Wednesday

Lesley’s dad was already up and dressed when his carer arrived this morning. It gave him the opportunity to decline a bath. Again.

But this wasn’t a normal ‘Getting Up Early To Avoid A Bath’ routine. He’d been disturbed by the sound of breaking glass in the early hours and hadn’t really got back to sleep. His carer said that Dad had told him several times in the past few weeks that he’d been woken by the sound of glass breaking. Now, Dad can hear very little when he’s wearing his hearing aids and practically nothing at all when he isn’t. It was unlikely that he’d actually heard anything.

“Aha!” I said, “He’s having Auditory Hallucinations!”

“Possibly,” Lesley explained patiently to me, “but isn’t a disturbing hallucination when you’re asleep just a Nightmare?”

“Ah, yeah, he’s having nightmares.”

In my defence, most of the people his age that I meet on a daily basis are experiencing hallucinations of one sort or another and I leapt to an easy conclusion.

“What I find interesting,” Lesley continued, “is that he tells his carers that he can hear glass breaking in the night but when he tells me he’s been woken at night it’s always because he’s heard someone ring the front door bell. He’s always confused that there’s nobody there. And that’s been going on for a long time. I’m worried that he’s anxious and doesn’t feel safe at night on his own.”

Interesting that he has one tale for the carers and another for Lesley though. I did wonder briefly whether the changes to his meds were causing this but then this behaviour predated them by years.

Mum was awake at last this afternoon. This Sleepy phase had gone into a fourth day. Her carer told me she’d woken up after breakfast and that she was in a good mood. The carer went ahead of me into Mum’s room and proudly showed me how well she was getting on with Mum.

“And I’ve brought someone to see you Iris! Do you know who it is?”

The question caught Mum on the hop a bit. She looked at me quizzically and mumbled something without any obvious recognition.

“Hello Mum! It’s Nick.”

She still looked confused.

“Nobody I know comes to see me.”

I changed the subject quickly.

“It’s a glorious afternoon out there Mum. The sunshine is lovely. It’s still cold though.”

I went on to tell her about The Dog’s walk this morning. How she’d gone under some brambles after a scent trail and had then taken off and ripped the lead out of my hand. How we’d heard her crashing around in the undergrowth. How we’d next seen her in hot pursuit of an enormous cat. How we’d only caught her again because the end of the lead got caught under the wheel of a car parked on someone’s drive.

“Oh blimey!”

As is normal for Day One awake, she complained that her back and shoulders were itchy. I found her moisturiser and rubbed some in.

“Ooh! That’s nice! That’s nice!”

It was a busy visit. When I first met today’s carer she had been quiet and very reserved. But a few weeks ago she’d been working with Reggie when I saw her and it seemed that seeing how he and I laugh and joke with each other gave her licence to speak to me the same way. She transformed into a chirpy, chatty and cheeky member of our ‘gang’. She was in and out of Mum’s room with tea, coffee, cake, questions about the family photos Mum has in her room. She even felt comfortable chastising me about having sugar in my coffee.

“TWO SUGARS!!?”

“Yeah, I know, just don’t tell my wife.”

I use that line a lot. The carers always laugh.

Reggie popped in for a while as did Juliette. The last visitor was the chap who organises the activities. He was doing a resident satisfaction survey.

“It’s only half a dozen questions. Won’t take long.”

An hour later, we were still talking. It’s why he’s good at his job. I did my best to keep Mum in the conversation. It transpired that his mum’s first name was the same as Mum’s mum. Mum was intrigued.

“But she preferred to be called May.” he said.

“Really? You’ve got an Aunt May haven’t you Mum.”

“Yeah. She’s dead.”

 “What!?”

“She died!”

Mum went on, I think, to tell us about Aunt May’s demise. As usual, her speech wasn’t quite clear enough to understand much.

I remember Aunt May. Just. She certainly didn’t die in the timeframe where Mum’s memories usually are which is before I was born. She certainly shouldn’t be thinking her Aunt May was dead. Even if, in reality, she’s been dead for decades.

But that was the only blot on the visit. Other than that she’d seemed relaxed and cheerful. She drank her tea and even had a bit of cake.

Not being with-it enough to know who I was was OK by me. If she’s lucid enough to do that then she’s lucid enough to be aware of the state she’s in and that makes her miserable.

Thinking Aunt May was dead though. That was odd.

Also odd was how anxious Eleanor was. Her anxiety level increases throughout the day but she isn’t normally as distressed as she was today mid-afternoon.

“TAKE ME TO THE BUS STOP!! I WANT TO GO HOME!!”

“I will do dear but the timetables have just changed. There’s going to be quite a wait until the next one. If you take a seat in the lounge here and wait I’ll come and tell you when the bus is on its way.”

“Will you? Alright then.”

And a bit later…

“Where’s my husband!? I can’t find my husband!”

“I’ll go and look for him if you like? Why don’t you take a seat here in the lounge and I’ll tell him where you are when I see him?”

“Will you? Alright then.”

Lines like that always work for me with Eleanor and I could see the staff all making mental notes on what they should say to calm her down as she lurches from crisis to crisis. It looked like they’d be needing plenty of them later as the gaps between them got shorter and shorter.

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