Going back to the first weeks of 2012, and the last positive conversation I had with the Social Worker in the hospital when she said he had managed to find a bed for Mum in the rehab hospital, we started to make preparations for the time when Mum could come home. Once the hospital administrators knew Mum was going to be transferred (I got the feeling, anywhere else would have done!) the heat was off us. We were just relieved to have that extra time for Mum, where we hoped she would get some more physio, tailor-made to her capabilities.
It was also a time of apprehension: we were promised a "full care package" would be put in place - four calls a day, "double-handed," to cater for Mum's needs. The Social Worker said - on more than one occasion - "You won't have to do anything!" but I found it impossible to see how anyone could think Mum would live with us, but somehow exist in solitary splendour, isolated from the rest of the family, with everything done by the carers. For a start, I knew Mum would need to go to the loo more than four times a day! and if she was going to be hoisted to transfer her onto a glide-about commode, I would not be able to do that. As for someone else making her food - well, I'm very particular and I don't like anyone messing about in my kitchen.
I cook properly, from basic principles; I buy everything fresh, peel all the vegetables and prepare the dinner on the day. I don't own a microwave! and it was clear carers would never have time to make a proper meal from scratch. I was quite prepared to take on the cooking, the washing and ironing, but it was an anxious time wondering how things would work out with toiletting, etc. Well, that was another day to get to, and one of the problems to be faced in the future.
In the meantime, we all carried on with visiting Mum twice a day in the hospital, and taking in her food. With the prospect of a move in sight, Mum was pretty cheerful, and whilst she tucked into her dinner, I was able to have chats with the other patients on the ward. Some of them had visitors only rarely, and they were very lonely.
One lady had been admitted to the ward after a bad fall, and was clearly very unwell. The medical staff did their best for her, and she did improve, but it soon became a case of one step forwards, then two steps back.....
She had a niece, who was extremely fond of her aunt; unfortunately, she lived a long way away, and it was difficult for her to visit often. When I asked her permission to sit with her aunt, she was delighted I had suggested it. She also said, if we wanted to say a few prayers, her aunt would really appreciate it. Wendy joined me sometimes, and together we would tell her what we had been doing - shopping, working, and what the weather was like - any sort of gentle chat to let her know there was someone present, who was happy to spend time with her.
One evening, the nurse on duty said they had contacted her niece; we realised she was dying, and Wendy and I stood by her bed, holding her hand and saying prayers. We hoped she knew she wasn't alone, and was being thought of and prayed for. The next morning, when I went back with Mum's breakfast, there was an empty bed in the corner. Having spent so much time on the ward with Mum, we were really made aware how many people are alone, with few or no visitors when they are in hospital.
I enjoyed talking to one lady in particular - we shared a love of literature, and quoted poetry to each other. When I wasn't there, she would also listen to Mum; it soon became clear that Mum was talking a lot about her past, but turning things that had happened to her, on their head. She would praise people who had been awful to her, and talk really unkindly about others who had done so much for her. It seemed sometimes here was a complete "about-turn" in her attitude to people she knew. She would talk about my father, and anyone listening would get the impression he was a paragon; I knew differently. He had been an appalling husband, and my mother had endured years of his flagrant behaviour. I often think that perhaps his cruelty affects the way Mum thinks now, and contributes to the way she confuses good things and bad things; many memories she has from long ago are not happy ones.
This lady tried gently to warn me, how difficult things might become, when Mum was living with us. During times when we were not on the ward, she listened to Mum "going on" about us, saying how little we did for her, which clearly was the opposite of what was actually happening; she said, if Mum was in one of her derogatory moods, and I was not able to reason with her, it could be emotionally and mentally very upsetting, and I might end up feeling as though I was living in a prison, from which there would be no escape.
I've known for a long time now, that when Mum gets talking, she always comes across as being so certain of her facts, so definite about what has happened, that people listening to her will believe what she says is true - even when we know it is nonsense! I was sure the lady on the ward was right, and understood how Mum was, and that it would be frustrating knowing how positively wrong Mum could be; but I hoped I would find ways of coping with it.
I remember quoting to this lady, "Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage..." and she nodded, and said, "Ah, yes, Richard Lovelace......"
She knew I was quite settled with the decision that Mum would not be transferred to a care home, but felt she had to warn me on how I should be prepared for Mum's moods to fluctuate wildly. On another day, after Mum had been letting rip about a few people, she said, very simply, "It is a very heavy cross you bear."
All I could think was that I would pray for the strength to bear it.
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