done more in his life than most people did in their WHOLE lives. He also said that when his time came, he would die in a place and at a time of his own choosing, thus, his DNR request was, in some small way, putting him back in control of his own destiny.
He was in coma for approximately three days, and I spent a lot of time with him, just talking to him, playing his favourite music, telling him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him, and begging him to wake up so I could hear his voice one more time.....and on day four...a miracle happened!
He woke up! My parents had got to the hospital shortly before I did, and he was actually awake and asking for fish and chips because he was hungry! I was elated, thinking that just maybe, he had cheated
Death one more time. He was groggy and disorientated, and slurring his words, but he was still ALIVE!
He was moved from a side ward into one of the main wards and appeared to be continuing to improve for the next few days. Then I noticed that his catheter bag was blood red and alarm bells sounded in my head. A sure sign that all was not well, his kidneys were putting out blood and very little else. Also, when the nurses came to turn him in his bed, I was appalled to see that he had a massive bruise on his lower back. Another sure sign that his organs were starting to fail.
I didn't tell him. I didn't want him to worry but I knew deep down that this was not good. My heart broke in two knowing that this really was the beginning of the end. He asked me if I loved him and if I would be willing to move back in with him when he got out of hospital. (We had been living apart for six months. My decision, because I couldn't cope with seeing him destroy himself, but I still loved him and was with him every day and most nights). I told him "yes" to the first part of his question, and to the second part, knowing full well that he wouldn't be coming home, I said, "It's early days Paul, we'll have to see how you get on, but I WILL come home to you, I promise".
I think he was satisfied with that answer. I hope it gave him comfort....and it was true. I would have gone back to live with him because I loved him but also because he would have needed me to look after him.
I left him with his headphones on listening to his bedside television. He was too weak to keep his eyes open to watch TV but I thought listening to it might help to keep his mind occupied.
The following morning at 10.30am I received a telephone call from the hospital asking me to attend urgently because Paul had stopped responding to his treatment. I wasn't sure, but had a good idea that he was dying. I arrived at 11.00am and he was laid in his bed, a half drunk cup of tea on his side cabinet, looking for all the world like he was asleep. I touched his chest and it felt like he was breathing. He looked so peaceful, so not wanting to disturb him I just stood at at the side of his bed holding his hand, which was warm. I stayed like that for about ten minutes.
Then a nurse came in and I asked if he was asleep. Only then did I find out that he was actually dead.
My grief was enormous, but hopefully dignified. I cried buckets of tears, not just for me and my own sorrow but for Paul who had put up such a valiant fight for so much time and finally it was over. Far too soon.
Paul had passed away just minutes before I arrived at his bedside, fulfilling his promise to me that I would not have to watch him die, and also keeping true to his own value of dying at a place and time of his own choosing with no attempt by any medics to keep him alive. He had died quite suddenly, but peacefully and mercifully not in the way he had dreaded. There was no visible sign of him having bled to death as was one of his greatest fears.
And so my story ends. Is there anything to be learned from my experience? I'll let you be the judge of that but let me finish by saying that if you care for and love someone, never stop telling them because you never know when they might not be around to say it to. Don't leave it until it's too late.
And now, I think I can answer the question, "Is there Life After Alcoholism?".
Yes, there is....for those of us who are left behind will carry on..somehow we will get through. For those of us who cannot give up alcohol even when we know it will eventually kill us, then the prognosis is not good, and I only hope and pray that in reading our story, maybe some of you will take strength from it and heed the warning. Please get the help you need and with a lot of assistance and hard work on your part, you might not suffer the way he did, and those you love will not lose you way too soon.
Thank you for reading my blog, and I hope to continue my writing so do pop by sometime in the future!
Good luck, whatever choices you make!
Chrissie
In fact, I am sad to report, that on the 23rd January 2012 it was also Paul's Last Post. He finally succumbed to the dreaded alcohol and his liver simply couldn't cope any more!
It started a couple of weeks earlier at the weekend when I was with him. He had a fall whilst attempting to go to the bathroom, and unfortunately, I couldn't help him to get up so had to send for an ambulance. When they arrived the paramedics checked him over and advised him to go to hospital because his blood pressure was very low. He refused...as was his right.
