Just When I Was Feeling Despondent....!
When I sat down to write something on this blog on Saturday night/Sunday morning, I was feeling quite weary, and thinking how quickly the days fly past - and all I seem to do are the same things, day in, day out. When I looked back over the week (or 9 days, as it happened!) in one sense it was good to know the wheels had kept turning; we had all been fed and watered, and Mum was and is eating well. It's just that sense that maybe you are running to stand still, and there hasn't been time to do anything else - and it's a struggle to be creative and produce original work when you're tired.
Then I read an article in yesterday's Sunday Express, by a lady called Lynne Wallis, writing about her mother, who died three months ago, at the age of 95. Her Mum had been in five care homes over 13 years, and Lynne was lamenting the fact that her Mum had not been well taken care of.
It made me realise we are in fact fortunate to be in the position of being able to take care of my Mum at home. I know not everyone can do this, or cope with the strain of looking after a very elderly relative with dementia, but in my Mum's case, the days when she is really happy and co-operative make caring for her easy; balanced by the times when she can a nightmare, we try and remember that it's all part of the problem!
What does help is knowing that my Mum is surrounded by her family, who really take care of her - making sure she eats and drinks, encouraging her to sing, to do some exercises, to hold a pencil and draw, to watch TV and help her to follow the programmes.
If Mum was in a home, we all know it would be simply impossible for her to receive that level of loving care and attention; like Lynne Wallis, I would be constantly worried about what was going on, and how Mum was being treated.
People have suggested putting Mum in a home for a short respite period, but my gut feeling tells me, her downward spiral would be swift, and it would most likely be impossible for her to return to the level she enjoys at the moment.
There is the other side to consider, too: I think God sets us challenges, and I hope to keep finding the strength to rise to them!
Monday, 2 July 2018
Saturday, 30 June 2018
Where Do The Days Go?
Where Do The Days Go?
I've just sat down to write again; I've been meaning to write another post for days. I think I have said and written this before! but looking after Mum means the days just roll into one, and I end up asking the same old question:
WHERE DO THE DAYS GO?
I sit here - at the computer -
Thinking how the days all roll into one;
I look at the date I last logged on
Where have the past 9 days gone?
It's not that I've dallied
Or let things drift out of sight....
My days have been filled
From morning 'til night
With inexorable duties
That have to be done;
No time to relax
In the setting sun.
You might catch a glimpse
Of the evening star
But the washing and ironing
Are more important by far.
It's a strain keeping going
As the pressure mounts up;
It's hard to find moments
To eat and to sup.
But at one in the morning,
When Mum is tucked up in bed,
I can dream and write poetry,
All the lines in my head.
Thursday, 21 June 2018
Uncle John Fills In Some Details
Uncle John Fills In Some Details
Because I was so young when we first landed in Dar-es-Salaam, I wondered if some of the memories from my childhood had become hazy with time, and maybe life with my father hadn't been quite as bad as I remembered. It was a relief to have Uncle John to talk to; with his very clear recollections about what had gone on when we were in East Africa, he could clarify details about our lives abroad.
I told Uncle John I always wondered if the way Mum had been mistreated by my father had contributed to her ill-temper now, and her inability to hold reasonable conversations; he said he thought it was perfectly possible. Mum had been physically abused by my father, put down on so many occasions, and not allowed to voice her opinions, so perhaps now that she was no longer intimidated by a violent husband, she felt she was going to say exactly what she liked - even if that something was completely wrong, no-one would challenge her. Sometimes, when Mum is in one of her moods, she will say dreadful things, hurtful things, that I remember my father used to say to her; it is a very strange and sad state, hearing these words coming out of my Mum's mouth.
One of my earliest childhood memories is of playing in the dry, dusty garden, and wearing a big white floppy hat, to protect me from the sun. I felt very hot, and wanted to go indoors, so I climbed up the stairs by the side of the house. When I reached the kitchen, I was surprised to see my father in a heavy clinch with our neighbour, a woman called Marigold; they were so engrossed, they didn't notice me. I would have been about three.
