“Keep buggering on.”

It is Thursday, August 31^st. I am in mum (& dads) sitting room in Burton, England.

Dad died of a suspected heart attack at approximately 11:30 am on Friday, August 11^th, 2023. Gone before his laptop hit the floor. Poor mum had to administer CPR while on the phone to 999.

After approximately 10 minutes, the paramedics arrived and worked on dad for about 30 minutes. Mum sent me a message on Skype at 11:52 that read “Ed. Dad’s had a heart attack. Ambulance here”.

I then received an email from her at 11:53 with the subject line “Dad” and message reading “Heart attack ambulance here now.x”

By the time I got through on Skype, having tried the home phone, mum had to tell me that he had died. I stayed on Skype with her, while she spoke with the Paramedic, with various other voices in the background. Details were confirmed, full name, date of birth, medications, medical history, name of GP & surgery, funeral director etc. So, if you have anyone die and need to know these things, be sure to have sorted out all the details, and learnt verbatim, so that you can regurgitate them in a time of tremendous shock and trauma.

At this juncture, I’d like to strongly recommend that in addition to having a will, and knowing where the original hardcopy actually is, we should all of us leave behind a 2-page summary of things for those left behind. Dad has left a comprehensive list of things we’ll need to know. Dads was called “If Stanley dies before Susan”. This included the following instruction:

“My Funeral

Burn me. Do just as you wish – church or no church, whatever suits you and helps you most. If you want to send me straight to the gas ovens without church and collect the ashes after the party (if you have one), fine. I’m not that fussy what you do with the ashes, but after you’ve finished sticking two fingers up at them, scattering where where I/we scattered Hugh’s seems as good as anything.”

I digress.

The rest of the day was spent contacting people, checking in with mum and making travel plans. Ringing Abby a little after 9:30 am Texas time was not an easy call to make, especially coming 4 days after her 18^th birthday. Victoria and I left Dublin that evening on the 20:55 sailing to Holyhead and arrived in Burton at approximately 4 am on Saturday 12^th August.

The purpose of this note, dear reader, is to report to you the many mishaps that befell Rev’d Dr. Stanley Monkhouse’s mortal remains in the days thereafter. Please forgive me then, if your own starring role is quickened while I rush through the details.

As I type this on the morning of Thursday 31 August 2023, we are 1 week away from the arranged date of the funeral. The order of service is finalised (I have a physical copy in front of me, which is decidedly odd), many travel plans have been made. Some have made known their desire and plans to attend, while others have expressed their great sorrow at not being able to attend. All of this is lovely, and we have no expectations of anyone. We hope for a suitable send-off for S(a)tan {as He once referred to himself}, our Husband/father/granddad. Or Ex-professor ‘Father’ dad. Or colleague, friend, agitator, radiator, etc. Whichever fits you best.

Without further ado, let’s get to it.

August 11^th. Friday. Death called by Paramedics at his home, while he was lying on his couch. A report is sent to Gordon Street Surgery. Mortal remains collected at approx. 3pm and taken to the Mortuary.

August 12^th. Saturday. We ring the 24-hour number to arrange an appointment to see Dad’s remains ASAP. I pointed out to the voice on the line, that if they only open at 9am on Monday, then having an appointment for 9am will not give anyone time to prepare. The voice realised this was a good point, but then confirmed they were open from 8:30am.

August 14^th. Monday. Gloria and I visit mortal remains at Wellings Funeral Services, Burton-Upon-Trent. We meet our funeral director, Sam, who had worked with dad in his role as Vicar. We have only the best things to say about Wellings and especially Samantha Platt. <Just then, the quiet is broken as 4 more cards are delivered through the door, the dog kicks off. The postman looks decidedly unbothered as his strokes his long beard. Mum has now received in excess of 70 cards. Thank you all.> Before seeing dad, Sam is at pains to point out that has he died on Friday, he is “as is”.

We visit. His face looks peaceful. He is no longer with us. That is certain.

