Friday

We started the day with a quick walk for The Dog. We wanted to pack as much walk as possible into as short a time as possible so we headed for The Stinky Field. Word had obviously spread amongst the village’s dog-walking community the the owner of the field had moved their horses elsewhere and it was quite busy. It wasn’t that stinky though. The woodland on one side of the field was flooded and the foxes that live there and stink the field up must have moved elsewhere. But The Dog found enough horse poo to roll in to make up for the lack of fox poo.

Lesley’s sister had got to Dad’s bedside quite early. Dad “wasn’t too bad” and had even had a couple of spoonfuls of breakfast before going back to sleep.

Feeling too tired and frazzled to trust herself to drive, Lesley got the train. The Dog and I waited for an update.

Update came there none. Things were either going OK or or were frantic. The first update came as the day turned from OK to very much not OK.

It was becoming a really harrowing day for Lesley. Much more distressing even than yesterday had been.

The nurses had planned to switch to a syringe driver to administer the meds to manage Dad’s pain and agitation. The nurses needed the approval of a nurse from the palliative care team to set one up. The request had been made first thing this morning. She didn’t arrive until 3pm.

With approval given, she was asked whether she would assist with setting the syringe driver up.

“Sorry, no. Not my job.”

The staff were now stuck. We’d known how light on staff this home had been from the get-go. It was why Lesley and I had excluded it from the shortlist of potential homes. It was why we’d chosen the home where my Mum had been for him because we knew how well-staffed it was and how proactive everyone was. But the current home suited Lesley’s sister better because it was posher and now the short-handedness was starting to bite.

Setting up the machine was a two nurse procedure. The second pair of eyes were needed to double check the first. But the approval came so late that the second nurse had gone off shift. Dad would have to wait for the night shift to arrive when a second nurse would be available during the handover.

Dad had slept until 4 this afternoon but woke up screaming in pain and shouting “HELP ME!!!” again.

Lesley was struggling. She had always promised herself that she’d avoid having her last memories of Dad being ones where he was suffering. Her sister had already decided she was staying overnight.

“What do I do?”

“If he’s showing the slightest inkling that you’re there then stay. If you think she’s getting support from you then stay. Stay as long as you feel able to. Don’t worry about missing the last train. We’ll come and get you.”

“OK. That’s a good way of looking at it.”

He was going to have to endure hours in agony. And, of course, the initial dose would have to be low. Too low.

He clung to Lesley’s sister and screamed for hours. You wouldn’t treat a dog like that.

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.