Thursday

The highlight of the day today was worming The Dog. Saying that, I probably managed to worm The Dog. Possibly.

The Dog is very uncooperative when it comes to taking any medication. The packaging says that the tablets are ‘beef’ flavoured and dogs love them. Well. Not Our Dog. The smell tells her what’s coming.

She gets a treatment for ticks and fleas and another for worms. One is monthly, the other is quarterly. They were both due.

Last time, I managed one tablet on my own without the palaver of chopping the tablets up into tiny pieces and trying to disguise their presence by coating them in cream cheese and crab paste. I’d cooked some chicken thighs for her and made parcels using the skin to wrap chunks of tablet up in. The Dog is so greedy for chicken that she didn’t notice. The plan was to get her out for a good long walk before giving her any breakfast and then administer the chicken skin parcels. The first one was a breeze.

“Blimey!”, Lesley said, “That was easy! Are you going to do the other one now?”

“Hmm… I don’t know. One of these upsets her stomach a bit… Sod it, let’s do it.”

More chicken. A lot more chicken. Then some more unadulterated chicken.

The Dog went to sleep. On our bed.

I got the confirmation from Reggie that Mum had been asleep all day and hadn’t responded at all when offered food or drink. I’d thought she was due to crash when I saw her last night but wasn’t at all confident that she actually would.

Hours later, it was time for another walk. The Dog must need a pee at least. She didn’t look keen but that’s often the case when it’s got dark and has been since the beginning of the month after all those fireworks.

I went through to the bedroom to get my coat. And stepped in something warm.

“Eh? The floor’s wet…”

I switched the light on. There, on the floor and on the bed – and on my feet too now –  was a pool of half digested chicken.

No wonder The Dog was looking so anxious. It wasn’t the dark. It was having had an accident indoors.

All my fault of course. My hubris after last month’s successful tableting and showing off by doing both tablets on the same day even when I knew it might upset her stomach was to blame. Poor little mite.

Meanwhile, news was filtering through from Lesley’s dad’s carer and the other village volunteers who’d seen him during the day. The carer said his pee was “strong, dark and smelly”. More evidence of the UTI that was tested for earlier in the week. Then he told the lady who delivered a hot lunch that he wasn’t feeling well. He said the same to the lady who delivered his weekly goody bag of cake and sweets.

“They didn’t say what sort of not well he was feeling. There’s no point asking him now. He won’t say even if he can remember.”

Lesley phoned him.

“HELLO DAD. IT’S ME. HOW ARE YOU?”

“I’m fine.”

He always tells Lesley that. Always.

“ARE YOU SURE?”

“Yes. I’m OK.”

“ONLY YOU TOLD THE LADIES FROM THE DAY CENTRE YOU DIDN’T FEEL VERY WELL. WHAT DID YOU TELL THEM?”

“Oh. I can’t remember.”

“BUT YOU’RE ALRIGHT NOW?”

“Sorry?”

“YOU’RE ALRIGHT NOW?”

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“OK. AND ARE YOU ALL SET FOR THE HOSPITAL TOMORROW? WE’RE GOING TO GET YOUR HEARING AIDS FIXED AGAIN.”

“Yes. I’m ready. It’s just that I think I’ve lost one.”

Lesley has waited weeks to get this appointment and his meds review with the GP next week depends on him being able to hear properly.

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