Afterwards, Sam tells us a little about what we can expect in the days and weeks ahead. Some of the information was provided then, some of it later, but in summary; He is likely to need a Post-mortem scan (non-invasive) if the GP is unable or unwilling to sign-off on the cause of death. If the Coroner and the Pathologist are content, the scan will suffice and hopefully prevent the need for an invasive autopsy. If all is in order, this will trigger (A) official release of the remains for cremation, or burial to the Funeral Director, and (B) set the ball rolling on the coroner contacting the registrar so that an appointment can be made (‘in the Library’, as everyone keeps saying) so that mum can register his death.

How does this all work:  

1. Well, if the GP is unable or unwilling to sign-off on the cause of death, then,
2. The remains must be transported to Queens Hospital by the mortuary / funeral director, when informed, as
3. The coroner likes to have them ‘ready to go’, so to speak, so as to prevent any unnecessary waiting times in their processing.
4. The coroner arranges transportation of the remains from the Hospital to the scanning location.
5. The coroner arranges the return, post scan, to the Hospital.
6. The funeral director can then return dad to their care and get on with things.

August 16^th. Wednesday. Sam rings to confirm that Gordon Street Surgery is dad’s GP. I am unsure. Mum is out. We look for a clue (having been unable to access Dad’s computer as the fall seemingly broke it). I can imagine dad being annoyed at our random approach to things as it turned out all the information was already close to hand. I ring my top suspect for Dad’s GP. I have to answer some questions to confirm his identity before they will confirm that he is indeed a patient. I inform them that he died on Friday. I pass the message on to Sam. Then the phone rings, and Gemma from the practice needs more information as it is the first they are hearing that dad has died. A while later, a GP, rings back to advise us that they had found the paramedics (or hospital – I’m no expert) report from the Friday that advised of his death. I can only assume they missed it as they were getting ready to leave for the weekend. We have lost 2 days in our already long English funeral timeline.  The GP informs that the required paperwork has now been dispatched to the coroner. ‘Sorry for the delay..’, etc.

Now things get muddy. We enter a wormhole of administrative blunders and cockups. We are expecting Dad – now on the coroner’s radar – can enter steps 2 and 3 above.

August 21^st. Monday. Gloria and I attend an appointment with our Funeral director, to confirm particulars. Can I just say that some of the coffins and flowers that one can purchase when someone dies are hilarious. Also, the fact that brochures for these things even exist is a peculiar necessity of death. We are informed of a delay. The coroner does not have the information they need. We ask should we pop round and sort it out with the GP. Then we receive confirmation that all the required information has been received. We leave the appointment somewhat uplifted by this change in the state of affairs.

August 22^nd, Tuesday. Dad has now been in a freezer for 11 nights. It has come to our attention that the coroner does not have all the information they need. Crossed wires yesterday. Pity. It seems they emailed the GP to ask for a reason why the GP was unable/unwilling to sign-off on a cause of death. It seems that if you’ve not been to the GP in the 2 weeks prior then it prevents them from doing so. So, if you don’t expect to die and are not planning to, be sure to visit your GP to get a pre-death check-up. Assuming you can get an appointment, that is. Ba-dum-tisk. So, somewhere an email was either sent, or not sent, sent and not received, sent and received and ignored. Who can say. We’ve just loaded up the car with stuff to take to the skip. Team A (me) is going to empty the car. Team B (mum and Gloria) are going to the GP practice. The boot of my car will not shut – that’s fine. Cars can operate with their boot open. Well, they used to. Not now. The car enters emergency mode while I’m on the roundabout and the smell of burning is horrid.  We are all livid. I am raging. I empty the car and make a beeline for the GP surgery. As I arrive, mum and Gloria are getting in the car. Words were said, a promise of a phone call is forthcoming. I am beyond livid. More rage. I park the car. Storm passed the Jags, Mercs and Teslas near the staff door and head for reception. “I don’t care if they arrest me..”

