The Meow Song

The Meow Song

I have written about how Mum loves to sing when I play the piano and most evenings, we have great sing-alongs. 

During these sessions, Blackie can quite often be found outside Mum's bedroom, "standing guard," as it were, or curled up on the carpet in the hall. 

A couple of evenings ago, we were running through the repertoire, and started singing "Now Is The Hour," a Maori song from the war years.  The first line of the lyric is "...Now is the hour, when we must say goodbye..."  and the way the music flows, in a lilting waltz, frequently gives rise to the temptation of adding a "Meow" at the end of each line. 

Usually, this rather daft addition passes off with a bit of a smile, with Mum singing away merrily in full voice; on this occasion, we were joined by Blackie and, exactly on the beat, as we sang "...goodbye..." Blackie stood in the middle of Mum's bedroom and went "Meow!" How I carried on playing without dissolving into a fit of the giggles, I don't know. 

"Soon you'll be sailing, far across the sea..." sang Mum, and in came Blackie, again perfectly on cue, with "Meow!"

It is not a long song, and Blackie stayed with us, adding his inimitable solo spot, right to the end.

He's a great cat; a wonderful pet; and, we now know, a talented performer as well!

Cabaret Star Blackie

Christmases Away From Home

Christmases Away From Home

I love Christmas. Yes, it's busy, there is a lot to do, but I usually start early with Christmas cards and letter writing (I have a very long list!) and it's worth making the effort at least once a year, to keep in touch with folks we know and love.

In the old days (i.e., when I first came back to England, and when Wendy was very young), we used to eat Christmas dinner on Christmas Eve. We always dressed up; Wendy's dad wore a DJ and Wendy and I wore long dresses. Having got all the cooking done and the turkey eaten and enjoyed on December 24th, it meant Christmas Day was a very gentle, easy time, which we could relax into and be peaceful, and enjoy the true spirit of Christmas. Every year, Wendy's Dad made a short sound cine film of Wendy singing the carols she had learned at school. Wendy was in the choir, and there was a concert at the end of term, so on Christmas Day it was our family tradition that we would gather round the piano, I'd play that year's selection of carols, Wendy would sing, and Bob would film it. 

As time rolled on though - and especially in more recent times, with Mum getting older, but before she fell and broke her ankle in 2011 - it became more of an effort to do things the same way each Christmas. In any case, traditions are fine, but sometimes need to be amended and adapted to different situations. 

In 2004, I read an advertisement for Christmas at The Four Pillars Hotel in Witney, Oxfordshire, and my goodness, the idea of someone else taking responsibility for all the preparations, cooking and entertaining, really appealed! The whole family agreed we should try it, so I went ahead and make the reservation.

It was a really lovely arrangement, as the Christmas package covered four nights. On arrival on December 23, the guests were greeted by the Manager with tea in the lounge, a welcoming sherry and carols with members of the local Church, followed by dinner. Starting the Christmas break on 23 December was such a good idea, as it meant you had plenty of time to "settle in" and there was no rush to dive straight into the festivities, which began on Christmas Eve.

During the day on 24 December, we used to walk to the village of Ducklington, where there was a charming duckpond, complete with ducks. This pleased me very much. I love ducks, and have fond memories from my childhood visits back to England, buying "six penn'orth of stale bread" and feeding the ducks in Grange-over-Sands. Those ducks got to know me, and would come up quacking, and pecking at my trouser legs, until they got their share of crumbs. To this day I cannot eat a dish of duck......

We also drove into Witney to look round the shops - it was nice, and Wendy found a lovely shoe shop which suited her style perfectly.  

At this point, even though she was in a lot of pain with her hip and her knee, Mum was still able walk. When we went into Witney, we took a folding wheelchair chair with us and put it together when we reached the village.  Al was a willing assistant for Mum, pushing her along until she found somewhere she wanted to visit. If she was wheeled up to the door of a shop, it wasn't such an effort for her to stand up, go in and look around and she really liked that.

Al pushing Great Grandma around Witney

We were given a programme of events - everyone was welcome to join in as many or as few as they liked. The staff were so well organised, enthusiastic and helpful, it was so relaxing to be carried along on the gentle swell with people who knew how to take care of the guests and entertain them.