Uncle John filled in so many details for me. He told me, we had not been in Dar very long, before my father took off with another man's wife, Muriel, for a "naughty weekend" in Zanzibar. Quite what the woman's husband thought of it, Uncle John didn't know, except that the gossip was, he wouldn't protest or do anything about it. Many more liaisons with other women followed; for Mum, who was still not 30, it must have been so humiliating. She was young and pretty and, confirmed by Uncle John, loved socialising and dancing; yet here was her husband, ready to enjoy extra-marital affairs with no thought of being discrete about it.
There was no-one to turn to, and no escape. Mum was in a foreign land, with a young child; she was there with her husband, and as such, was the "Engineer's wife." It couldn't have been easy.
I told Uncle John I always wondered if the way Mum had been mistreated by my father had contributed to her ill-temper now, and her inability to hold reasonable conversations; he said he thought it was perfectly possible. Mum had been physically abused by my father, put down on so many occasions, and not allowed to voice her opinions, so perhaps now that she was no longer intimidated by a violent husband, she felt she was going to say exactly what she liked - even if that something was completely wrong, no-one would challenge her. Sometimes, when Mum is in one of her moods, she will say dreadful things, hurtful things, that I remember my father used to say to her; it is a very strange and sad state, hearing these words coming out of my Mum's mouth.
There was no-one to turn to, and no escape. Mum was in a foreign land, with a young child; she was there with her husband, and as such, was the "Engineer's wife." It couldn't have been easy.
Friday, 15 June 2018
Mum and Uncle John Get To Know Each Other Again
Mum and Uncle John Get To Know Each Other Again.
When we got back home from Heathrow with Uncle John, Mum was very happy to see him. He was a bit tired from the long flight, but didn't suffer from jet lag; he was soon he was in fine fettle and adjusted to English time.
Mum was more mobile in 2009, and they would sit at the table together and have breakfast. In the mornings, he liked his cornflakes and All Bran; Mum would have a bowl of cornflakes, and they would be quite companionable.
I had warned Uncle John that Mum could have a few "funny five minutes;" having mentioned it to him, I just hoped everything would go gently, and we would all have a happy family time.
To begin with, Mum was very much in "Older Sister" mode, directing most of the conversations, reminiscing about what they had done when they were children, and the different places they had lived in, but trouble began to brew when Mum recalled an event in their past, that clearly didn't tally with how Uncle John remembered it.
"No, Phyllis," he would say, "our Mam didn't do that/go there/say that...." Uncle John would then explain how he remembered the occasion, and Mum would be adamant it had happened the way she remembered it. He was a bit surprised that Mum seemed unable to have a sensible discussion, to see if they could establish what had eally happened; instead, Mum would go stomping off to her bedroom and become incommunicado for hours, whilst Uncle John was left shaking his head, perplexed at Mum's confusion.
We explained Mum was having these turns, but not to pay too much attention to them; being pragmatic, Uncle John accepted her as she was, although occasionally, if her assertions were really extreme and untrue, he would say outright that he disagreed with her.
We had a few long conversations about Mum.
I asked him, "Was Mum ever a bit strange when she was young?"
His response was immediate: "No! She was fine - she was a lovely sister - perfectly normal."
When we got back home from Heathrow with Uncle John, Mum was very happy to see him. He was a bit tired from the long flight, but didn't suffer from jet lag; he was soon he was in fine fettle and adjusted to English time.
Mum was more mobile in 2009, and they would sit at the table together and have breakfast. In the mornings, he liked his cornflakes and All Bran; Mum would have a bowl of cornflakes, and they would be quite companionable.
I had warned Uncle John that Mum could have a few "funny five minutes;" having mentioned it to him, I just hoped everything would go gently, and we would all have a happy family time.
To begin with, Mum was very much in "Older Sister" mode, directing most of the conversations, reminiscing about what they had done when they were children, and the different places they had lived in, but trouble began to brew when Mum recalled an event in their past, that clearly didn't tally with how Uncle John remembered it.
