Wednesday

The order of the day today was to get over Lesley’s dad and get him sorted out before scarpering ahead of the arrival of Lesley’s sister.

Lesley had completed her response to the barrage of criticism she’d received by email.

“I think it’s really good. It’s long though. You know she won’t read it don’t you?”

She didn’t read it. Didn’t apologise for starting a fight either.

When we arrived at his house, the first task was to determine whether his Tummy Turmoil was calming down or not. Lesley was given assurance that he was “fine”.

“Let’s get you to the loo then.”

His first accompanied trip to the bathroom of the day showed that he very much wasn’t fine, that he’d already been “not fine” three times today and that he had no idea how “not fine” he’d been. The first accompanied visit to the bathroom took 50 minutes and required a bath and a complete change of clothes. I had a cup of tea waiting for him when he eventually came back down.

But that’s been the standard for visits to him since before the New Year.

Also standard now is finding that he’d put the food that had been defrosting ready for him to cook today in the bin. It’s not that he’d looked at a Use By date or anything. The print is too small for him to be able to read it and he hadn’t understood what they were even when he had been able to read them. He’d just seen something he didn’t recognise in the fridge and had relocated it to the bin.

Another new standard is making sure that we are properly fed and hydrated while we’re with him. A couple of Meal Deals from the Little Tesco at the end of the road helps with that. The Dog thinks a ham and cheese sandwich is the best and helped me finish mine.

A new prescription for his Tummy Turmoil was available for collection. The pharmacist warned it was “very strong”. He hardly needs something “very strong” at the moment. The difference with this preparation was that it was more of a stimulant. Hopefully, the movement in his insides should give him some warning, maybe even enough warning, to get to the bathroom on time.

We were well clear and back at home when Lesley’s sister announced she’d got there. Within 10 minutes she’d made her assessment and informed Lesley that she disagreed with the best minds that the local NHS and Social Services could muster. She knew what was best for her dad.

If I wasn’t going to be so intimately involved in salvaging the wreckage of everyone’s plans I’d be getting myself a bucket of popcorn and sitting back while she laid waste to several lives.

But I’ll be front and centre with Lesley surveying the carnage when she flies back home several time zones away in a little over a week.

We both have splitting headaches.

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