They helped me to get him into bed and went on their way. A few hours later, he got out of bed to go to the bathroom again, and had another fall. Again, I couldn't get him up off the floor and this time he refused to let me call the ambulance, saying that if he went into hospital it would be for the last time...he didn't think he would be coming home again.
It was a harrowing situation. He was laid on the floor unable to do anything for himself. I cleaned him up as best I could, put a pillow under his head, and covered him with a duvet. He spent the next 12 hours there, unable to move and unwilling to let me call for assistance.
I told him that he needed help and chided him saying that he was being selfish, expecting me to sit and watch him suffer, lying on the floor like a dog, waiting for him to die, and he finally allowed me to phone his GP for advice at 3pm the following day. Her advice was to get him to hospital immediately because if he didn't go, he would almost certainly die on the floor, and very soon. He finally agreed to go and again the ambulance was called for.
As he left in the wheelchair he gave me a feeble smile, and something inside me knew that this time he might not make it through. I followed him to the hospital a short time later and by the time I arrived he was already admitted and wired up with numerous drips attached, and he had slipped into a coma.
I was invited into a consulting room by one of the medics and asked if I was aware of how seriously ill he was. That hit home and it was at that point that I asked if I should be saying "goodbye" to him. The answer was affirmative. We also discussed Paul's last request which had been to not attempt to recuscitate him and the doctor agreed to put a DNR notice on his medical notes.
This was something that Paul and I had discussed at length in the time we had together. The first time he had been "brought back" was such a traumatic experience for him, and knowing that his condition, without the self-help that he was not prepared to give himself, was terminal, he had told me that he had lived a good life, and was prepared to die. In fact, he WANTED to die, feeling that his life was worth nothing and that he had, at 53, already done more in his life than most people did in their WHOLE lives. He also said that when his time came, he would die in a place and at a time of his own choosing, thus, his DNR request was, in some small way, putting him back in control of his own destiny.
He was in coma for approximately three days, and I spent a lot of time with him, just talking to him, playing his favourite music, telling him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him, and begging him to wake up so I could hear his voice one more time.....and on day four...a miracle happened!
He woke up! My parents had got to the hospital shortly before I did, and he was actually awake and asking for fish and chips because he was hungry! I was elated, thinking that just maybe, he had cheated
Death one more time. He was groggy and disorientated, and slurring his words, but he was still ALIVE!
He was moved from a side ward into one of the main wards and appeared to be continuing to improve for the next few days. Then I noticed that his catheter bag was blood red and alarm bells sounded in my head. A sure sign that all was not well, his kidneys were putting out blood and very little else. Also, when the nurses came to turn him in his bed, I was appalled to see that he had a massive bruise on his lower back. Another sure sign that his organs were starting to fail.
I didn't tell him. I didn't want him to worry but I knew deep down that this was not good. My heart broke in two knowing that this really was the beginning of the end. He asked me if I loved him and if I would be willing to move back in with him when he got out of hospital. (We had been living apart for six months. My decision, because I couldn't cope with seeing him destroy himself, but I still loved him and was with him every day and most nights). I told him "yes" to the first part of his question, and to the second part, knowing full well that he wouldn't be coming home, I said, "It's early days Paul, we'll have to see how you get on, but I WILL come home to you, I promise".
I think he was satisfied with that answer. I hope it gave him comfort....and it was true. I would have gone back to live with him because I loved him but also because he would have needed me to look after him.
I left him with his headphones on listening to his bedside television. He was too weak to keep his eyes open to watch TV but I thought listening to it might help to keep his mind occupied.
The following morning at 10.30am I received a telephone call from the hospital asking me to attend urgently because Paul had stopped responding to his treatment. I wasn't sure, but had a good idea that he was dying. I arrived at 11.00am and he was laid in his bed, a half drunk cup of tea on his side cabinet, looking for all the world like he was asleep. I touched his chest and it felt like he was breathing. He looked so peaceful, so not wanting to disturb him I just stood at at the side of his bed holding his hand, which was warm. I stayed like that for about ten minutes.