On Christmas Eve there was dinner and dancing, with everyone dressed up for the occasion. Later on, there was also a midnight service at the local Church, with so many worshippers in the congregation, it was full to overflowing; everyone was made welcome.

On Christmas morning, every guest found a stocking attached to the outside door handle - the staff had been busy! After breakfast, we opened all our presents we had brought with us from home; depending on the weather, we went for a stroll - it was bliss not to have to do anything, but just "be" until lunch time, when all the guests gathered for a grand Christmas dinner.

Lilian, the Restaurant Manager, was a very charming young man from France; he realised Mum had trouble walking, so he personally collected her from her room and took Mum on his arm, bringing her into the dining room. Mum was thrilled to bits at the attention! and Father Christmas came to every table with gifts.

In the evening, there were games; and if anyone was inclined to visit the spa, you could relax in the pool or the jacuzzi. Wendy and I had a go at learning to swim - I still think it's miraculous when I get my feet off the bottom of the pool for a couple of seconds. I am always in the shallow end! and thank goodness for the buoyant lengths of foam to hold on to, giving me confidence.

On Boxing Day, there was a buffet lunch, followed by more games, bingo, a casino, "horse" racing in the lounge and, in the evening, another dinner dance where guests were invited to wear fancy dress. It was great fun.

 People who work in hospitality, catering and hotels are usually hard at work when everyone else is concentrating on enjoying themselves; I never forget that they also have homes to go to, and would like to celebrate the festivities with their own families, but at the Four Pillars, the staff enveloped everyone in a feeling of being part of a happy crowd. They were enthusiastic and helpful, and nothing was too much trouble.

The only other time I recall being away from home at Christmas time was one year when we were on board ship - we were either sailing back home to the UK or going back to East Africa. I was 7, and at the time I remember thinking, "Well, I know there are funnels on this ship - but how is Father Christmas going to manage to climb down one of them?!" It didn't destroy the magic, though.

On 27 December, it was time for us to leave for home. The Christmas break had provided us with a truly Merry Christmas, and if you take the analogy of the railway advertisement slogan, "Let The Train Take The Strain," for us it was more that "The Four Pillars Hotel Really Rang Our Bell!"

We had had a marvellous time; in fact, we had enjoyed it so much, we went back in 2005, 2006 and 2007! 

And Then At The Weekend...

And Then At The Weekend...

On Saturday, I was up very bright and early; I planned to meet Wendy in town, and have breakfast with her at Garfunkels in Leicester Square. There was someone wonderful to look after Mum whilst I was out for a few hours, but I had to make sure everything was organised for Mum before I left.

Everything went like clockwork; the ladies arrived and washed and dressed Mum, and sat her in the chair; we washed her hands and helped her to brush her teeth, and then I started her off on cornflakes and tea and made sure she had her four pills.

I got into London at about 10.45; Wendy was already seated in Garfunkels, and it was lovely to have a leisurely breakfast with her. Wendy will soon be off on another trip to visit Uncle John, so after we'd eaten, we went to Fortnum and Mason to stock up on tea and biscuits and a few other treats for Wendy to take with her. I do love shopping at Fortnum and Mason - it's so elegant, and there is always someone immediately at your elbow to help answer any queries. Although at first glance it might appear very formal, the staff also have a great sense of humour, especially when I asked about finding a jar of their chilli-willy-Piccadilly-piccalilli!

Whilst she's away, Wendy will also be visiting Jane, the daughter of a lady called Mary who, all those years ago, was Mum's best friend in Durban. Jane lives a little way from Brisbane, but it's a nice day trip out, and Wendy and Uncle John will be able to visit her, so we chose some goodies for Jane and her family as well.

Wendy stayed in town to meet other friends for supper; I got home in the mid-afternoon, whilst Mum was having her afternoon nap. It was such a treat to have been able to have a few hours free to see Wendy and enjoy a nice time with her.

