Nursing Home

By Nick Gilmore

Published: 7 Oct, 2024

Monday

It’s not often that I get the chance to say that a visit to Mum had been a good one. Without looking back through my notes and checking I can’t say when I last said it  but I don’t think I’ve said it so far this year. But today was the best in a very long time.

Well, mostly.

It helped that it was a lovely afternoon and I was early for a change.

Mum was bright, cheerful, chatty and laughed a lot. There were no Other People with us until quite late in the visit when a small boy appeared at the bottom of the bed.

“I’m early because I’ve come straight from having my COVID jab.”

“Have you? Good.”

Al popped his head in the door soon after I arrived.

“Mr Gilmore!”

“Hello Sir!”

“Can I bring you a cup of tea?”

“Ooh! Yes please. And Mum’s just asked for a cup of coffee.”

“What!? Really!? OK”

Tea and coffee were swiftly delivered with a handful of ginger biscuits. Al knows they’re my favourite.

“Your coffee’s still a bit hot Mum. Have some squash while it cools down.”

“Yeah.”

Mum drank and talked.

“Do you fancy one of these biscuits?”

She looked hesitant. I broke off a piece and dunked it in my tea to soften it.

“Nice?”

“Mmmm”

She managed half a biscuit before saying she didn’t want any more. With her current record of refusing any food at all, I thought half a biscuit was a good effort from her.

I kept checking how hot her coffee was and giving her squash while she talked.

“What about your tea?”

“Already gone Mum.”

“Oh!”

More talking. More squash.

“Aren’t you going to eat your biscuits?”

“Already have Mum. They didn’t last long. I’m on a see-food diet.”

“ARE YOU!?”

“Yeah. I see food. I eat it.”

“Oh blimey!”

Unusually, Mum was with-it enough to get the joke. The biscuits gave me a chance to talk about old times. We talked about her teaching me to bake. Ginger cake and gingerbread men. She clearly remembered and laughed a lot.

Then, completely out of nowhere…

“Don’t let me live.”

I said nothing. I offered her the coffee. She drank and then carried on the good-humoured chat as before until there was another dip.

“There are two aunties I don’t want to see.”

“Who’s that Mum?”

“Auntie Sylvia and, um, I can’t remember.”

I didn’t think we had an Auntie Sylvia but I let it go.

“Don’t worry about the other one Mum. Think about something else and the name will come to you.”

It didn’t.

Jean got another mention.

“How do you know Jean Mum?”

Finding out who Jean was was tantalisingly close. Mum’s answer was both uncertain and indistinct. It’ll have to wait for another day.

She did have another maudlin moment. She squeezed my hand and told me she loved me. I don’t know why that makes me feel so awkward. Just being English I suppose. She followed that by talking to a little boy that she’d seen standing at the bottom of her bed.

In spite of the dips in her mood it had been a good visit. It seemed like everybody was having a good day. There was no shouting or complaining from either Audrey or Eleanor and I heard Betty’s visitor telling her that she looked better than she’d done in ages. Perhaps just being there earlier than normal was the key. I know that anxieties increase during the day and I’d just got there before they’d boiled over.

I rubbed my jabbed arm without thinking.

“Is that sore?” Mum asked, “Do you want to go and take something for it?”

I took the chance to escape as soon as it presented itself.

I met another visitor on my way out. We compared notes on our respective Mums. They seemed to be following the same path. Good today but generally quite poorly, dips and peaks in their activity, a significant decline since transferring from the last home and still being with us against all expectations, He made me laugh by telling me that he couldn’t understand his sister having bought his mum a 2025 calendar.

“She’s not going to get much use out of that!” he said.

“Well, you never know… Steve at the last home scared the living daylights out of me when he said Mum could be in this state for years!”

We both shuddered at the thought and left.

It was a good day but it could’ve started better. What with unfortunate shift patterns, carers being ill and carer’s kids being ill, Lesley’s dad hadn’t had a carer visit since Thursday. In that short time he was already showing signs of moisture lesions again when he’d been clear before.

On her recent trips to see him, Lesley had been taking him something to eat for his evening meals. The carer found them all in his fridge unopened. There is no way of knowing what, or even if, he has been eating. He can’t remember.

During her visit yesterday, Dad had complained to Lesley that his pain was getting worse.

“You’re not taking your paracetamol. That’s why.”

“I AM!!”

“No. You’re not. Look in the box. You take the capsules at breakfast with your other meds every day and you take the lunchtime ones on the days you’re at the day centre because they give them to you but you never take them in the afternoon or before you go to bed.”

“I do!!”

“How? They’re here in the box!”

Silence and confusion.

So he’s not eating, not managing his pain and not keeping himself clean. And yet he still resents having any help at all.

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

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