Monday

Lesley picked her phone up as we sat down to breakfast.

“I’ve missed a call… Looks like it was the doctor…”

Our GP had said she would phone a couple of weeks after Lesley’s appointment with her to see how she was getting on with the new meds. Meds that Lesley hadn’t started taking yet.

“How about if you say that you read the leaflet in the packet, saw that they might affect your fitness to drive and decided that you didn’t want to risk not being able to get to your dad if his nurses phoned to say the end was very close.”

“That’s a good one! I’ll try that.”

The doctor called again while we were out walking The Dog. Lesley was on the phone for a good hour.

“Well? Did that excuse work?”

“No. She wasn’t at all happy.”

“You were on the phone a long time. She wasn’t bollocking you for an hour was she?”

“No. While I was talking to her I missed calls from Dad’s palliative care nurse and a nurse at the home. I called them back.”

“Ah, that’s not good. Anything serious?”

“It’s just an absolute shit-show. They’re all just over-ruling each other.”

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.