I got on with making Mum's dinner; she got up very happily and ate well, and was in a happy mood. After supper, I played the piano and we sang; Mum joined in with great gusto. When the ladies arrived to get Mum into bed, they heard Mum singing, and applauded her - she was in very good voice.

Sunday was a little more difficult; Mum was up happily enough, and had her breakfast - again, reasonably quickly, and she had finished her tea by mid-day - but she said she was tired, and had kept dozing off in between mouthfuls of cornflakes, so when the ladies came at 12.30 to get her into bed for her nap, we thought she was certainly ready for a snooze.

However, even though she was tucked up comfortably, Mum did not sleep. She was very restless and agitated, and kept calling out, "Dad! Dad!" She was convinced that the wardrobe door was the back door to the garden, and asked us to let her mother in.

The ladies were back at 4.30 and took her to the bathroom before sitting Mum back in her chair. Wendy rang at 5.00 p.m., and had a chat with Mum - Mum was quite lucid, but we had a sense there was a restlessness there, and Sydney said we should not leave Mum on her on her own, so we made sure someone stayed with her.

I got on with making Mum's dinner immediately, and brought it through for her; again, Mum ate well, and then she became engrossed in a programme on t.v. about Africa - she remembers so much about the time we lived there, and of course she knows all the animals, so it was a good distraction for her. She became calmer and later on was very content to tear up pages from one of the supermarket catalogues. (We have a gentle theory that she is making confetti, or hamster bedding....  yes, they are old jokes, but still make us smile!)

After supper, Leanne and Sydney returned for the bed call; at first, Mum settled down nicely, but then she became restless again, pulling the bedside table at all angles to the bed. Earlier, I had put Sudocrem on her arms, and then covered them with kitchen towel to help keep the cream in place; I do this every evening, but tonight, within a short time, Mum had pulled everything off, so I guessed more Sudocrem ended up on the sheet than on Mum's skin.

I went in several times to her, to encourage her to try to sleep, but she kept calling out that she was "...Ready to go!" and that Wendy had been in to see her. There was a lot more of this, and it went on for several hours, whilst I was working upstairs, writing.  I went down a few times to remind her it was very late, and time to sleep!

At 2.00 a.m., I went in to Mum one more time; by then, I was really tired. I said, very firmly,

"I'm going to bed now, Ma. It's two o'clock in the morning, and I am very tired!"

Mum was all bright-eyed and wide awake. "Oh, haven't you been asleep then?"

"No, I haven't, and I am going to bed now!"

I asked Mum, "Are you comfy?"

"Yes, I am," she replied.

"Are you warm?" I asked

"Yes, I'm warm," she said.

"Good! Then I am going to bed now. You settle down and get some sleep!"

Back upstairs, I heard Mum talking again - I think to Wendy- saying she was "...Ready to go...."  I realised this could possibly go on for hours, and I really did need to get some rest myself. I left the bedroom door ajar; I have good hearing, and knew I would hear Ma, if she became really agitated, but after about an hour or so, Mum was quiet.

And I also got some sleep.

I wonder if she will ready for getting up in the morning, or perhaps sleeping through to lunchtime again? Time will tell!

What A Difference A Day Makes...

What A Difference A Day Makes...

Friday morning: Mum's lovely carers Sue and Nikki came to get Mum washed and up and dressed; the first part of the trilogy was achieved, but after the day we had had yesterday, it was no surprise that Mum had exhausted herself. She stayed in bed, sleeping soundly.

When the ladies returned at lunchtime, Mum was still "out of it" - we thought she looked a bit flushed, so I took her temperature; happily, it was perfectly normal. She was sleeping peacefully, breathing easily so, after her pad was changed, Mum was left to sleep on.

Mum had been in bed since 8.45 last night, and had slept right through breakfast and lunchtime; as usual, I was worried about her not having had any food or liquid, and it's also better to be up and out of bed if possible, so that her chest is kept clear.

At my request, Sydney and Jodie said they would come a little early, at 3.30, to see if they could rouse Mum; if she was awake, they would get her up and settled in the chair.

