Yesterday was truly horrible.
We arrived at the hospital in Manchester just after three pm, to find my Aunt with her eyes closed and screaming. She is supposed to be drinking a lot, but because they are giving her two ememas a day to clean out the toxins, and she keeps having accidents, she is refusing to eat or drink.
She is also very confused again, and started shouting at us that we shouldn't be there because we will catch something from her. We were all crying. Happily she never so us because her eyes were closed the whole five hours we were there.
I did manage to get her to drink a couple of sips of water, after she'd spit the first gulp out, partly by emotional blackmail, when I reminded her that when I was sick when I was little, I had to do what she said, and would she do this for me?
Her Doctor wasn't on, which to me seemed weird. People don't stop being ill at the weekends, it's not a Monday to Friday 9-5 thing. Because we were so distressed, another Doctor kindly came to talk to us.
It's looking like it may not be Wilson's disease after all, but when we said all her symptoms fit, he explained that all liver disease basically has the same symptoms, including the disturbed mind and the paranoia. He was very nice, but they are still mystified as to what it is, and it will be another two weeks before the last tests are back, and at least that before she can get any treatment. In the mean time she is getting weaker and weaker.
Mum and myself escaped for half an hour and went and sat in the sunshine outside a cafe in Oxford Road, and then found the house that Emeline Pankhurst lived in. Mum is heart broken. My Aunt screamed for Mum not to touch her. Mum explained that she'd shared a bed with her right from Ros being born until the night before Mum got married. She held her hand, and gently wiped her face.
We arrived at the hospital in Manchester just after three pm, to find my Aunt with her eyes closed and screaming. She is supposed to be drinking a lot, but because they are giving her two ememas a day to clean out the toxins, and she keeps having accidents, she is refusing to eat or drink.
She is also very confused again, and started shouting at us that we shouldn't be there because we will catch something from her. We were all crying. Happily she never so us because her eyes were closed the whole five hours we were there.
I did manage to get her to drink a couple of sips of water, after she'd spit the first gulp out, partly by emotional blackmail, when I reminded her that when I was sick when I was little, I had to do what she said, and would she do this for me?
Her Doctor wasn't on, which to me seemed weird. People don't stop being ill at the weekends, it's not a Monday to Friday 9-5 thing. Because we were so distressed, another Doctor kindly came to talk to us.
It's looking like it may not be Wilson's disease after all, but when we said all her symptoms fit, he explained that all liver disease basically has the same symptoms, including the disturbed mind and the paranoia. He was very nice, but they are still mystified as to what it is, and it will be another two weeks before the last tests are back, and at least that before she can get any treatment. In the mean time she is getting weaker and weaker.
Mum and myself escaped for half an hour and went and sat in the sunshine outside a cafe in Oxford Road, and then found the house that Emeline Pankhurst lived in. Mum is heart broken. My Aunt screamed for Mum not to touch her. Mum explained that she'd shared a bed with her right from Ros being born until the night before Mum got married. She held her hand, and gently wiped her face.