"No, Phyllis," he would say, "our Mam didn't do that/go there/say that...." Uncle John would then explain how he remembered the occasion, and Mum would be adamant it had happened the way she remembered it. He was a bit surprised that Mum seemed unable to have a sensible discussion, to see if they could establish what had eally happened; instead, Mum would go stomping off to her bedroom and become incommunicado for hours, whilst Uncle John was left shaking his head, perplexed at Mum's confusion.
We explained Mum was having these turns, but not to pay too much attention to them; being pragmatic, Uncle John accepted her as she was, although occasionally, if her assertions were really extreme and untrue, he would say outright that he disagreed with her.
We had a few long conversations about Mum.
I asked him, "Was Mum ever a bit strange when she was young?"
His response was immediate: "No! She was fine - she was a lovely sister - perfectly normal."
Monday, 11 June 2018
An Escape To Poet Paradise
An Escape to Poet Paradise
Looking after Mum means I don't have much chance to pursue the things I really love to do, such as performing poetry I've written, so it was a real treat to be out of the house for the afternoon on 7 June, travel up to London and spend a happy hour at the Poetry @3 session, organised by The Poetry Society's Paul McGrane.
This is a regular monthly meeting, held on the first Thursday of the month, and compered by Paul, who makes sure everyone gets a fair share of the time available. It's always well-attended, with many enthusiastic poets, and can be a truly international gathering!
Because I am always under a time constraint and need to get back home in good time for Mum, I was very grateful to Paul for organising my turn on the bill at an early point in the proceedings - and here's hoping I'll be a regular participant in future.
This month, the theme was Film and T.V., and it was a wonderful feeling to perform and share a couple of poems I'd written, with a generous audience. This is what I came up with:
LEAVE OUR CLASSIC FILMS ALONE!
Please don't make a re-make of the classic Casablanca -
For who could fill the Bergman/Bogart roles?
With that smouldering, on-screen chemistry
Their eyes windows to their souls.
Just think of Alec Guinness, Peter Sellers, Herbert Lom
And Katie Johnson's genteel tour de force -
Outwitting all those Ladykillers
As Mrs. Wilberforce!
And what about The Italian Job?
And Alfie, with Michael Caine -
The re-makes just don't cut it
They're simply not the same.
And whilst we're on the subject
Recall The African Queen
Again, old Humphrey was the star
With Hepburn on the screen.
There was something extra special
About those films - their style and grace
Controlled by classic actors
With skilful use of pace.
The modern films don't have it
They're too much in your face
The special effects and too much noise
Have taken pride of place.
It's the perfect films from long ago
That always stand the test;
Impressions left upon us
That we had seen the best.
And so, if you're still thinking
Of re-making films well-known:
Don't meddle with their magic -
Leave our classic films alone!
Looking after Mum means I don't have much chance to pursue the things I really love to do, such as performing poetry I've written, so it was a real treat to be out of the house for the afternoon on 7 June, travel up to London and spend a happy hour at the Poetry @3 session, organised by The Poetry Society's Paul McGrane.
This is a regular monthly meeting, held on the first Thursday of the month, and compered by Paul, who makes sure everyone gets a fair share of the time available. It's always well-attended, with many enthusiastic poets, and can be a truly international gathering!
Because I am always under a time constraint and need to get back home in good time for Mum, I was very grateful to Paul for organising my turn on the bill at an early point in the proceedings - and here's hoping I'll be a regular participant in future.
This month, the theme was Film and T.V., and it was a wonderful feeling to perform and share a couple of poems I'd written, with a generous audience. This is what I came up with:
FIFTEEN MINUTES OF FAME
Take me, make me into a star
Mould me, enfold me, wherever you are.
I'm ready and eager, for fame must be nice -
Whatever the cost is, I'll pay the price.
Who cares if the talent is lacking in me?
With a bit of pizazz, I know I can be
All that men dream of; and much better by far,
With a soupçon of spin, I'll be a big star.