Until Jodie and Sydney arrived, I played the piano - first some songs that Mum knows and usually joins in with, but as there was not a peep out of Mum, I went on to play "Alice and Variations," a piece my Grandma loved. Her name was also Alice, and when I was 10 years old, I learned to play it for her. It is fiendishly difficult, and I am fairly saddened to admit I played it better was I was 10, than I do now, 62 years later! I need more practice.

Mum was still asleep when the ladies arrived, but we all made a concerted effort to get Mum going. I washed Mum's face, and that was when she began to wake up.

"Is that nice, Ma?" I asked her.

"Yes, it's lovely. But I'm still wet ..." pointing to her forehead.

"Oh, I'll get that dry," I said, patting her gently with a clean tissue.

After that it got easier. Jodie and Sydney were able to take Mum to the bathroom to wash her hands, and I am sure she felt very much better after that, and having had a change of scene.

On a technical matter, we found the controller that changes the position of the bed was not working properly; when we pressed the button to lower the bed, it went down at one end but not the other, so  Sydney got underneath the bed to see what had happened. One of the leads going into the distributor box had worked loose, and needed to be pushed back into place, and she sorted it all out in a couple of minutes.

Jodie and Sydney said, "We come up against these problems a lot!" and it was inspiring to know how quickly they can turn their hands to rectify them. They have to be more than carers, there's an important element of mechanical know-how required as well!

After that, we had a lovely afternoon and evening. We got Mum's hands and face washed, her teeth brushed, and we went straight to dinner. Mum was really hungry and polished off her food more quickly than usual.

"Are you thirsty, Mum?" I asked her.

"No," she said; but she still drank her tea nicely.

Later on, Mum had supper, with more tea and cake; she was definitely back to normal, happy and reasonable.

A wonderful bonus was that Blackie decided to join us. He comes into Mum's room quite often, even if it's only a short visit for a quick check round the piano, wardrobes, etc., but this evening he stayed for a much longer time.

The chair I use when I am sitting beside Mum has two nice cushions on it, so it is very comfy; and at one point, as I was standing up to give Mum her tea, Blackie decided my chair was just the ticket. As he is also getting on a bit, it's clear he sometimes has problems with jumping and has to think twice about what he wants to do, but tonight it was a clean leap and a safe landing on the cushions.

He stood still for a few moments, and Mum said, "I think he's going to sit down!"

"I think he will!" I agreed.

Blackie gently settled himself on top of the cushions and then put his paw out on the arm of Mum's chair. Mum was so chuffed at this, and stroked his head and talked to him. I had no idea how long Blackie would stay, but I took Mum's dishes away, and picked up the camera. Blackie was perfectly contented to sit beside Mum, and I took a few photos of them together; a really happy twosome.

"I'm here! Ready for some fussing!"

Blackie's full attention has been gained

More Cat Companionship

It's lovely having a record of times like these; I can show the pictures to Mum, and remind her how happy a particular day has been.  After yesterday, it certainly shows "What a difference a day makes..."

A Very Difficult Day

A Very Difficult Day

On Thursday morning, Mum was up bright and early; she was fine, and the ladies got her washed, dressed and sitting in the chair.

Presently, we completed Mum's morning routine of washing hands and brushing her teeth, and I brought in her breakfast - a lovely hot cup of tea and cornflakes. Mum did well; although she was slow, she ate the lot! drank all her tea, and her four pills.

The District Nurse also visited Mum, and was very pleased with the way the sore patch on her right leg had healed. She said, "I'm happy to discharge your Mum now - her leg is fine," so that was very good news. I know Mum's GP is extremely careful to get any problems dealt with quickly.

By about 12.30, Mum said she was very tired, and wanted to have a rest.

"The ladies will be along shortly," I said, "and they will get you back into bed for a nap."

"Oh, that'll be nice..."

When the ladies returned at lunch time, Mum went to the loo, and then she was settled down nicely in bed.

I looked in on her, and said, "Have a little nap, and I'll make your dinner later."

However, Mum did not settle down; she was awake pretty much the whole time, pushing the table away from the side of the bed, and fiddling about with tissues. I went in a couple of times to remind her it was a rest time, but I guessed she was not going to have a sleep this afternoon; and I was right.