Then a nurse came in and I asked if he was asleep. Only then did I find out that he was actually dead.
My grief was enormous, but hopefully dignified. I cried buckets of tears, not just for me and my own sorrow but for Paul who had put up such a valiant fight for so much time and finally it was over. Far too soon.
Paul had passed away just minutes before I arrived at his bedside, fulfilling his promise to me that I would not have to watch him die, and also keeping true to his own value of dying at a place and time of his own choosing with no attempt by any medics to keep him alive. He had died quite suddenly, but peacefully and mercifully not in the way he had dreaded. There was no visible sign of him having bled to death as was one of his greatest fears.
And so my story ends. Is there anything to be learned from my experience? I'll let you be the judge of that but let me finish by saying that if you care for and love someone, never stop telling them because you never know when they might not be around to say it to. Don't leave it until it's too late.
And now, I think I can answer the question, "Is there Life After Alcoholism?".
Yes, there is....for those of us who are left behind will carry on..somehow we will get through. For those of us who cannot give up alcohol even when we know it will eventually kill us, then the prognosis is not good, and I only hope and pray that in reading our story, maybe some of you will take strength from it and heed the warning. Please get the help you need and with a lot of assistance and hard work on your part, you might not suffer the way he did, and those you love will not lose you way too soon.
Thank you for reading my blog, and I hope to continue my writing so do pop by sometime in the future!
Good luck, whatever choices you make!
Chrissie
Update on Paul's current condition
Since last year Paul has been in hospital three times as a direct result of encephalopathy. We have had to give up our jobs and I am now his full time carer.
Usually, when his symptoms start its a case of getting him admitted to hospital as quickly as possible. His GP visits him at home, runs a couple of diagnostic tests on him and then if he considers that his life is in danger he will admit him.
One of the tests is the simple "clock" test. Paul is asked to draw a clock face and put the numbers around it in the correct order. Easy enough for you and me, and also for Paul when he's normal, but what he actually does is put all of the numbers in one quarter of the clock at random. Sometimes he doesn't even bother with the numbers - just a load of lines and squiggles.
The other test is to see if he can hold his arms outstretched in front of his face and keep his palms facing out. Again, a simple task, but if his hands can't stay palms out, then he's probably got the disease. They call it the "flap" test.
He's been ok since November which was the last time he was hospitalised. He was admitted and discharged within 24 hours, and then I had to have him admitted again 2 hours later. The problem was that the hospital doctors seemed to assume that he was drunk rather than encephalopathic, so they just kept him under observation overnight and discharged him the following day.
I went to the hospital at visiting time expecting him to be hooked up to intravenous drugs etc only to find him sitting in the hospital waiting room. He had apparently been there for four hours waiting for me to come and get him. No-one had bothered to call me. He was pleased to see me and asked me where I'd been. He was like a child on Christmas Day! It was not my Paul.
I knew straight away that he was far from well, but when I challenged his discharge I was told by the sister on the ward that the doctor felt that there was nothing wrong with him.
We walked down to where our car was parked and Paul tried to climb into the boot of the car. It was obvious to me that he was far from OK. I telephoned his GP who advised me to take him straight back to Accident and Emergency and insist on him being re-admitted. I think I've mentioned in this blog previously that his condition is such that if he doesn't get immediate treatment he could got into a coma and die, and as such I was absolutely livid with the hospital doctors for discharging him without giving him any treatment!
After about four hours I finally persuaded the staff at the hospital that they should re-admit Paul, but this was under protest from the staff who were adamant that there was nothing wrong with him. The next day they were proved wrong after having taken a good look at Paul, and he remained in hospital for another three days until his condition had improved.
As I write, I am again confronted with a dilemma. Over the weekend Paul started to display symptoms of encephalopathy again. Drowsiness, confusion and loss of spacial awareness together with incontinence and aggressive behaviour.
