Monday

The day started with a trip to Lesley’s dad’s. His carer had attended first thing and had got him up, bathed, dressed, breakfasted and medicated and reported that he was fine today. He certainly looked alright on the webcam as he sat and waited for his lift to the day centre.

He was still out when we arrived so we took the chance to take The Dog on one of her favourite walks. There was plenty of water in the streams and plenty of sticks on the ground after the recent storms and she ran herself ragged.

We got back as Dad was being delivered home. His driver said that Dad had been very tired and it took two people to get him from the car to his front door. He got seated and I poured him a cup of tea before going upstairs to check on his central heating program. After the change in the weather we’d seen him sitting with a blanket over his knees yesterday morning. His heating needed to come on earlier than it had during the summer.

Literally within two minutes of me handing him his tea I heard him ask Lesley if she’d been able to cope with The Dog in the car on her own alright.

“But Nick’s with me.”

“Is he!?”

I told Lesley that Dad had left the immersion heater on all morning again and that the water was scalding hot. I’d changed the program so that there should have been plenty of hot water before his morning bath before the carers had started coming to him. There should have been no need for the electric heater as well.

We’ve been told that Dad always goes in the airing cupboard before his bath to check the hot water tank. He’s evidently switching the immersion heater on as well and then forgets that he’s done it.

“Dad? Why was the immersion heater left on?”

“Oh. That must have been erm…”

He can’t remember the carers’ names and can’t tell them apart. But whatever it was that was done wrong and whoever it was that did it, you can always guarantee that it wasn’t him. He then proceeded to tell us that he has to tell the carers not to put any cold water in the bath because he doesn’t want a cold bath. The water from the hot tap is hot enough to poach an egg.

It’s a good job he isn’t able to bath himself. If he got in that water on his own he’d be in serious danger.

So it was quite late when I got to The Home. Mum was asleep but came to at the first time of asking.

For her second day awake, Mum seemed remarkably bright and talkative. She knew who I was and was cooperative when offered a drink. Then I remembered that the Sleepy phase that ended yesterday hadn’t been especially deep this time around so it wasn’t that surprising that she was so lucid today.

Mum was quite happy to sit and talk while I held her hand and tried to keep up with what she was trying to say. That said, she was a lot less indistinct than she’d been in weeks.

She listened intently while I told her about my day. How The Dog had gone potty fetching sticks out of the water. How The Dog had over-done it and was now too stiff to get on the sofa without help. How I had to have a shower before coming to see her because I was so dirty.

“I got home filthier than The Dog!”

“Oh blimey!”

“But then I’ve always been like that. When we took the dogs out in the forest when we were kids, I’d always come home the dirtiest..”

“Yeah. Dirtiest”

“And the wettest”

“Yeah. Wettest. Oh blimey!”

Then she thought for a while.

“I reckon this place will be closing down soon.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that Mum. This place has got years left in it.”

“When the other place is ready, I’ll go in there.”

“Oh. OK. I’ll let them know. I can put your name down for a room. Make sure we get you a good one.”

That was interesting on all sorts of levels. She’s quite right. The home she’s just moved from was closed for redevelopment. When that home has been rebuilt, all the residents will be moved out of The Home and relocated there. Then The Home will be rebuilt from scratch. To my knowledge, nobody has ever told Mum any of that.

Also, while Mum speaks about leaving The Home every week when her delirium is at its most hyperactive level, she normally means she’s going to her home. Not this time. She was talking about going to a different nursing home. Odd that.

I’d run out of news fairly quickly, as per usual. But Mum wanted to talk. When Mum wants to talk and gets to lead a conversation it can go in a surreal direction pretty quickly even if she’s relatively lucid.

She started by telling me about a trip to the paper shop at the end of the road this morning. That told me she was talking about a time when she was probably primary school age.

“Is that where you get your sweets from?”

“Yeah.”

“I bet that’s where The Boys get their fags from too!”

“Yeah!” she replied, laughing.

‘The Boys’ is how she refers to her younger uncles.

“Does your mum know they all smoke?”

“No!” – more laughing – “I didn’t tell her. Doris might have but I never.”

A little while later…

“They’ve got a horse down there!”

“Who does that belong to? Is it the milkman?”

“Yeah”

That also dates when she was talking about.

Mum’s room is in a busy part of the top floor. It’s opposite the lounge, not far from the kitchen and between the nurses’ office and most of the resident rooms. Mum was purposely given that room because I’d said how much stimulation she gets from passing traffic. But tonight it was a problem and she was alert to everyone who went past and every time she asked

“Is that my dad?”

She was worried about her dad today. She hadn’t seen him all day.

“He’s been working but he couldn’t do it and has to wait for The Boys to come back”

She didn’t say what he was doing but I guessed he was in the garden.

“But The Boys are at work aren’t they Mum? He’ll have to wait till this evening after they’ve had their teas.”

“Yeah”

“They’re not going to like that. I bet they’d rather be in the pub!”

“Yeah!”

More laughter.

“I wouldn’t worry about your dad. He’ll come back in when he’s ready.”

That seemed to settle her and she drifted off to sleep.

So while Mum was calm, relatively cheerful and comfortable, Eleanor was struggling again today. She’d been in bed when I’d visited yesterday and I’ve never known her sleep during the day. But today, she was up. Looking a bit dishevelled and without her dentures but out of bed and out of sorts. She was in a foul temper. Shouting and swearing at everyone. Even me. She’s never told me off before and I got a right mouthful. She and Annie normally patrol the lounge and the corridor together. They hunt in a pack. Even Annie got shouted at today. The poor woman looked crushed and lost. I beat a hasty retreat and left them all to it.

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