Tuesday

A busy day for Lesley today – her dad had two appointments to be ferried to.

Lesley had done a whole heap of preparation for the meds review with Dad’s GP. A good proportion of the questions Lesley had to present were from her sister. She panics each time something is removed from his prescription. She says she thinks the NHS is just doing that to save money and that they’ve washed their hands of him.

“But all meds have side effects” I’d say, “the GP obviously thinks that with everything that’s wrong with him the side effects of the meds for one condition are making another one worse.”

But it’s pointless me saying it. She isn’t going to take it from me.

Sure enough, one of his meds is lowering his blood pressure and that was already quite low. Dangerously low for someone who’d become so weak and wobbly. It was pushing the risk of a fall too high and that’s why it got binned. The GP gave a really nice explanation for Lesley to feed back to her sister. She still didn’t like it though. Her remoteness – being several time zones away – isn’t helping her anxiety.

The GP was interested to learn about Dad’s nightmares – thinking he’s heard someone ringing his doorbell or breaking glass in the early hours.

“They sound like Auditory Hallucinations.” she said.

“Aha! Told you so! Those are the exact words I used!” I said triumphantly when Lesley told me.

The GP changed the scheduling of some of the meds. In part so that they’re taken well in advance of him going to bed but also to get round the problem of him not being able to remember any of the meds that aren’t taken at breakfast time.

It was a long appointment but very beneficial to Lesley, if not her sister. Dad only had one question.

“I’m sorry. I can’t do anything about that.”

Next was a micro-suction appointment to clear out the wax build-up in his ears. He needs that done every couple of months now and the benefit he gets from it is getting shorter and shorter.

Next, he needed to eat. When Lesley got to his house she caught him putting the hot lunch that his day centre had delivered straight in the bin untouched.

Lesley got him home and settled but there was some confusion about what he was going to have for his tea and when he was going to have it. Lesley made him a sandwich. He said he would have it when his afternoon carer came.

“No Dad. It’s late. She’s been and gone long since.”

“Oh.”

He ate half the sandwich.

“I’ll put the rest in the fridge.” he said.

“It won’t keep. If you don’t eat it tomorrow, put it in the bin.”

“OK. I will.”

He won’t. He won’t remember to eat it. He won’t remember to throw it out if he doesn’t either. His carers got a message telling them to throw it away if it’s still there the day after tomorrow. Which it will be.

Lesley got back late. Late and absolutely drained. As usual.

I, meanwhile, had given in to the deluge of reminders from HMRC to get my Self Assessment done. I hadn’t eaten anything all day either.

“Should we just find something on the telly this evening?” I suggested after dinner.

“We’re both worn out and Mum will be asleep  by now. She probably won’t even know I’m there if I do go and see her.”

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