Turning dross into gold isn't easy, I know
But with a touch of the airbrush, see how far I can go!
Don't care if this sounds like a desperate plea
Just work all your magic, and soon you will see
A glittering icon, with falsified glow;
But my goodness, I'll sparkle, and light up the show!
LEAVE OUR CLASSIC FILMS ALONE!
Please don't make a re-make of the classic Casablanca -
For who could fill the Bergman/Bogart roles?
With that smouldering, on-screen chemistry
Their eyes windows to their souls.
Just think of Alec Guinness, Peter Sellers, Herbert Lom
And Katie Johnson's genteel tour de force -
Outwitting all those Ladykillers
As Mrs. Wilberforce!
And what about The Italian Job?
And Alfie, with Michael Caine -
The re-makes just don't cut it
They're simply not the same.
And whilst we're on the subject
Recall The African Queen
Again, old Humphrey was the star
With Hepburn on the screen.
There was something extra special
About those films - their style and grace
Controlled by classic actors
With skilful use of pace.
The modern films don't have it
They're too much in your face
The special effects and too much noise
Have taken pride of place.
It's the perfect films from long ago
That always stand the test;
Impressions left upon us
That we had seen the best.
And so, if you're still thinking
Of re-making films well-known:
Don't meddle with their magic -
Leave our classic films alone!
Saturday, 2 June 2018
Mum Still Has A Name For Every Mouthful Of Tea....... Or, Mother's Glugging Game
Mum Still Has A Name For Every Mouthful Of Tea....... Or, Mother's Glugging Game
I've recently written about Mum's pattern of eating, and how she is very slow at mealtimes, but that with patience, she will clear her plate.
After eating her dinner, she also likes some chocolate with her tea - After 8s are a favourite, which I cut in to quarters for her, and she can feed herself with the little square pieces.
I then do "rounds" of tea with her - usually six spoonfuls per round, all accompanied by the name of one of the pussy cats, or one of us.
We have "One for Blackie; one for Pushkin; one for Tiddlywinks; one for Artemis; one for Al's pussy cat, Apollo, and one for Marmaduke: .... The cat who lives down the road." Mum joins in with this "glugging game", finishing off the sentences as we go through the list.
Then it's on to members of the family: "One for Wendy; one for Al; one for you, one for me....." etc.
and, in between rounds, we have a little pause, whilst I rub her back to get rid of any air Mum's swallowed. This usually results in a good burp - I tell her, "Better out than in!" and Mum says, "That's better!"
Helping Mum to drink a cup of tea now takes 12 or 13 "rounds" - 72 - 78 spoonfuls - and with all the rests in between, it can take nearly an hour for her to finish. However, if we use this time to ring up someone Mum knows and have a chat on the phone, the spoonfuls tend to go down more quickly, and we've had the pleasure of touching base with a friend. We also comb and do her hair, which she really enjoys.
We still have people who don't know Mum's routine all that well, suggesting we use straws, or put the tea in a baby's feeding mug; but we have already tried those ideas, with very little success.
The strangest thing is that when we go for Tea at the Ritz, Mum tends to "rise to the occasion," and, with help, will drink her tea from a Palm Court tea cup. They don't hold as much as the pussy cat mugs we have at home, and we have to steady her hand round the cup for every sip, but I think the elegance of her surroundings does have an effect on her. It's a shame I can't replicate it at home!
The important thing is for Mum to keep up a good fluid level; she hardly ever says she feels thirsty, so it's up to us to ensure she drinks (and eats) properly.
I've recently written about Mum's pattern of eating, and how she is very slow at mealtimes, but that with patience, she will clear her plate.
After eating her dinner, she also likes some chocolate with her tea - After 8s are a favourite, which I cut in to quarters for her, and she can feed herself with the little square pieces.
I then do "rounds" of tea with her - usually six spoonfuls per round, all accompanied by the name of one of the pussy cats, or one of us.
