Tuesday

Mum had begun the Lucid But Awkward And Impatient phase of her cycle. Her speech was much clearer and if you could lead the conversation then she would seem perfectly with it.

The trouble is that I run out of things to say pretty quickly and if left to run the conversation she will veer of into the surreal. So while her speech was clearer than it’d been for ages, I still couldn’t understand a fair bit of what she was talking about. I gathered that some instructions were being given at various points but only because she’d give me a look and then say “Go on then! Do it !”.

She was clear that she had a stomach ache again and that while her arm was sore yesterday and this afternoon, it was alright now. A regular feature in this phase is worrying about money. Last time when she asked how much she’d got in the bank she was amazed at how much she had. This time she said “Is that all!?”

“You’d better go and get it then. Take Lesley with you in case you get followed by some young women. Go on! Do it!”

There were some interesting points to note about the less surreal bits of the conversation this evening. She asked if Eldest Sister was alright and then later asked if Brother got home OK. Large parts of the conversation were in the here and now and for the first time she mentioned several of the staff by name.

By that time, the night shift were well into their rounds of getting people off to bed. I could hear them telling Lily that she could sleep in Room 33 tonight. Quite how that woman copes is beyond me. She spends all day, every day not being sure where she is and looking for the way out. Every evening, she’s not entirely sure where she’s going to sleep that night. For any ordinary person that would be absolutely terrifying but not her. She’s (nearly) always cheerful and polite.

And then the senior nurse on duty came with mum’s meds. I’d seen her once or twice before but not to speak to so I introduced myself.

“Yes, Nick. I know who you are.”

How though? It’s that Hive Mind again.

“Hello Iris. I’ve got three tablets for you. Have a drink first”

I’d offered mum a drink earlier and she’d taken the tiniest of sips. Now she almost drained the entire cup.

“Here’s the first one. Have another drink”

She clearly hadn’t swallowed the tablet. Even I could tell that.

“Have another drink and then open your mouth…. Yep, I think that’s gone. Here are the last two…”

Two more drinks and another check. All good. The nurse left and I turned away to put the Maltesers back on the cabinet. I turned back and Mum said

“Here. Have these.”

I was handed three partially soggy and entirely un-swallowed tablets.

“Bloody hell Mum!”

On reading my update to my siblings, Brother commented

“What is it with old folks and medicines?”

His mother-in-law and her mum too were both “buggers for not swallowing tablets.”

Glenys had this trick where she ground up Mum’s meds and sprinkled them on top of a pot of yoghurt. That seemed to work. I could understand why the others didn’t do that though. Nearly 40 people, all on different meds and not being there often enough to get into a routine like Glenys had. There was also not knowing Mum well enough to be able to tell where she was in her cycle right away and whether she’d be cooperative or not.

Author’s Note

My Mum is in a nursing home in a small village in the Thames Valley. The photo is not of the home. I used an AI image generator to give the reader some idea of the home she’s in.

All, some or maybe even none (you’ll never know!) of the names have been changed to protect privacy and hide real identities. If you think you recognise someone then let me know and I’ll edit the post or remove it entirely