Sunday

Another day with Lesley’s dad. One or both of us has been here every day since Boxing Day. In the end it felt like progress was being made. He achieved two trips to the bathroom where he got there in time and didn’t need a change of clothes afterwards.

Part of our breakfast routine is to check the webcam at his house. It was offline. Again. The broadband at his house goes through phases where it’s really flaky for days at a time. We had no idea what we’d find when we got to him.

It had snowed overnight but that had turned to rain by the time we got on our way. The weather was weird. The thermometer on the car said 3°C when we left home. By the time we’d crossed the river and gone up the hill the other side 10 minutes later it said 11°C and it was really misty.

It’s strange what sticks from lessons at school which must be half a century ago now.

“That’s a massive temperature difference! Have we just driven through a Warm Front? Is that why it’s so misty? Warm humid air sitting over the frozen ground?”

We carried on driving through the woods. The mist got thicker. 

“Look at it! This is beautiful! One day I’ll have time to stop and take some photographs. Proper photographs…”

“Yeah. One day…” Lesley sighed.

His first words as we walked in the door were

“I think I need to go to the loo.”

While Lesley escorted him upstairs I set about doing the washing up. I could see evidence of a breakfast. A small bowl of cornflakes. The kettle was warm and the teapot had a bag ready in it. It looked like he’d started making a pot of tea for himself but had forgotten or lost interest. It certainly looked like he hadn’t had a drink all morning.

Activities in the bathroom went on for a very long time. I could hear him sobbing. A laundry basket full of clothes came down and went in the washing machine. Cups of tea went upstairs.

The interesting bit was The Dog’s reaction. If either of us has a cut or a graze her reaction is to mother us and lick it clean. If either of us needs the other to put cream or a plaster on a wound then that counts as a Medical Intervention and she tries to protect the recipient. She knew that Dad wasn’t well. She was really concerned and wanted to be involved. But what she didn’t know was whether she should mother him or protect him from Lesley.

I tried taking The Dog out to keep her out of their way. She wouldn’t leave the house. She had a wee on the front lawn and went straight back to the front door.

An hour later, Lesley and Dad came back down.

“He can’t even get his trousers down on his own when he goes to the loo. And I asked him if he wanted to have a bath but he said he didn’t feel capable.”

Bloody hell.

More tea, more of the stuff the doctor had prescribed, a little lunch and a sleep came next.

We got The Dog out for her walk. I’m not sure what interrupted it. We took one of her favourite routes and she fetched some sticks from a stream. Half way across a field she stopped abruptly, sniffed the air, had a little think, gave me a clear “I’ve had enough of this. I want to go back” look and turned round. I wondered if she wanted to get back to Dad.

Dad seemed more like himself when we got back.

“Oh! It’s you! I thought you’d gone home!”

More tea, some crackers and cheese and a mince pie came next followed by the same questions we’d heard before about what life is like in a care home.

“It’s like your day centre except it’s all day, every day and not just for a few hours three days a week. You’ll have a private bedroom with its own bathroom. There’ll be nurses and carers with you 24 hours a day and you won’t have to struggle with anything.”

I filled in the notebook for the other carers. Notes about what to look out for. It included most of the above and a couple of lines about the two very close near-miss falls he had.

Meanwhile, Lesley was WhatsApp-ing like a demon.

“Reggie says that your Mum’s old room at The Home might still be free. He says call The Manager at 9 in the morning.”

When we eventually got home ourselves, Lesley checked her WhatsApp and looked at the update she’d sent her sister six hours earlier.

One tick. It had got to her but she hadn’t bothered to open it.

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