The ladies came back at 4.00 p.m., and took Mum to the loo and sat her back in the chair. Whilst they tended to her, Mum was going on about her fur coat, and where was it? This is a coat that does not exist, and I always advise in a case like this, we just say the item has been put in the big safe, that has an 8-hour time delay lock on it. Mum usually accepts this explanation (when she worked in the bank, they had a large safe with hefty locks on it!) and we all hope that 8 hours will be long enough for Mum to forget what she was talking about.

She also had the idea that she was wearing knickers that had been taken off a dead woman - goodness only knows where these thoughts come from, and we keep reassuring her that all her underwear is only worn by her, and no-one else.

I got Mum's dinner on, and kept whizzing in and out of the bedroom, to tell her I would be dishing it all up soon, and that it was her favourite dinner - cauliflower cheese.

By now, Mum had on her face what we call "the look." It's awful; we know she won't co-operate, and we will be in for a very difficult time.

"I don't want it! I don't want anything you made! You're dirty!"

"Ma," I tried to reason with her, "you've been living with us for nearly seven years, and I have been cooking for you all that time; you're very well, so I must be doing something right!"

Mum then came out with a stream of abuse and I know that what followed was exactly what my father used to call her. It's truly horrible to be reminded of that time when I was a child, and my father would hit her over the head; I'd be sitting in the lounge, terrified he would vent his anger on me next.

Finally, Mum came out with, "You've been very badly brought up!"

"But Ma - I'm your daughter - so you brought me up!"

That did not cut any ice with Mother. Any mistakes made in my upbringing, resulting in my faults now, were clearly only of my own doing.  Oh dear. The problem is, with Mum in this mood, mind-set, or whatever one can call it, there is no reasoning with her; no understanding that those who were so awful to her in the past, were not me, nor any of the people around her now, and that we do our best for her.

In the meantime, throughout all of this, Mum was still pushing away the table, and taking the crochet rug off her knees, trying to fold it up.

"Why are you taking your rug off?" I asked.

"I'm going to take it home with me."

"But you are home, Ma!"

Mum was also sitting in a very strange, slumped-over-to-the-right position.

"Can you sit up straight, please?" I asked her. "You can't be comfortable like that. Put your arms hard down on the arms of the chair, and push yourself back into the chair."

Mum did that, and was more centred in the chair; I put the rug over her knees, and tucked it in at the sides.

"Now, Ma," I said, firmly, "I will be back in two ticks, so SIT STILL!"

She had already started to pick at the rug, and pull it up from her knees to fold it up.

I thought I would just carry on with trying to keep to the routine of dinner. I repeated, "SIT STILL!" and ran back to the kitchen for tea for Mum and me; Mum was then still sitting in the chair, so I went back again for her dinner.

Back in the bedroom, I put the plate down on the table, and said, as cheerfully (and - mentally - as hopefully!) as I could muster, "There you are! I'll just put a table cover on for you."

Mum glowered at me whilst I did that, and then I put the plate in front of her.

"There you are!" I said again. "It's your favourite - cauliflower cheese, with some butter, and pepper...."  As I feed Mum with her dinner, I picked up the spoon and scooped up a mouthful of food for her.

"Just have a taste," I said, "it's really nice....."

"I won't!"

I think I realised then I was definitely on a losing wicket, but I tried once more.

"Have just one spoonful," I said.

Mum just looked at me - still with "that look" on her face. She lifted her right hand, fingers splayed as wide as she could get them, and brought her hand down, right on top of all the food, with a great splat. Splodges of food went, unsurprisingly, everywhere. Apart from covering Mum's hand, we had contents of the plate on the table and on the floor; a little went on the sheet of the bed, some went on the sleeve of my jacket, and the spoon, which had gone up in the air with the force of Mum slamming into the dinner, ended up on her legs - she had pulled up her nightie, and had been still trying to remove her knickers (the ones she firmly believed belonged to someone else), so I had to retrieve that before I did anything else.

I grabbed kitchen towels, and tried to clean up Mum's hand so that she couldn't spread mashed potatoes, carrots, swede, turnip, parsnips, peas, spinach and cauliflower anywhere else; I managed to wipe up the food off the table, and then I reckoned I had better take the plate back to the kitchen before any more mess could be made.