Strangely though, he appears to have picked up again without any medical intervention. This has never happened before and I have to admit to being slightly suspicious. Normally, it just one way - downhill rapidly! At present its as if he's hovering on the verge of it, but not quite there yet. I'll be watching him closely for the next few days just in case he takes a turn for the worse.
Thanks for looking and hopefully I'll be back blogging again soon. One of the reasons I haven't been on here for a while is down to my new business venture. If you would like to see what I've been up to by all means pay a visit to www.myteamshirts.co.uk and let me have your comments.
Speak soon!
Chrissie
Usually, when his symptoms start its a case of getting him admitted to hospital as quickly as possible. His GP visits him at home, runs a couple of diagnostic tests on him and then if he considers that his life is in danger he will admit him.
One of the tests is the simple "clock" test. Paul is asked to draw a clock face and put the numbers around it in the correct order. Easy enough for you and me, and also for Paul when he's normal, but what he actually does is put all of the numbers in one quarter of the clock at random. Sometimes he doesn't even bother with the numbers - just a load of lines and squiggles.
The other test is to see if he can hold his arms outstretched in front of his face and keep his palms facing out. Again, a simple task, but if his hands can't stay palms out, then he's probably got the disease. They call it the "flap" test.
He's been ok since November which was the last time he was hospitalised. He was admitted and discharged within 24 hours, and then I had to have him admitted again 2 hours later. The problem was that the hospital doctors seemed to assume that he was drunk rather than encephalopathic, so they just kept him under observation overnight and discharged him the following day.
I went to the hospital at visiting time expecting him to be hooked up to intravenous drugs etc only to find him sitting in the hospital waiting room. He had apparently been there for four hours waiting for me to come and get him. No-one had bothered to call me. He was pleased to see me and asked me where I'd been. He was like a child on Christmas Day! It was not my Paul.
I knew straight away that he was far from well, but when I challenged his discharge I was told by the sister on the ward that the doctor felt that there was nothing wrong with him.
We walked down to where our car was parked and Paul tried to climb into the boot of the car. It was obvious to me that he was far from OK. I telephoned his GP who advised me to take him straight back to Accident and Emergency and insist on him being re-admitted. I think I've mentioned in this blog previously that his condition is such that if he doesn't get immediate treatment he could got into a coma and die, and as such I was absolutely livid with the hospital doctors for discharging him without giving him any treatment!
After about four hours I finally persuaded the staff at the hospital that they should re-admit Paul, but this was under protest from the staff who were adamant that there was nothing wrong with him. The next day they were proved wrong after having taken a good look at Paul, and he remained in hospital for another three days until his condition had improved.
As I write, I am again confronted with a dilemma. Over the weekend Paul started to display symptoms of encephalopathy again. Drowsiness, confusion and loss of spacial awareness together with incontinence and aggressive behaviour.
Strangely though, he appears to have picked up again without any medical intervention. This has never happened before and I have to admit to being slightly suspicious. Normally, it just one way - downhill rapidly! At present its as if he's hovering on the verge of it, but not quite there yet. I'll be watching him closely for the next few days just in case he takes a turn for the worse.
Thanks for looking and hopefully I'll be back blogging again soon. One of the reasons I haven't been on here for a while is down to my new business venture. If you would like to see what I've been up to by all means pay a visit to www.myteamshirts.co.uk and let me have your comments.
Speak soon!
Chrissie
Friday, 17 October 2014
Friday, 4 February 2011
Encefalopathy - yet another symptom of alcoholism
Paul was in hospital three times in a space of six months in 2009. The first was his major life-threatening incident and this was followed by two more shorter spells.
After his first visit to hospital his specialist advised him that if he continued to drink any alcohol he would probably not survive more than six months because his liver was only working at about 25% of its normal capacity.
He was advised to stop drinking completely and Paul's reaction was to say, "If I'm going to die I might as well carry on!". This didn't make me feel any better at all - I wasn't ready to let him go, but they doctors had given him a death sentence and all we could do was make the most of the time we had left, and try to prepare for the inevitable.
