Friday

Mum was starting to wake up today. She wasn’t especially happy or chatty but she was reasonably lucid. She took on board what I was saying to her at least and there were no Other People with us.

Once I’d told her what the weather had been like and how the dog’s walks had gone the only other news I had was about Lesley’s dad.

“Oh, that’s not good”

She was right. It wasn’t good. He had managed to get away with his unconfirmed fall yesterday but couldn’t cover up today’s. He turned up at his day centre with a split lip and abrasions on his knees. He says he fell off the bed. My guess is that his knees got skinned as he struggled to get up. He was wearing his alarm but didn’t think to press it. He did press it later in the day by accident and couldn’t understand the operator who called him in response.

Mum still wasn’t completely with it yet. She confirmed she’d had enough to eat and drink today and declined the offer of a drink this evening but she hadn’t touched her smoothie at all. That’s not ideal. That’s got all sorts of added nutrients in it and is her main source of protein. She’s existing on porridge and Weetabix. She mumbled a lot and several times gave up half way through a sentence. She hadn’t got the strength or the will to finish what she was saying. Or perhaps she understood that I couldn’t make a single word out and just gave up trying. She was with it enough to ask me to read to her though and told me they were nice stories after the first of three chapters.

For the first time in a while she had another episode of repeating “I don’t know what to do” over and over. Just like last time I told her that I would check with Juliette and that I thought the plan hadn’t changed; she should try getting out of bed as it would improve her appetite, improve her digestion, make her stronger and help her sleep better. I added that when the weather got better she could sit in the garden as the fresh air would help too. She agreed. But she agreed so earnestly that I strongly suspect she didn’t mean it for one second. They do say that you should never try to bullshit a bullshitter.

The night shift arrived and the less mobile residents started getting put to bed. There was a new lady a couple of doors down from Mum and she seemed to be very difficult. Eve was assisting her. Mum and I sat in silence listening to Eve getting on the wrong end of a torrent of abuse interspersed by blood-curdling screams. Just awful. I don’t know how Eve managed to give us a smile and a cheery wave as she passed so soon after having been accused of stabbing someone. She’s a bloody saint.

As usual, I didn’t need asking twice when Mum said I could leave if I wanted.

Audrey was properly awake as I was passing through on my way out and thanked me for coming to see her. Callum just waved but Shirley wanted to interrogate me.

“Where are you sleeping tonight?”

“I’m going home”

“Where’s that?”

I told her.

“Ooh, that’s a long way!”

“Not really. Only takes me 5 minutes”

And then, before she could ask anything further…

“I’m in a bit of a rush. I need to get home to take the dog out for a wee.”

Mistake!

Now they all want to meet The Dog. I told them that I didn’t think it would be a good idea as she’s a bit too bouncy for them. I didn’t say that The Dog’s very ableist, that she reacts badly to people who don’t move ‘right’ or that she’d have an absolute field day with all you lot and your walking frames. I did say that if we do want to bring a dog in we borrow the little one from next door. That only makes things worse.

I make my way out after having promised to bring in Margo and am treated to another view of Quiet Callum on the khazi having his evening shit with the toilet door open. That’s nothing unusual and is the hazard you face if you leave just before he’s put to bed.

I suspected (and hoped) that they’d all forgotten about the dog before I’d reached the front door.

Bibliography

Tales from the Parish: 31 humorous short stories about community, family and village life, set in the English countryside

Kindle Edition

by Stefania Hartley

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