I said, "SIT STILL! I will be back in a minute!" and took the plate back to the kitchen; and then I heard a scream.

At times like these, you have a moment where you think, "I shouldn't have taken the plate away...." but of course, it's too late then.

In the seconds it had taken me to get into the kitchen and dump the plate in the bowl, Mum had decided to do more wriggling, and had pushed herself so far forward on the chair, the orthopaedic cushion had also moved forward with her; as the tipping point became critical, so Mum and the cushion ended up on the floor.

I cannot lift Mum up. I know this is impossible, but I had to try to get her into a better position, as I was worried she would suddenly find herself completely flat on the floor, and I did not want her to hurt the back of her head on the front of the chair.  I managed to get behind her, and put my leg between her and the chair; she half sat up, so I pushed a pillow down between Mum's back and the front of the chair, which gave her a bit of support and protection.

I then rang Home Sweet Home Care, and told them was had happened, and that I was on my own - it was more of a howl for help! - and the speed with which they took control of the problem was impressive.

Vicky rang me back to say carers would be with me very quickly, and within a few minutes, Sydney and Leanne arrived. The relief I felt as they came in is hard to describe, and they know how much I appreciated their swift response. They look at Mum as a human being - she isn't just a "client" or "a slot to be filled," but as someone they really care for, and take their caring responsibilities seriously. They are so experienced, and know Mum so well, and she was more co-operative with them - although at one point, Mum landed out at Sydney and caught Sydney's lip with her fingernail.  I couldn't watch, but they got Mum up off the floor and back onto the chair; Mum was clearly shaken, but not hurt.

They told Mum (also very firmly!) "Stay in your chair! Do not try to move out of it....!"

Mum's mood at this stage was half agreeable/half inclined to say, "You can't tell me what to do!" but in any case, I made sure that for the rest of the evening, someone was with her all the time.

We agreed it would be best for Mum to get to bed a bit earlier tonight; she had had a shock, and we were all feeling stressed and horrified at the thought of the "what might have beens...."  Sydney and Leanne said they would be back in an hour or two, which would also give me a chance to see if Mum would now have anything to eat or drink for supper.  I hoped she would be more agreeable to that idea, otherwise, she would have had nothing to eat since finishing breakfast this morning.

After a little while, I thought maybe a song or two on the piano might change Mum's mood; she was busy tearing up strips of tissues, but I sat down at the piano anyway, and tried Hanging the Washing of the Siegfried Line..... followed by Hey Little Hen. Mum just kept tearing strips off the tissues.

I tried again, with Kiss Me Goodnight, Sergeant Major.... and she joined in with 3 words, " Show a leg!"

"Ah," I thought, "progress!"

I swung into Run Rabbit Run, and again, I got about 4 words of Mum singing along, but that was it; so I left it for this evening. Tomorrow is another day for singing.

The ladies returned at about 8.45, and got Mum hoisted in to bed. They made sure she was comfortable, and Mum let me put Sudocrem on her legs. I asked her, if she would like a drink of tea, but she was certain she did not want anything; at least she wasn't so aggressive as she had been earlier. She was very tired, and settled down on the pillows.

A bit later on, I heard her talking aloud, asking if the pussy cats were alright, and if they had been fed? I went in to reassure her the pussy cats were fine, and had had their dinner.

I had the chance to eat my dinner then - earlier than I usually have it, I was enjoying Chicken Kiev, potatoes, carrots and cauliflower before the news started at 10.00 p.m., and it went down a treat. I felt very drained with all the worry, but I knew Mum was safe and resting, and for once I was able to get to bed a bit earlier myself.

Let's hope tomorrow brings a better day!

Trying to Win with Mum's Skin

Trying to Win With Mum's Skin

Mum has always been pretty careful with her skin. When we lived in East Africa, we always wore long-sleeved dresses, and big-brimmed hats to protect us from the worst the sun could do and, for a long time, Mum's skin has been in a very good state.