We have "One for Blackie; one for Pushkin; one for Tiddlywinks; one for Artemis; one for Al's pussy cat, Apollo, and one for Marmaduke: .... The cat who lives down the road." Mum joins in with this "glugging game", finishing off the sentences as we go through the list.
Then it's on to members of the family: "One for Wendy; one for Al; one for you, one for me....." etc.
and, in between rounds, we have a little pause, whilst I rub her back to get rid of any air Mum's swallowed. This usually results in a good burp - I tell her, "Better out than in!" and Mum says, "That's better!"
Helping Mum to drink a cup of tea now takes 12 or 13 "rounds" - 72 - 78 spoonfuls - and with all the rests in between, it can take nearly an hour for her to finish. However, if we use this time to ring up someone Mum knows and have a chat on the phone, the spoonfuls tend to go down more quickly, and we've had the pleasure of touching base with a friend. We also comb and do her hair, which she really enjoys.
The strangest thing is that when we go for Tea at the Ritz, Mum tends to "rise to the occasion," and, with help, will drink her tea from a Palm Court tea cup. They don't hold as much as the pussy cat mugs we have at home, and we have to steady her hand round the cup for every sip, but I think the elegance of her surroundings does have an effect on her. It's a shame I can't replicate it at home!
The important thing is for Mum to keep up a good fluid level; she hardly ever says she feels thirsty, so it's up to us to ensure she drinks (and eats) properly.
Friday, 25 May 2018
Have You Ever Tried Your Mother On Complan?!
Have You Ever Tried Your Mother On Complan?!
Ever since I can remember, Mum has been a finicky eater; she has always had a pretty good appetite, but likes everything placed on her plate separately - the fish or meat on one side, the potatoes on another, and veg set apart from the rest of the food - and no gravy. She likes to see what she's getting for dinner.
She has also always been a slow eater - just like me, she cannot rush her food, but takes time to chew every mouthful properly. (My Grandma used to say, "Chew each mouthful 32 times - once for each tooth!")
After she broke her ankle in November 2011, which was the start of a 4 1/2 month stay in hospital, I took all Mum's food in to her every day; she had more teeth in her head then, and I didn't need to mash things up - she was certainly quicker in those days.
Fast forward to 2018: six years on, and Mum has slowed down considerably; with the dementia, she doesn't really concentrate on eating, and is easily distracted. Of course, there are times when she will feed herself, but at most mealtimes, she needs a lot of help.
Feeding Mum with her dinner can take over two hours; breakfast takes longer than that. Mum loves cornflakes and I do not stint on the amount I put in the bowl, along with a pint of full cream milk - she can still taste the difference between full cream and semi-skimmed - and she has to take her pills. Supper is also quite lengthy, even if it is only tea and cake. At every meal time, apart from making sure Mum eats the food, we have to make sure she drinks her tea. She will pick up the cup, but then may only take a sip, or wet her lips in the tea; this means she usually needs feeding with that, too.
If all this sounds gloomy and time-consuming - we spend on average about 7 1/2 hours a day concentrating on Mum's nutrition - I try to view mealtimes not so much as tiresome tasks (although they certainly can be!), but more like social occasions. We watch t.v., talk about the cats, and I often ring up friends both here and overseas. Mum likes to talk to these friends as well - if she has known them for a long time, she remembers things from their shared past and experiences, and it all helps to stimulate her, and make the time pass pleasantly. If she is not rushed, Mum will eat every morsel of the food on her plate - and there is a lot of it!
When they found out how much time I spend (for example) on giving Mum her dinner, some carers could hardly believe Mum would take that long over it, and made comments like, "When we feed clients, it only takes half an hour....!"
My reaction was, "Well, then, please come and try to give Mum her dinner in that time." I also reminded them that when we go with Mum for Tea at the Ritz, we get 2 hours to enjoy it - perfect timing for Mum.
One carer asked me, "Have you ever tried your mother on Complan?"
