Requesting A Birthday Message From The Queen
With Mum's big birthday coming up, I thought it was about time to start preparing for the moment when I submit a request to the Anniversaries Office at Buckingham Palace for a Birthday greeting from the Queen.
I knew that a one hundredth birthday was one of the anniversaries for which a message from the Queen could be requested, but I needed to know what documentation is required, and when I should apply on Mum's behalf.
I took the precaution of obtaining a fresh copy of Mum's birth certificate; I rang Liverpool Council and spoke to such a helpful lady, who gave me clear directions on navigating the way through the form on line. It proved interesting: having completed the form, and progressed to payment, suddenly the screen went on to a place about paying Council tax bills, and a whole lot of other, irrelevant (for me!) options! Luckily, I'd already been given a reference number which had been e-mailed to me, so at least I had that.
From my call earlier in the day, the lady I spoke to had told me the help line was open 24 hours a day, so, even though it was late at night, I rang the number to find out what had happened. Within a couple of rings, my call was answered; I was told the site had "gone down" and that I should try again in the morning. Who said working on-line was a good way to operate?!
Fast forward a few hours to mid-morning, and the next attempt to apply for Mum's birth certificate was successful. I opted for the fast track - if the order went in before 2.00 p.m. the certificate would be delivered the next day; I also paid the postage fee to cover the "Recorded, Signed For" service.
After lunch, a gentleman rang me from Liverpool; he was trawling through the archives, looking for the original entry of Mum's birth. As it happened - and because I already had a photocopy of a certificate I'd ordered back in 2011 - I actually had all the details to hand! He was mightily impressed as I read out all the information on this copy certificate: Mum was born at 76, Breck Road in Liverpool, on 28 October 1919, and her father had registered her birth on 8 November 1919. However, it turned out that the most important piece of information I had was a simple, 3 figure number on the left-hand side of the form; once I had read that out, within a couple of minutes it provided the "Eureka" moment and the gentleman said, "I've found it! The certificate will be with you in the morning."
And it was.
I then checked when I could apply to the Anniversaries Office with my request; by post, it has to be three weeks before the date, or you can apply on-line, 5 weeks in advance. Now I shall have to decide which way to do it. On the one hand, I don't want to send a postal application that could get lost or delayed in the post; so perhaps I shall have to try the on-line route. Watch this space!
Tuesday, 24 September 2019
Wednesday, 18 September 2019
I Am Re-Acquainted With Dementia UK
I Am Re-Acquainted With Dementia UK
It's funny how being so absorbed in looking after Mum - when most days resemble "Groundhog Day," with one period of 24 hours being pretty much like the last one - means you can forget how, in the early days when Mum came home, a particular organisation was especially helpful.
In the past few days, I've been in touch with the charity Dementia UK, and I've been reminded this is the organisation responsible for training, developing and supporting the dementia specialist Admiral Nurses. They were named after a man called Joseph Levy, who loved sailing, and was affectionately known as "Admiral Joe;" he also suffered from dementia, and when his family founded the charity in 1988, and appointed the first nurses in 1990, it was a natural decision to call them "Admiral Nurses."
A dear friend of mine called June died recently; she didn't live near us; because I couldn't leave Mum on her own, and after June moved to Hertfordshire, I wasn't able to visit her very often. It was sad news when her family wrote to tell me what had happened; I asked if they were having flowers, or family flowers only, and if they would prefer donation to a particular charity instead? My friend had suffered from dementia in the last years of her life, so her family thought a donation to an organisation helping people suffering from this sad illness would be really appropriate.
I got in touch with Dementia UK, and was hugely impressed by their response. They say that in any organisation, the person who answers the phone sets the tone, and this is so true: the lady who fielded my call was a great representative for the charity. She was helpful, knowledgeable, and when I said I would need a Gift Aid form to enclose with my cheque, she promised to send one in the post to me. The form and a personal, handwritten note to me, arrived the next morning.
Whilst we talked, she mentioned the Admiral Nurses, who not only help people with dementia, but assist their families as well; that is what jogged my memory, and took me back to 2012, when Mum first came home from hospital on 28 March.
In those early days, there was so much going on, so much to arrange and so many practical things to put in place, we didn't think about how having Mum at home might impact on everyone else around her; the main focus was to get her home, organise the four visits a day from carers, and take it from there. Over the next few weeks - that stretched into months! - appointments from physiotherapists and psychiatrists were scheduled, and it was during one of these visits, that the psychiatrist told us about Admiral Nurses; he said, they would be very helpful.
