Thursday

Reggie and The Manager were both on the top floor when I emerged from the lift at The Home this afternoon.

“Nick!” they said in unison.

The Manager was back to her usual self today and said she was having a better day.

“Yes, well, it was a tough day yesterday for everybody.” I said.

“And how about Mum? I presume she’s…”

“Asleep.” said Reggie to complete my sentence for me.

“Good. She’s sticking to her schedule then.”

I left them to finish whatever it was they were doing.

Mum was just failing a responsiveness test when Al came in to witness me saying “Hello Mum! It’s Nick!” for the third and final time.

Mum had, apparently, eaten a good breakfast and had started slipping into her Sleepy phase during the mid-morning change. In spite of that, Al said he’d been able to get Mum to eat some lunch. He said it wasn’t unusual for him to be able to get Mum to eat and drink a little during the times when she’s at her sleepiest. That was a rosier picture than the one Reggie described yesterday. I’m a lot less worried that Mum goes days without eating or drinking on a regular basis.

Having fought my way through the new roadworks on the way to The Home I didn’t feel inclined to head straight home. It had been a while since I’d visited Audrey and I thought it would be nice to spend a few minutes with her while I drank the tea that Al had made for me.

Audrey was keen to tell me about the plans she had for a meeting that she wanted everyone to attend. Although she was still struggling a bit with her vocabulary there was something familiar about what she said and the way she said it.

“I agree entirely Audrey. You know, when I’ve been involved in projects that result in major corporate change, it’s important that everybody who will be impacted by that change feels involved. Not everybody will be involved in every facet of the change process but you don’t want to exclude people and make them unnecessarily resistant to change right at the outset.”

She lit up and excitedly told me, at great length, stories of projects past. How she knew what and what not to say to stakeholders who included “a group of MP’s” and “The Colonel”, how the projects were worth “many millions of pounds”, how she liked to write huge reports and how much she liked referring objectors and blockers to sections buried deep in those reports where she’d already answered the questions they raised.

I still have no idea what she did for a living and I don’t really want to find out. It was enough to see the extraordinary amount of pleasure she got from having someone acknowledge and respect the intellect that she has no matter how deeply buried it’s become. She also liked to hear the experiences of a kindred spirit and fellow traveller on the highways and byways of consultancy. The hour I spent with her flew by.

“You’re no fool” she told me.

“Well, you might think that but there are plenty who would dispute your view.”

While walking The Dog after we’d had dinner, Lesley’s dad phoned. He sounded really pleased with himself. A courier had tried to deliver something, he’d assumed that it was more of the kit that was intended to make things easier for him at home which he’d already rejected and sent them packing.

“But Dad,” Lesley pleaded, “That was the stuff I’d arranged to replace the things you didn’t want. It’s taken me months to get them to deliver better alternatives!!”

“But it was the same stuff”

“NO! NO! It was different!”

“Well the box looked the same.”

“Of course it looked the same. It’s a cardboard box from the same company but it was definitely different stuff inside!”

“Oh. Nobody said it was coming”

“YES! YES! I told you loads of times!!”

It’s not possible to tell whether he just hadn’t heard or whether he had heard and had forgotten. But there was no point fuming about it. Lesley just had to accept that he didn’t mean to be so awkward and anyone who knows anything about coping with a dementia sufferer will say the same.

But what fascinates me is that I talk to all sorts of people with quite severe cognitive impairment every day and when they do or say something odd or unhelpful I’m able to deal with it effortlessly. When Lesley’s dad does it I find it absolutely infuriating.

What made this particular incident even more infuriating is that on Tuesday he’d had another unexpected delivery and he’d allowed that courier into his house, up the stairs and into his bedroom. They could’ve been anybody and he just let them in.

Bloody hell

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