Sunday

It’s taken ages for me to work it out but your dog is a great barometer for your mood. It may be why there are so many reactive dogs around now as everyone seems so stressed and angry. They pick up the slightest thing we do and how we do it to understand what’s going on.

So it was no surprise that Lesley’s stress at the prospect of another trip to her dad caused a bout of misbehaviour in Our Hound this morning. She saw all the signs. The fluster, the swearing, the running out the door to catch the train. After the first attempt at a walk had to be abandoned because The Dog heard shotguns in the distance, we headed out for what would normally have been a seriously long, wet and filthy walk. The Dog had other ideas.

Lesley’s car was still on the drive. That meant she had taken the train so we had to go to the station to rescue her. No sign of Lesley there. The Dog then went through her list of other places that Lesley has been ‘found’ before and wouldn’t take any notice of any other instructions. There was the supermarket in the village, the post office and the doctors’ surgery that needed checking. The walk got done but it was a ninety-minute fight that wasn’t helped at all by my increasing bad mood.

With Lesley back from her dad unscathed, everyone fed and a ‘proper walk completed, I headed off to The Home.

Mum was awake and staring into space when I went in her room. She knew who I was and was pleased to see me.

“I haven’t eaten much today.”

“Haven’t you Mum?”

“No. Didn’t want anything.”

“Aren’t you hungry though?”

“Nope.”

She looked over towards her wardrobe and started talking to however it was she could see there.

“Is that your mum?”

“Yeah. Go and talk to her will you?”

“I will in a minute. She’d like that.”

“Yes. She would.”

There were other Other People with us. Her Aunt Phyl was there and later on she saw Aunt Lil. Later still she thought she saw her dad walk past the room.

There were two milkshakes and a cup of squash on her table. All apparently untouched.

“Fancy a drink Mum?”

“Yes please.”

I picked what looked like the freshest milkshake and she drank it like she hadn’t had a drink all day. But then she possibly hadn’t. That’s two days on the trot that I’d got her to drink a complete milkshake. As usual, half an hour after eating or drinking anything, Mum was gripped by stomach ache. I don’t think the staff get to see this. Once Mum has finished, so far as she does, a meal then the carer has to attend to another resident. They don’t have the luxury of sitting with her for half an hour afterwards to see what happens. It’s hardly surprising that she won’t eat if it makes her so uncomfortable. I’ll keep beating myself up for not making the link sooner and alerting a nurse until I get to speak to someone. 

“Take your coat off. You look hot.”

“I can’t Mum. We had our dinner off trays in front of the telly and I dropped chilli down my shirt so I have to keep it done up. I don’t mind you knowing but don’t tell anyone else.”

“Oh blimey!”

Her carer joined us. I hadn’t seen her before but she seemed to know who I was. How do they do that?

“Iris was telling me all about you today. We had a good chat while I was changing her earlier.”

“Really? Well, I suppose there’s only one thing worse than being talked about and that’s not being talked about.”

That just confused her. I don’t think she was familiar with Oscar Wilde.

“By the way. I’ve got Mum to drink one of her milkshakes.”

“Good! I’ll put it on the system.”

All the time that I’d been there it had been obvious that Eleanor’s anxiety was increasing rapidly. She had been wandering in and out of the lounge and up and down the corridor pleading for someone to help her find her boys and the soft toys that she calls her babies.

As the shifts changed over she would yell at random members of staff.

“Where are you going!?”

“I’m going home.”

“But you can’t go home! Who’s going to look for my babies!?”

Mum’s carer explained that the babies had been playing in the garden today and were having a lie down.

Having shouted at all the carers and nurses, Eleanor spotted me and resumed her pleading.

“Why don’t you come in here and wait for them? I’m just reading Mum a story. There’s a spare seat for you. Look.”

“No. I can’t. What if somebody comes back for it?”

“If anybody comes in then we’ll tell them to sling their hook. Won’t we Mum?”

“No. I can’t.”

As she turned away she thought she caught something out of the corner of her eye.

“FACES AT THE WINDOW!! THERE’S PEOPLE AT THE WINDOW LOOKING IN!!!”

“There’s nobody there, Eleanor. There can’t be. We’re on the top floor.”

She wasn’t convinced and shuffled off wailing.

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