The other enemy of good skin is age. It's your largest organ, draped around your body and, as the song goes, "You've gotta have skin.... To keep your insides in....." but the older we get, the thinner it becomes.

Over the past few years, the rate at which Mum's skin has thinned has accelerated - only to be expected, I suppose, as she is now 99! - and we are careful to keep a close watch on any bumps and bruises she gets.

We have put foam rubber "lagging" around the pull-up sides of the bed, so at least she has something very soft which can protect her arms and legs if she gets restless in the night. Over the last 18 months or so, we've seen a variety of livid marks on her legs - mostly the right leg, below the knee, although both legs have been affected - and we took these photographs show the doctor:

Mum's arm that caused us concern

...and Mum's leg

We pretty sure it happens during the night, when Mum gets restless and starts crossing and uncrossing her legs; we have seen how the heel of one foot can land on the lower part of the other leg. With Mum's skin being so fragile, it doesn't take much for purple bruises to come up, and it is a constant concern to us.

Every night, after the carers have left, we go in to check on Mum's pins to see how they are. We have tubs of Sudocrem, a healing, antiseptic cream, and I slather it on, like a plasterer gone mad with his trowel and up to now this has been very effective. We also have Mepilex dressings, which are breathable, padded and - most importantly! - easily removed when they have to be changed. With this care, marks might come up, but mostly after a while they fade, and Mum never complains of them hurting her.

Last Friday, one of the marks on her leg went from red to purple, and you could see a little reservoir of blood just under the skin; then we noticed the skin had broken in one small area, and it was weeping. The carers were also concerned, so I rang Mum's GP, and she was put on the list for a home visit.

When Mum's doctor and his assistant came round, they immediately understood why we were worried. As a temporary measure, they put a sterile pad and fresh dressing on the wound, and said they would arrange for a District Nurse to visit on Monday.

When the District Nurse called, she was very reassuring, and said Mum's leg wasn't too bad, but of course, we don't want it to get any worse!  She changed the dressing, and said another District Nurse would visit on Thursday.

Mum's skin is so thin now, that we have to be extremely careful when removing old dressings; you cannot just "gently peel them off," because Mum's skin starts to lift with the sticky area, and it looks just like that very thin transparent skin that lies between the layers of an onion. I have to say it makes me feel awfully "squidgy," and it is quite a technique, to hold down Mum's skin very gently, keeping it in place, whilst easing the dressing off a little bit at a time.

Mum has not had other issues with her tissues; even though she can't walk anymore, she is still quite active whilst sitting in the chair, and we encourage her to move about, stretch, lean over to one side or the other, and as she keeps moving, and doesn't sit or lie still in one place for very long, we hope this will continue to prevent any area getting a pressure sore.

She also has a very good orthopaedic mattress which is excellent for preventing bed sores; it isn't an air bed mattress, but so far, Mum has not had any other problems.

We are now trying out various ideas to protect her from hurting her legs in the night. A member of the family loaned her a pair of his old, long, white fishing socks - we drew the line at the wellington boots! - and these seem to be working well. We keep Mum's room temperature up to (nearly) East African standards, but we hope these socks, apart from giving her added protection, will also keep Mum toasty and warm during this very cold weather!

It's Been One Of Those Days (Again...)

It's Been One Of Those Days (Again...)

After getting to bed at about 10.00 p.m. last night, Mum was still awake at 1.30 a.m. this morning. Before I went to bed, I looked in on her; Mum was ready for a chat, and equally ready to get up there and then!

I said, "I'm sorry, Mum, but I have got to get to bed now myself - it's nearly 2.00 o'clock in the morning!"

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is. The ladies will be in later, to get you up and washed and dressed. I'll see you then. Night- night!"

"Night-night," said Mum; but as I went upstairs, I could hear her pulling out (as my Grandma would have said) "gallons" of tissues, and moving the tissue box around on the bedside table. I knew Mum was safely tucked up in bed, with the rails securely in place, and I just hoped she would get some sleep eventually.

In spite of having been awake so much during the night, Mum was up bright and early this morning - wide awake, chatty with the carers, and they soon had Mum ensconced in her chair, all ready for me to carry on with her other regular ablutions (washing hands and face, and brushing teeth) and preparing her breakfast.

