Sunday

My first visit to Lesley’s dad’s new home today.

Only it’s not going to be referred to as The Home after Lesley’s discovery yesterday.

Dad has always been terrified of nursing or care homes. He had, since time immemorial, made Lesley promise not to put him in one. And since no-one had known that the time would come when his need for one would be unavoidable, Lesley had made the promise.

His fear had stemmed from visits to the home where Lesley’s grandmother was living in the  1980s. A rough home in a rough area Up North. No attempt to make him change his mind about anything has ever been successful to my knowledge. Saying that things were different now and that nursing homes needn’t be hell-holes was no exception.

But after last week’s admission to The Hospital with what turned out to be pneumonia and the last-minute rushed transfer to a home that suited Lesley’s sister’s tastes better, Lesley hit upon a new tactic. Knowing that he would be familiar with the concept that people might go for a period of convalescence on discharge from hospital and knowing that the new home looked a lot more clinical than where he’d been she decided to tell him that he was now in a private convalescent hospital. It worked. He didn’t kick off about being there.

I got my reminder not to ask him how the home was as I went out the front door. He was now in a place that we had to refer to as The Hospital.

Sure enough, my first impression when I arrived was of a private hospital. Reception was a bit more chaotic and untidy than I thought it would be for a place that was supposed to be posh but it was definitely clinical rather than a home.

I signed in and was escorted to Dad’s room.

“Hello! It’s Nick!”

I couldn’t understand a word of what he said in reply. I feared the worst at first until I realised that his mouth was so dry that his lips were stuck to his teeth and his tongue was rigid.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“No. I’ll only need to go to the loo.”

At least I think that’s what he said.

“Well if you’re sure… Bear with me a couple of minutes. I’ve got some new stuff for you. An electric photo frame and a radio.”

Both the photo frame and the Amazon Echo needed to be on the wifi network. I tried the password that Lesley had given me but I’d got it wrong. I told Dad I was popping out to ask somebody a question.

At The Home where both he and my Mum had been you will see staff everywhere. You’re almost tripping over them there are so many. I had been warned that there were a lot fewer staff at what we had to refer to as The Hospital but I was surprised at not seeing a soul in the corridor, or in the first lounge I came to or the corridor beyond that. I had to really hunt to find anybody. I’m not used to seeing a member of staff not doing anything after spending 18 months visiting The Home but that’s what the two I found were doing. It would probably be unkind of me to say they were hiding.

“Could you tell me what the wifi password for the public network is please?”

“No idea.” said Tweedledee and Tweedledum in unison.

I got the answer from reception and went back to Dad.

“Is there room in the car? I’ve got my wheelchair and my walker you see.”

“Yeah, I came in my car.” I replied as I hadn’t yet worked out what he was talking about.

“What about my keys?”

“Lesley’s got your keys safe at home.” I replied. I did at least knew that the whereabouts of his keys were a source of anxiety.

“We’ll not get in without my keys.”

That’s when I twigged what he was talking about. He thought I’d come to take him home.

I returned to a reply that was tried and tested over many months with Mum.

“You can’t go home yet. You’ll be staying here until you’re strong enough to get out of bed and get to the loo on your own.”

“Oh.”

It was the same disappointment that Mum always showed when I said it to her. It did keep him quiet. For a bit.

I juggled the cables to keep the place tidy and set the photo frame up where he could see it and where it was safe(-ish) from being knocked over. He could see what I was fiddling with was a screen.

“Here! Do you need this?”

I turned round to see him offering me the TV remote. Bless him!

“No, you’re OK. I’ve nearly finished.”

The photo frame sprang into life. Some newer photos of his daughters and the grandchildren plus some older ones from when he was doing his National Service and from when Lesley was very little. There’s enough photos on there to keep him going and we can top them up remotely through an app. That’s why it needs to be on the wifi network.

He was pretty good at knowing who was who. Not so hot on where or when. But at least he could see it and the memories might come back with some exercise.

“What’s the grub like here?”

“Not bad. I just don’t want anything.”

The food had been one of his complaints about The Home. That he still wasn’t eating anything even though Lesley thought it looked better made me think about the extra £800 a week it was costing. I reminded myself that Lesley’s sister had insisted on the move and that she wasn’t going to feel uncomfortable for the few days she’d be visiting next month. The absence of earache from her was worth an extra £800 a week of Dad’s money. Almost.

A carer came in. I must have tripped the fancy laser beam that detects if Dad is moving unsupervised. Nice chap I thought. He had a quick word and checked the dressing on a wound on the back of Dad’s left hand before leaving. Another mystery wound then? No point asking him the where, how or when. He won’t remember.

Once he’d gone I had a look at this high-tech kit that had so impressed Lesley’s sister.

Hmm…

The device was plugged into the socket for his call button. It was an ‘either or’ not a ‘both at the same time’ situation. So he might be saved from a fall but if he was in pain or needed a drink or anything he was stuck. Not impressed.

Also, the device only covered one side of his bed. But the bed was placed where it was possible to get out on either side. There will be no prizes for guessing which side he will try and get out of bed on when he next tries.

Another carer arrived to replace the towels that nobody had used and shortly afterwards there was a young lady who’d come to offer a cup of tea.

She realised that he was going to need a straw and then tried to sit him up to drink.

“Ooh! OW!!”

“Ah, did you know that he’s got advanced lung cancer that we think has spread to his spine? It’s agony for him whenever he moves.”

“Oh! I didn’t know that!”

She asked him another question and he answered.

“WHAT??” she said looking at me.

“Ah, he’s profoundly deaf. Even with his hearing aids in. And even if he’s heard properly he still might answer a different question or use entirely the wrong words due to advanced Alzheimer’s”

She didn’t know that either.

I’ve been spoiled by the team at The Home. Nobody, not even the most junior of carers, ever went anywhere near a resident without knowing their condition or their limitations. Not impressed. Again.

I said I had to leave.

“I’ve got to get to Tesco before they close. We’ve got nothing for tea.”

“OK. Help me get up.”

I went through the “You aren’t strong enough to leave yet.” routine again. Twice.

“He’s going to go through hell here. He’s getting no care at all.” I thought as I signed out,

But at least it was fancy enough for Lesley’s sister to feel comfortable in and she was never one to worry too much about spending somebody else’s money.

Bloody hell.

Author’s Note

My Mum was in a nursing home in the Thames Valley for a year and a half until she passed away in December 2024. My Father-in-law went into the same home the following January. But Lesley’s sister didn’t approve and made the situation so awkward that he had to be moved. The image is not of the home itself. I used AI to generate an image of a typical modern nursing home. Names and locations have been changed or hidden to protect the identities of those involved. Which, for the new home, is probably just as well.