The poor receptionist. I felt terrible for her as I’m holding back the tears while visibly shaking demanding to see the practice manager. Why, she asks? “Why? Dad has been in a freezer for 12 days because this practice is incompetent.” I am informed that the secretary is looking into it and will call us. “That’s not good enough. I am not leaving here until we are seen.” Proper dad move, that.  We wait, I sit reluctantly. Patients are seen, Paddington-esque ‘Hard stares’ all over the place. The receptionist pops her head round to see if we are still sitting there. We are. I get up, walk over to see who is now involved in hushed conversations behind the glass.  Time passes. Feels like a lifetime. We are seen. The practice manager, no less. Once in the treatment room, we relay the situation, as we understand it. Gloria demands she ring the coroner immediately so that they can clear this up. She points out that we all know it’s a heart attack so let’s stop mucking about.  I hear words that are starting to sound like excuses on emails etc. so I shut that down. We do not care who is at fault, we just want dad to have his autopsy and we can move on with his death, and our lives. The practice manager rings the funeral director. We are still in the room. A while later, as pennies start to drop, the practice manager tells us her plan and we reluctantly concede. She apologises. We leave, expecting a phone call within the next few hours. Later, the phone call does occur in the middle of an airport run. We can take a breath. Some order is restored, information is passed, and dad can finally move on to stage 3.

August 23^rd, Wednesday. Dad is on his way to the Hospital to join the scanning queue. Hooray. Word is that the scan will be completed before the weekend and the pathologist will review when next in (as they typically attend on Tuesdays and Thursdays).

August 25^th, Friday. I place three calls to the coroner without success. It’s a long weekend here – perhaps she’s tied up with other things or on a day off.

August 29^th. Tuesday. Dad has now been in various freezers and vans for 18 nights and we are no closer to getting (a) permission or (b) ability to register his death. (A and B as above). I ring the coroner to get an update on the scan and the pathologists report. I am informed that due to transportation issues (a van out of action and was someone off sick? I don’t recall), dad is still in the hospital and the scan has not yet occurred. I am informed that he will be taken for scanning tomorrow.

August 31^st. Thursday.  Today. Dad freezer time now sitting on 20 days. Cause of death – unofficially, obviously a bloody heart attack. Permission to bury/cremate? Pending results of autopsy and confirmation of cause of death.

I rang the coroner at 9:58. Our chat was a little like this,

C: I was just about to ring you, Mr Monkhouse (Mr Monkhouse?? That’s my father! Wakka wakka). He was taken for the scan in Stoke yesterday, but the machine broke somewhere between the other persons scan, and dad being prepared for his scan. They sent him back to the Hospital unscanned. They apologise and are waiting on some technicians to….

What would we like to do? Would we like to ask the pathologist to see if they were willing to proceed with an invasive post-mortem when they come in tomorrow?

E: <long seething silence> I don’t know. We’re all furious. Everything that could have gone wrong, seemingly has. If the scanner in Stoke is broken, then no one is getting scanned?

C: That’s correct.

E: Does the scanning place perhaps have another scanner they could put him through then?

C: Well, yes – there is another one at Sandwell.

E: Oh, where is that?

C: Near Nottingham.

E. (!!!) Right, well get on to them and see if they can do it – and if you’ve any more issues with your transportation, ask Wellings to do it. The funeral is next Thursday, and we need to get his resolved.

I contact Sam and let her know what is the latest. She kindly confirms that they’ll do whatever they can to help facilitate the scan.

10:55. The coroner rings back to confirm with me who the funeral director is (!).

11:08. The coroner ring back to confirm that Sandwell will do the scan and that Wellings will take him over today, wait with him, and bring him back. 4, 5 and 6! Incredible. I am told that paperwork from the scan will be with the coroner’s office later today.  I ask the coroner to please confirm with me when that paperwork has arrived with the coroner.

There are no words! I hope dad is enjoying this maddeningly frustrating comedy of errors from his icebox.

I’d like to say that this was all we were dealing with, aside from the grief that we’re supposed to be processing, whichever guise that presents.

But there has been plenty of other drama, mishaps and modern-day nonsense going on too. But that’s a story for another day.

Best wishes,

Ed