Another day, another inquest. George Julian in court in Woking. Her commitment to shedding light on the horrors embedded within our health and social care systems is extraordinary. This week, it’s 41 year old Daniel. Daniel was living in a 16 ‘bed’ place called Ballater House. He died of choking.
Yesterday the witnesses included two nurses and a support worker. The evidence was woeful. Nobody could say anything about Daniel other than he liked folding clothes and trainers. Trainers were used to bribe him to eat. What was that? To bribe him to eat? Yep. He was told he could see pictures of trainers if he ate his food.
Bribing. Connor was told he could go home if he attended a social group in the unit.
For some months before he died, Daniel made noises at meal times. This definitely was not related to swallowing problems said the clinical lead nurse. Definitely not. Daniel was “nauseating”. And how do you know this, asked the coroner. Because it was nauseating.
Alongside the unusual retching type noises which definitely weren’t swallowing related, Daniel refused to eat anything other than sandwiches for a month before he died. Sandwiches for breakfast, lunch and tea. The nauseating continued and nobody cared enough to really do anything.
Virtual appointments were held with GPs, the hospital phoned the ‘home’ on four separate occasions about Daniel’s health. The calls went to a voice machine in the nurses office and no one bothered to listen back to them.
There was the usual lies and bullshit on show. The lead clinician demonstrated next to no knowledge about diabetes care and said he was not on duty the night Daniel died. He seemed to think he had no responsibility if he wasn’t in sight of Daniel. The absence of healthcare was nothing to do with him. He knew about diabetes from back in the day.
The coroner proved herself to be part of the collective (a loosely defined group of people who contribute to the impoverishment of people’s lives) I write about in my book. She slapped down the family barrister for asking the witnesses questions she’d asked. There were no answers though. No answers at all.
Each question was met with fumbled words generating more questions. More bafflement. More rage and more disgust at the shite that passes for care in this country at such a human cost (well and the ££££s these places charge). Local authorities and commissioners are slumbering or simply do not care. Containment is the name of the game here, as each inquest covered by George reveals. And if that containment is lacking in any basic care, so be it. Disrespect was also in the room. Witness phones ringing and a lack of listening to the questions.
Come again?
This is social murder.
mydaftlife 
Sometimes I just can’t….the outrage is too fierce. Basic humanity isn’t much to ask. Human engagement. We have constructed vast structures of interacting commissioning and delivery behemoths that mean absolutely nothing because the important bit is missing. It’s about having or keeping a job, not doing a job; about filling a rota not filling a space in a life. Sometimes I just can’t…
Thank you for continuing to share.
FFS
So…how would any of you have helped him to eat better? The nation waits.
Yes it is.
On the 19th of December last year my daughter-in-law died. I sat with my Down son, he will be 60 next year, and was married to this tiny innocent little woman for 25 years. He was her devoted partner for 30. They met at school. A school for children with moderate learning disabilities. my son went there when he was four years old. She came later – for was 6 years younger. But age was not a prime factor in this lovely school.
We, my son and I and my son’s underpaid and undervalued support worker, sat with her all morning while she died. My son held her hand as she died, I held his, and his compassionate worker – who does the role and and the tasks of social worker, held mine. He made all the phone calls; did the hospital admin while my son and I sat with her until it was dark outside.
She died long and very painfully, far too young. She died of everything that is wrong with social work and so called Statutory Social Care.
She died of lack of accountability.
They loved every single anniversary for all were a shared celebration. Family birthdays were special time to shop and choose and post presents. Valentines day was always hugely special; where they chose and sent each other a card. My son came to live me for a while soon after she died and we were in a supermarket; his face melted when he saw the Valentine cards.
She loved ‘shiny’ things. The flat was very full of all little purchases that had brought her pleasure. We have cleared them all away and there is a bed settee where her bed was.
It is nearly Christmas again; I see similar shiny pleasures for her everywhere, and I can no longer buy them for her. My son feels same, but for him it is so very much worse.
We have had no support from the social worker who was allocated shortly before she died. I asked this worker first time we met, it was soon after the funeral – ‘why do you stay when the new young social workers all leave’? the reply was ‘ the grass is not greener else where’.
What an elegy.