Friday

Another grey, misty day. Another day that started with an out-of-the-ordinary message from Lesley’s dad’s carer.

She said he’d been slow to wake up and that he’d been especially breathless. He’d needed to sit on the bed for a few minutes to get his breath and the strength to stand up to walk to the bathroom. Most importantly of all, he’d confided in her that he knew he wasn’t coping and that he knew he needed more help. Little more than a week ago he was vehemently denying this.

My feeling was that a number of factors must have aligned to make him change his mind. His dramatic physical and mental decline over the past weeks may have got to the point where even he couldn’t ignore it or knew he couldn’t hide it. His other carers both work in nursing homes and we knew he’d been talking to them about what they were like. The changes to his usual routine over Christmas had totally disoriented him and he’d really not coped at all.

I’d already spoken to The Manager at The Home about him on a couple of occasions. I emailed her to let her know about his change of heart and that it was time to press the button on the process to get him up to speed on what modern nursing homes are really like and to find out whether The Home would suit him.

With that done we set off to take The Dog for a walk. We had plenty to do today so decided on The Stinky Field to give The Dog a decent run without taking too much time. The field didn’t appear to be too stinky today. I think the foxes may have moved on since the council changed from plastic refuse sacks to wheelie bins. The pickings aren’t so rich round here any more.

The Manager replied while we were still out. Lesley called her back. The rooms available at the start of the week were already being snapped up. If he came for a visit, liked what he saw and decided to return for a week or two respite then there was only going to be one room available. She was worried about we’d feel about it. She was worried because it would be the room that Mum had been in.

That was alright by me and he wouldn’t know. Lesley and her dad would go for an extended visit on Tuesday starting in time for a spot of lunch.

We got back and got on with the jobs in hand. I’d found somewhere that might suit for refreshments after Mum’s cremation. It wasn’t like there was a lot of choice.

The nearest pub to the crematorium was in desperate need of some TLC and review after review listed problems like mistakes in the kitchen and not enough staff. The comments that rang alarm bells most loudly for me were about the unruly and uncontrolled packs of feral children. They weren’t likely to be a huge problem on a week-day afternoon in mid January I’ll admit but they confirmed the doubts I had about the inside of the place that my knowledge of the outside raised.

The next alternative was a place on the river that we’d been to years ago. We’d had a decent meal there but all the recent reviews were poor. I decided to give that one a swerve too.

In between the two was the perfect country pub. An intimate function room, experience of our kind of function and consistently good reviews.

“Shall I give them a ring to arrange a time for you to have a look?”

“Please.”

An inability to pick up the phone to make a call is high on my list of Key Indicators for depression. I don’t know if Lesley was that aware of how high my KDIs are right now but I was grateful she made the call.

Next on the hit list was delivering the delayed gifts to Lesley’s school friend. Thankfully, her whole family had streaming colds so we weren’t invited in.

“I’ll just give Dad a ring to see how he is before we go home.”

“OK. I’ll check his webcam to see if he’s awake first.”

He seemed quite alert. Not a drink in sight though. I watched him as Lesley rang his number.

“Yep. He’s heard the phone… That looks like swearing… That looks like a lot of swearing… He’s got to the phone OK.”

“Hello? I’m fine.”

“Hello Dad! Dad? DAD! IT’S ME!”

“Yes. I’m fine”

“Good. Have you had anything to eat?”

“Yes.”

“What did you have?”

He couldn’t remember. He looked like he was in agony trying to either recall or make up a reasonable response.

“I had er…. She got me a er…”

So he was talking about his carer this morning getting his lunch ready. That was hours ago.

“Don’t worry! We’ll be there in 10.”

“OK”

No question about why we were so close. Just “OK”.

Lesley had learned her lesson from yesterday when he just picked at his meal.

“How much of this would you like?”

“Er…”

“Shall I just do half?”

“Yeah. Half.”

The next ordeal was getting him to have a drink. For a man who could once drain pot after pot of tea, getting him to drink more than one cup is a real achievement.

Lesley raised the subject of how poorly he was coping now without directly telling him we knew what he’d been saying to all his carers. He agreed to visit a care home on condition that he would be able to go home afterwards.

We took The Dog out for a quick walk round the block so she could relieve herself before the drive home. As we were letting ourselves back into his house Lesley’s phone rang. It was her sister.

The shock at being told about Dad’s dramatic recent decline was palpable and understandable. She phones Dad a lot and he says to her exactly what he says to us.

“I’m fine!”

Her problem is that she believes him.

Her perspective doesn’t help. All dementias are different and different capacities get impacted by different amounts in each individual. But what seems to be common is that if a conversation or an activity can follow a standard pattern or script then the dementia might not look obvious. Lesley’s sisters conversations are necessarily a bit pro forma and he seems to cope well. As far as she can see at least. And he can hear her pretty well because she doesn’t need to tell him to do stuff.

With Lesley managing his carer schedule, his various NHS appointments, his bills, his money, his meals, his household supplies, his entire life essentially, every conversation is challenging and his hearing aids mysteriously malfunction when he’s being given instructions. Getting him to adjust to changes, remember whether or not he did something or forecast when he’s about to run out of something vital is where his dementia reveals itself.

The subject of him admitting he needed a lot more help and his change of heart about a care home visit reared its ugly head. The exploratory visit to The Home got mentioned. She had strong views and the conversation got difficult. The words

“You’ve only picked that home because it’s convenient for you!”

may have been used.

She needs more time to get used to the idea and wants to be involved in the decision. She suggested that we leave anything final until her planned visit later next month.

I don’t think he has that amount of time. If he carries on declining at the rate he is now then he might have gone too far to recover any sort of quality of life at home by the time she’s made her mind up. Once she’s found a home she likes the look of and we’ve checked the facilities, the staffing, the regulatory reports etc and then waited for a room to become available it could be game over already.

Lesley’s sister has been abroad  a long time and has Gone Native. Lesley’s sister kept using the phrase

“Lesley, I hear what you’re saying but…”

That might be OK where she is but to British ears it sounds like

“Lesley, I’m not going to passively ignore what you are saying. I intend to actively, nay,  vehemently contest your proposition for the foolish and self-serving nonsense that it quite obviously is”

It’s hard for me to avoid thinking that it’s easy for her. She can lay down the law from several time zones away and relax in the feeling that she’s done her best for her dad. Meanwhile, Lesley, her dad and, by extension, I will have to live with and pay for the consequences.

When I say it’s hard to avoid having those thoughts, I didn’t even bother trying not to have them. It’s exactly what I think and she’s reacted precisely how I thought she would.

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