Paul was very stoical about everything - as he rightly pointed out, he wasn't afraid of dying and having "seen it all and done it all" there was nothing he still felt he wanted to do in life. He'd had a good one and he didin't believe in any kind of afterlife, so for him it was, and still is, a case of "When I'm gone, I'm gone, and I won't be around to worry about it."
My reaction, naturally, was different. I just couldn't get my head around the fact that he was going to leave me so soon. I had finally found the one man who loved me for who I was and who I could genuinely say I loved back just as much in spite of all the problems, and now he was going to leave me on my own.
I did a lot of crying, mostly in private, but then I decided that all I could really do was carry on and hope for the best.
It was around this time that Paul proposed to me and knowing that our time together may be short, I accepted and we were married in the local register office. Paul made a tremendous effort and really scrubbed up well for the wedding. We had a wonderful day surrounded by our friends and my family because Paul's parents were long dead and he had no brothers or sisters.
A couple of months after the wedding Paul became extremely tired and refused to get out of bed for anything. He was grumpy and irritable and full of bad language - not at all like himself, and, imagining that this was the beginning of the end, I started to get really worried about him so I sent for the doctor.
He did a few checks on him and when it was quite obvious that Paul didn't even know what day it was, the doctor said he was probably suffering from encefalopathy, a brain disease that is caused by a build up of toxins in the blood. It happens when the liver becomes unable to do its normal job of filtering out the impurities. Paul was back drinking at this stage - not so much as before, but enough to cause further damage.
He was rushed into hospital for the second time and put on a drip to feed high doses of Vitamin K into his system amongst other things including up to 4 litres of blood. When I went to visit him in the evening he was still out of it and I really did think that this was the beginning of the end. I went home fully expecting to receive a phone call to tell me he was on his way.
The following morning, having heard nothing from the hospital I rang and they told me he was out of danger. I gathered together some bits and pieces of clothing for him and took them to hospital for him. He was very tired but at least he knew me again and over the next three or four days his memory slowly started to come back. He could remember nothing about the events prior to his hospital admission and was very surprised to have woken up there. Apparently nobody had bothered to talk to him about his admission or his condition.
In a nutshell, encefalopathy is a highly dangerous and life threatening condition. It causes dementia-like symptions and all common sense and memory go out of the window. If not caught and treated in time it will kill you. In the longer term, if it doesn't take your life it does erode your short term memory and in Paul's case he found he had difficulty remembering people's names and appointments.
But in spite of this, Paul, as had so often happened in his past life, had now cheated death FOUR times in the space of about three months!
See you next time!
After his first visit to hospital his specialist advised him that if he continued to drink any alcohol he would probably not survive more than six months because his liver was only working at about 25% of its normal capacity.
He was advised to stop drinking completely and Paul's reaction was to say, "If I'm going to die I might as well carry on!". This didn't make me feel any better at all - I wasn't ready to let him go, but they doctors had given him a death sentence and all we could do was make the most of the time we had left, and try to prepare for the inevitable.
Paul was very stoical about everything - as he rightly pointed out, he wasn't afraid of dying and having "seen it all and done it all" there was nothing he still felt he wanted to do in life. He'd had a good one and he didin't believe in any kind of afterlife, so for him it was, and still is, a case of "When I'm gone, I'm gone, and I won't be around to worry about it."
My reaction, naturally, was different. I just couldn't get my head around the fact that he was going to leave me so soon. I had finally found the one man who loved me for who I was and who I could genuinely say I loved back just as much in spite of all the problems, and now he was going to leave me on my own.
I did a lot of crying, mostly in private, but then I decided that all I could really do was carry on and hope for the best.
It was around this time that Paul proposed to me and knowing that our time together may be short, I accepted and we were married in the local register office. Paul made a tremendous effort and really scrubbed up well for the wedding. We had a wonderful day surrounded by our friends and my family because Paul's parents were long dead and he had no brothers or sisters.
A couple of months after the wedding Paul became extremely tired and refused to get out of bed for anything. He was grumpy and irritable and full of bad language - not at all like himself, and, imagining that this was the beginning of the end, I started to get really worried about him so I sent for the doctor.
