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!