Mum has never liked any sort of milkshake. Although putting all the elements of her dinner separately on her plate no longer works, and I do have to mash everything up, it is not blended or pureed; it is a proper dinner. In addition to whatever meat or fish we may be having, every day Mum has peas, carrots, swede, parsnips, turnips, cauliflower and spinach, as well as some boiled potato. I think we satisfy the "Five a Day" criterion, and if Mum is eating and enjoying proper food, why on earth would I want to take that away from her, and put her on meal supplements?
One day, just after I had dished up Mum's dinner on a 10" plate, complete with a good seasoning of pepper and butter, I took a photo of it. The picture will never make the pages of a cookery magazine, but when I showed it to the carer, she was very surprised.
"Can Phyllis eat all that?" She sounded amazed.
"She certainly can," I said. "If you allow her the time, and have the patience to feed her, slowly and steadily, she will eat the lot!"
Ever since I can remember, Mum has been a finicky eater; she has always had a pretty good appetite, but likes everything placed on her plate separately - the fish or meat on one side, the potatoes on another, and veg set apart from the rest of the food - and no gravy. She likes to see what she's getting for dinner.
She has also always been a slow eater - just like me, she cannot rush her food, but takes time to chew every mouthful properly. (My Grandma used to say, "Chew each mouthful 32 times - once for each tooth!")
After she broke her ankle in November 2011, which was the start of a 4 1/2 month stay in hospital, I took all Mum's food in to her every day; she had more teeth in her head then, and I didn't need to mash things up - she was certainly quicker in those days.
Fast forward to 2018: six years on, and Mum has slowed down considerably; with the dementia, she doesn't really concentrate on eating, and is easily distracted. Of course, there are times when she will feed herself, but at most mealtimes, she needs a lot of help.
Feeding Mum with her dinner can take over two hours; breakfast takes longer than that. Mum loves cornflakes and I do not stint on the amount I put in the bowl, along with a pint of full cream milk - she can still taste the difference between full cream and semi-skimmed - and she has to take her pills. Supper is also quite lengthy, even if it is only tea and cake. At every meal time, apart from making sure Mum eats the food, we have to make sure she drinks her tea. She will pick up the cup, but then may only take a sip, or wet her lips in the tea; this means she usually needs feeding with that, too.
If all this sounds gloomy and time-consuming - we spend on average about 7 1/2 hours a day concentrating on Mum's nutrition - I try to view mealtimes not so much as tiresome tasks (although they certainly can be!), but more like social occasions. We watch t.v., talk about the cats, and I often ring up friends both here and overseas. Mum likes to talk to these friends as well - if she has known them for a long time, she remembers things from their shared past and experiences, and it all helps to stimulate her, and make the time pass pleasantly. If she is not rushed, Mum will eat every morsel of the food on her plate - and there is a lot of it!
When they found out how much time I spend (for example) on giving Mum her dinner, some carers could hardly believe Mum would take that long over it, and made comments like, "When we feed clients, it only takes half an hour....!"
My reaction was, "Well, then, please come and try to give Mum her dinner in that time." I also reminded them that when we go with Mum for Tea at the Ritz, we get 2 hours to enjoy it - perfect timing for Mum.
One carer asked me, "Have you ever tried your mother on Complan?"
Mum has never liked any sort of milkshake. Although putting all the elements of her dinner separately on her plate no longer works, and I do have to mash everything up, it is not blended or pureed; it is a proper dinner. In addition to whatever meat or fish we may be having, every day Mum has peas, carrots, swede, parsnips, turnips, cauliflower and spinach, as well as some boiled potato. I think we satisfy the "Five a Day" criterion, and if Mum is eating and enjoying proper food, why on earth would I want to take that away from her, and put her on meal supplements?
One day, just after I had dished up Mum's dinner on a 10" plate, complete with a good seasoning of pepper and butter, I took a photo of it. The picture will never make the pages of a cookery magazine, but when I showed it to the carer, she was very surprised.
"Can Phyllis eat all that?" She sounded amazed.
"She certainly can," I said. "If you allow her the time, and have the patience to feed her, slowly and steadily, she will eat the lot!"
 |
| Mum's delicious dinner |
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