He did a few checks on him and when it was quite obvious that Paul didn't even know what day it was, the doctor said he was probably suffering from encefalopathy, a brain disease that is caused by a build up of toxins in the blood. It happens when the liver becomes unable to do its normal job of filtering out the impurities. Paul was back drinking at this stage - not so much as before, but enough to cause further damage.
He was rushed into hospital for the second time and put on a drip to feed high doses of Vitamin K into his system amongst other things including up to 4 litres of blood. When I went to visit him in the evening he was still out of it and I really did think that this was the beginning of the end. I went home fully expecting to receive a phone call to tell me he was on his way.
The following morning, having heard nothing from the hospital I rang and they told me he was out of danger. I gathered together some bits and pieces of clothing for him and took them to hospital for him. He was very tired but at least he knew me again and over the next three or four days his memory slowly started to come back. He could remember nothing about the events prior to his hospital admission and was very surprised to have woken up there. Apparently nobody had bothered to talk to him about his admission or his condition.
In a nutshell, encefalopathy is a highly dangerous and life threatening condition. It causes dementia-like symptions and all common sense and memory go out of the window. If not caught and treated in time it will kill you. In the longer term, if it doesn't take your life it does erode your short term memory and in Paul's case he found he had difficulty remembering people's names and appointments.
But in spite of this, Paul, as had so often happened in his past life, had now cheated death FOUR times in the space of about three months!
See you next time!
Sunday, 23 May 2010
Dicing With Death
It was May 2009 when everything came to a dramatic head.
I had been sleeping on the couch in the living room to give Paul a bit more rest, and he woke me up about 2am and asked me to call an ambulance.
When I had collected my thoughts he told me that he had just been sick and thrown up about two pints of blood - as he was telling me this he suddenly became sick again and I rushed to get a bowl from the kitchen and he promptly threw up what looked like another few litres of blood.
I called for the ambulance service who arrived within about two minutes and they checked his blood pressure which was alarmingly low and immediately put him into the ambulance. I offered to go with him, but he didn't want me there (he thought he was going to die and didn't want me to watch it happen). It seemed an age before the ambulance set off, and I only found out later that he had actually died in the ambulance and they had managed to bring him back, hence the delay.
Apparently, he "died" twice more - once on the way and then again when they got him to Accident and Emergency. He had only one pint of blood left in his system at that point so they immediately gave him blood transfusions and had to resuscitate him. Needless to say he was extremely lucky to have been cared for by an excellent pair of paramedics and then later in hospital.
He spent two weeks in hospital on this occasion and later told me that the worst part of dying was the coming back - a lot of pain from the resuscitation process - and he asked me to promise that if anything like that happened again, I should ask the medics not to resuscitate. It was really hard to do but I made the promise, not really being sure that I could ever carry it out, but for now, at least, I still had him.
More to follow..
I had been sleeping on the couch in the living room to give Paul a bit more rest, and he woke me up about 2am and asked me to call an ambulance.
When I had collected my thoughts he told me that he had just been sick and thrown up about two pints of blood - as he was telling me this he suddenly became sick again and I rushed to get a bowl from the kitchen and he promptly threw up what looked like another few litres of blood.
I called for the ambulance service who arrived within about two minutes and they checked his blood pressure which was alarmingly low and immediately put him into the ambulance. I offered to go with him, but he didn't want me there (he thought he was going to die and didn't want me to watch it happen). It seemed an age before the ambulance set off, and I only found out later that he had actually died in the ambulance and they had managed to bring him back, hence the delay.
Apparently, he "died" twice more - once on the way and then again when they got him to Accident and Emergency. He had only one pint of blood left in his system at that point so they immediately gave him blood transfusions and had to resuscitate him. Needless to say he was extremely lucky to have been cared for by an excellent pair of paramedics and then later in hospital.
He spent two weeks in hospital on this occasion and later told me that the worst part of dying was the coming back - a lot of pain from the resuscitation process - and he asked me to promise that if anything like that happened again, I should ask the medics not to resuscitate. It was really hard to do but I made the promise, not really being sure that I could ever carry it out, but for now, at least, I still had him.
More to follow..
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