Saturday

I found out today why nobody knew anything about Mum’s blood tests. The GP hasn’t reported anything.

But before I went down to the office to see Juliette I went to see how Mum was. She was completely and utterly miserable. Al told me that she’d barely eaten a quarter of her breakfast, had had hardly any lunch and had only eaten a couple of teaspoons of yoghurt for her tea. She’d been drinking well but had been drifting in and out of sleep all day. I didn’t tell her so but she looked terrible.

“I’m going to leave you in peace for a little while Mum. I’m going downstairs to see Juliette.”

She responded with an almost imperceptible nod.

Juliette explained that she didn’t have access to the GP systems like she did at the other home across the river. With more than twice as many residents to cope with that meant they would spend hours chasing the doctors.

“We just wait for them to contact us now. As they haven’t said anything about Mum I don’t think they found anything significant.”

“So it’s a case of no news being good news then?”

“Yeah. I don’t think there’s much they can do anyway.”

“No. She’s given up, hasn’t she. She’s had enough.”

“I think so. And she is very, very frail now.”

I told her that before leaving to go to The Home I’d had a look at the notes I send the family to find out what changes there had been.

“This week last year is when Mum started the antidepressants. This week six months ago she had one of the very few disturbing hallucinations I’ve seen her have. She was absolutely furious with a woman who must’ve died fifty years ago.”

We talked a bit about whether a change of antidepressant might help but we discounted that.

“I know you Nick and I know I can speak plainly…”

And she did. She gave me a range of personal experiences ranging from families who couldn’t or wouldn’t let go of their ‘Loved One’ to a lady whose mother contracted an infection that was likely terminal and who asked for everything bar painkillers to be withheld.

“I think keeping Mum alive for an extra couple of days of misery would be cruel and selfish,” I said, “because it’s being done so that the family can put off the pain of the loss. It’s not in the resident’s interest. Just keep Mum comfortable.”

“It doesn’t happen every week,” I went on, “but when Mum’s lucid she will often tell me not to let her live. She hates it. She’s miserable. She’s miserable right now.”

“OK. So just keep her comfortable.”

“I’ll ask the family again tonight and my sister’s here tomorrow so she can see for herself but I’m pretty sure that’s what we all think.”

Being asked so frankly how the end ought to be played out was a clear indication that we aren’t that far from The End and it wasn’t the first time that Juliette had said how frail she thought Mum was.

I told my brother and sisters

“It’s not imminent but now’s the time to think.”

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