The staff and I had been on first-name terms for some time,
and this included the doctor who ran the hospice. I haven’t asked Dr. Steve
Kirkham if I can use his real name, but I’m sure he won’t mind because he
deserves every tribute I can pay him. I didn’t have the opportunity to spend
much time with Steve, because he was a very busy man, but I developed a
profound respect for him.
One day he asked me to step into his office. He seemed ill
at ease, less self-assured than usual. He sat me down at his desk and paced the
room before sitting down himself. “I don’t know quite how to put this,” he
said, “but ... erm... I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to take Liz out of here.”
I felt as if I had been hit by a truck. And I probably
looked pretty foolish sitting there with my jaw in my lap. I finally found my
tongue. “But why, Steve?”
“Because we need the bed.” He shrugged. “It’s as simple as
that.”
“But she’s very happy here.”
“I know she is, and we’re very happy having her here. She’s
probably the most popular patient we’ve ever had. But we think she could live
another year.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not. She’s a strong lady, your wife.”
“I know that, but …”
“We only have six beds in the ward, and I’m sure it hasn’t
escaped your notice that the average patient is in here less than a week.”
“But couldn’t you make an exception in her case, Steve? She
feels safe here, and she knows everyone.”
“I’m afraid we can’t, Max. We would if we could, but we
can’t. I know it will be difficult for her, and for you, having to leave here,
and we’ve agonised over this for some considerable time, but I’m afraid this is
the way it has to be.”
“But where would I take her? I can’t take her home, that’s
for certain.”
“No, taking her home is out of the question. It will have to
be a nursing home that can offer the same level of care she’s been getting here.
There are nursing homes in the area that can offer level four palliative care,
and we can give you a list of them. And her McMillan nurse will drop in on her
regularly and report back. She might not be with us physically, but we’ll know
exactly what’s going on. And you’ll get help with the cost.”
“What cost?”
“The cost of the nursing home.”
“Why will I have to pick up the cost of the nursing home?
Won’t the NHS be picking up the cost, as they do here?”
“It doesn’t work like that, I’m afraid. They’ll pick up the
cost while people are in here, but they won’t pick up the costs of a nursing
home. Especially not one that provides the level of care Liz needs.”
“So, because Liz isn’t dying fast enough, I’m going to have
to pick up the cost. Is that how it is?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but in
essence, yes. I wish it wasn’t but it is. We can’t help. It we didn’t have
people making regular contributions and leaving us money in their wills, we
wouldn’t be able to operate. I was about to say that Poole Council will help
with the cost.
Extract from my book WILL YOU TELL HER, OR SHALL I? A true
story. My story. The story of how I lived with the ten-year terminal illness of
my wife.
Twitter: Maximillian19
FB: facebook.com/Booksthepublishersmissedcom
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