As we had got into some sort of routine, by then it was becoming clear we should explore every avenue for assistance; even if it wasn't needed at that moment, there could well come a time when expert advice would be invaluable, and I got in touch with Admiral Nurses, and a lady came to see us.
Seven a half years on, I can't recall her name, but what I do remember is that she sat down with us, and patiently and calmly led us through a maze of options where we could get further help for Mum, if and when we needed it.
This was definitely to our great benefit. Mum understood none of this, of course; apart from realising the physical problems her broken ankle had left her with, she had not - and never has - accepted she also suffers from dementia, but having the help and advice of the Admiral Nurse, with such a wealth of knowledge of how the system worked, was really comforting. Not having had to explore these avenues before, I was completely ignorant of some of the things she told us about, and it was wonderful to feel someone was holding our hand at a difficult time.
As the years have passed, we've got wiser, of course; dealing with Mum has its ups and downs, and we have become more accomplished at navigating our way through various services but, having been reminded of how good Admiral Nurses are, they are now again firmly in the forefront of my mind. It's good to know they are still there, if we need them.
It's funny how being so absorbed in looking after Mum - when most days resemble "Groundhog Day," with one period of 24 hours being pretty much like the last one - means you can forget how, in the early days when Mum came home, a particular organisation was especially helpful.
In the past few days, I've been in touch with the charity Dementia UK, and I've been reminded this is the organisation responsible for training, developing and supporting the dementia specialist Admiral Nurses. They were named after a man called Joseph Levy, who loved sailing, and was affectionately known as "Admiral Joe;" he also suffered from dementia, and when his family founded the charity in 1988, and appointed the first nurses in 1990, it was a natural decision to call them "Admiral Nurses."
A dear friend of mine called June died recently; she didn't live near us; because I couldn't leave Mum on her own, and after June moved to Hertfordshire, I wasn't able to visit her very often. It was sad news when her family wrote to tell me what had happened; I asked if they were having flowers, or family flowers only, and if they would prefer donation to a particular charity instead? My friend had suffered from dementia in the last years of her life, so her family thought a donation to an organisation helping people suffering from this sad illness would be really appropriate.
I got in touch with Dementia UK, and was hugely impressed by their response. They say that in any organisation, the person who answers the phone sets the tone, and this is so true: the lady who fielded my call was a great representative for the charity. She was helpful, knowledgeable, and when I said I would need a Gift Aid form to enclose with my cheque, she promised to send one in the post to me. The form and a personal, handwritten note to me, arrived the next morning.
Whilst we talked, she mentioned the Admiral Nurses, who not only help people with dementia, but assist their families as well; that is what jogged my memory, and took me back to 2012, when Mum first came home from hospital on 28 March.
In those early days, there was so much going on, so much to arrange and so many practical things to put in place, we didn't think about how having Mum at home might impact on everyone else around her; the main focus was to get her home, organise the four visits a day from carers, and take it from there. Over the next few weeks - that stretched into months! - appointments from physiotherapists and psychiatrists were scheduled, and it was during one of these visits, that the psychiatrist told us about Admiral Nurses; he said, they would be very helpful.
As we had got into some sort of routine, by then it was becoming clear we should explore every avenue for assistance; even if it wasn't needed at that moment, there could well come a time when expert advice would be invaluable, and I got in touch with Admiral Nurses, and a lady came to see us.
Seven a half years on, I can't recall her name, but what I do remember is that she sat down with us, and patiently and calmly led us through a maze of options where we could get further help for Mum, if and when we needed it.
This was definitely to our great benefit. Mum understood none of this, of course; apart from realising the physical problems her broken ankle had left her with, she had not - and never has - accepted she also suffers from dementia, but having the help and advice of the Admiral Nurse, with such a wealth of knowledge of how the system worked, was really comforting. Not having had to explore these avenues before, I was completely ignorant of some of the things she told us about, and it was wonderful to feel someone was holding our hand at a difficult time.
As the years have passed, we've got wiser, of course; dealing with Mum has its ups and downs, and we have become more accomplished at navigating our way through various services but, having been reminded of how good Admiral Nurses are, they are now again firmly in the forefront of my mind. It's good to know they are still there, if we need them.
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