Mum was really co-operative. She ate all her cornflakes, drank every last drop of milk in the bowl, and every mouthful of tea. She did really, really well and I told her she was marvellous.

I took her dish and cup to the kitchen, leaving a little Christmas brochure from one of the supermarkets for her to look through. Mum likes these brochures - sometimes she will leaf through every page, and at other times she starts to tear all the pages up, turning them into confetti - or hamster bedding! Either way, she enjoys what she is doing.

This particular brochure had a picture of a plate with a lovely dinner on it, and when I got back from the kitchen, she told me:

"They've taken my spoon away, so I can't eat my dinner!"

"Oh, Ma!" I said, "That's not your dinner - that's a photograph! You've just had a lovely breakfast - you've eaten all your cornflakes - and I'll make dinner for you later on."

I could see Mum didn't take this on board! But presently, the carers came back to take Mum to the bathroom, and then settle her down in bed for her mid-day nap. I thought she would have an hour or two's rest and then be ready for dinner later on, but as it turned out, Mum remained wide-awake, and was all ready to get up and get going!

I said, "Mum, this is a rest time now - and you need to have a little rest, and get up later."

I also needed to have my breakfast. I can't eat in a rush, and I also like to know Mum has had all her food for the morning, after which I can relax and enjoy my first meal of the day - even if it is getting closer to lunch time when I start it!

Mum stayed awake through the afternoon, until the ladies returned to get her up at tea time; I got the dinner cooking, and we were in and out of the bedroom, checking Mum was alright. It was as well we did, because at one point, as I was dishing up the dinner, Mum had got it into her head to try and get up out of her chair and get her coat on!

Mum has such good upper body strength, and she doesn't realise - or even believe - that she can't walk anymore. She has said very often that she only needs a little bit of support, and she wants to hold on to the little table that I use for putting her dinner on; this table is in no way strong enough to take her weight, and our great worry is that one day she will try it, the table will collapse, and Mum will find herself on the floor underneath or on top of it.

This afternoon, Mum had managed to put on her cardigan all by herself; as we went in the bedroom to check on her, she was already on her feet. It was one of those occasions when you have to shout a very urgent "STOP!" to get her attention, and then persuade her to sit down again.

This was easier said than done. Mum was convinced she was going to be going off shortly. She said,

"John's coming to collect me! I need my coat!"

"Uncle John is in Australia - he can't come to collect you!" We were very firm. "You must sit down now, and have your dinner!"

The exchange went batting backwards and forwards for some time, until I had made Mum a cup of tea, and brought it through with her dinner.

In the end, Mum settled in the chair a little and started eating. Getting some food going distracted her long enough to end the cycle of "I'm going now....." and "John is coming to collect me..."

Even as I am writing this, I have that curious feeling of deja vu, knowing we have played out this scenario many times before. It is always a worry that, when Mum gets the idea she has to go off somewhere, one of us won't be there in time to stop anything happening to her.

I know there are many people who have no experience of dealing with someone who is very elderly and disabled, and who also has dementia, and it is hard for them to understand how stressful it is, caring for someone like Mum, with those problems. There are times, when you need eyes not only in the back of your head, but cameras to help you see what's going on when you're not in the bedroom!

After she had finished eating, we had a lovely singing session; Mum was in very good voice, and later on she tucked into tea and cake for supper. She was quite tired by then, and kept nodding off, and it was relief when the ladies returned to settle her into bed for the night.

She was very sweet-tempered, and gave us all lovely smiles. I put Sudacrem on her legs to help the healing, and whilst I was doing it, she asked several times, "Are we safe here?"

"Yes, we're very safe!" I reassured her. Then I asked her, "What do we need to be safe from?" (I was thinking about when we were in Kenya, during the time of the mau mau).

"I don't know......"

"Well, don't worry, we are all safe here."

And with that, we had to leave it. Mum was still talking gently to herself for some while, but I just hope she has a better night and isn't restless, and that we have a good day tomorrow, with Mum a bit more relaxed, and less "hyper"!