After giving about 6 big vials of blood at the Surgery this morning, Mum wants to go out for lunch to this particular restaurant. We get there and Mum is 2 bites into a rather expensive roast salmon when she winces and cries out a little. She tells me that she has a sharp stomach pain. She experiences a few more twinges and I notice that she's not eating any more. I ask her if she'd like to leave. She would.
On the way back to the village, I ask if her preferred stomach medication would deal with the pain, but Mum says no. I divert to the Doctor's Surgery, only to find it closed for the afternoon "for training". We ring the emergency number, but the Doctor on the end of the line is reluctant to offer any treatment since Mum is unable to give a consistent history. We make an appointment for Mum's surgery after 5pm, when the training is over. At home, I find that Mum's 'Gaviscon' settles her almost at once.
Shortly before 5, I stir Mum from her slumbers in front of the television to tell her that we need to leave for the surgery.
"Why?" She can't remember the pain now.
We see a different Doctor today. She is warm and funny. I do most of the talking at first, mentioning Mum's previous problems with constipation. Mum is adamant that the pain was from her stomach and not her bowels (she remembers it now!). The Doctor asks for a urine sample and uses a testing strip which instantly tells her that Mum has a bladder infection.
Interestingly enough, it turns out that a bladder infection can cause memory problems, according to the Doctor.
"And there was me thinking your brains were dribbling out of your ears!" I say to Mum on the way out.
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Monday, 10 September 2007
a trip to the seaside
Mum has been saying for months that I should take her out for day-trips when I come down, but she has shown little enthusiasm since I’ve been here on this visit. I decide that we should drive to the coast (about 25 minutes away) and have lunch down there. I pick a town I know to be on flat terrain, and which I know is less bustling than others, and we set off. At the seaside, Mum shows no interest in the views, the pleasant surroundings, or in anything at all. There are a good selection of cafés and restaurants and I ask Mum what she’d like to eat. I see her scan the shop fronts in view. She starts reading out notices and store names that she can see. I step in front of her and ask her to think what she would like to eat and say that we’ll find a place that serves it. She can’t think of anything she’d like.
I suggest “Fish and Chips” and she pulls a face.
“Oh no, I don’t like Fish and Chips.”
“That’s odd, Mum, because you told me a couple of days ago that you hadn’t been able to have Fish and Chips for ages and that you loved it. You certainly tucked into your Fish and Chips on that day!”
“Yes, I’d like some Fish and Chips”, she says.
After our meal and an ice cream which turns into an ordeal of keeping the drips off Mum’s clothes, we wander back to the car via some shops, buying Mum a gold watch, some items from the chemist and some clothing. In Marks & Spencer, Mum can’t find her size on a rack of clothing. I ask her what size she’s looking for and she says “12”. I help her to see the many many size 12 items right in front of her. Clutching them to her breast, she looks vacant for a moment and then says, “Perhaps we could ask an assistant?”
“What for, Mum?”
“Size 18, of course!”
I suggest that since Dad’s grave is nearby we should take that in on the way home. Mum agrees without any sign of interest. At the cemetery we haven’t walked a hundred yards before Mum says, “Shall we go back to the car now?”
“Mum, we haven’t got to where Dad is buried, we haven’t seen the tree that you planted or the memorial stone you paid for.”
Mum says she’s going back to find a toilet, and I wander on feeling a little aggrieved that she’s not interested in being here when I thought I was here for her.
On the journey home, I ask Mum what her wishes are regarding her funeral and burial, assuming she will say she wants to be placed with Dad. She tells me that she has no idea.
I suggest “Fish and Chips” and she pulls a face.
“Oh no, I don’t like Fish and Chips.”
“That’s odd, Mum, because you told me a couple of days ago that you hadn’t been able to have Fish and Chips for ages and that you loved it. You certainly tucked into your Fish and Chips on that day!”
“Yes, I’d like some Fish and Chips”, she says.
After our meal and an ice cream which turns into an ordeal of keeping the drips off Mum’s clothes, we wander back to the car via some shops, buying Mum a gold watch, some items from the chemist and some clothing. In Marks & Spencer, Mum can’t find her size on a rack of clothing. I ask her what size she’s looking for and she says “12”. I help her to see the many many size 12 items right in front of her. Clutching them to her breast, she looks vacant for a moment and then says, “Perhaps we could ask an assistant?”
“What for, Mum?”
“Size 18, of course!”
I suggest that since Dad’s grave is nearby we should take that in on the way home. Mum agrees without any sign of interest. At the cemetery we haven’t walked a hundred yards before Mum says, “Shall we go back to the car now?”
“Mum, we haven’t got to where Dad is buried, we haven’t seen the tree that you planted or the memorial stone you paid for.”
Mum says she’s going back to find a toilet, and I wander on feeling a little aggrieved that she’s not interested in being here when I thought I was here for her.
On the journey home, I ask Mum what her wishes are regarding her funeral and burial, assuming she will say she wants to be placed with Dad. She tells me that she has no idea.
doctor's quiz
It’s been 6 months since I wrote to Mum’s Doctor about my concerns, and I’m fairly sure nothing has been followed up. I make an appointment and drive her over. At the Surgery, Mum is well-behaved and doesn’t interject much as I list a few of my more recent observations and concerns. The Doctor pulls out a sheet of paper and starts asking Mum some questions. First off, he asks her to remember 3 words: “candle, ball, shoe.” Then the questions begin:
“What day of the week is it?”
She can’t tell him.
“What month is it now?”
She thinks it might be August.
“And what season is August in?”
“It’s late Spring, at the beginning of Summer.”
The Doctor concedes that this year, particularly, it’s been hard to judge what season we’ve been in.
Next he asks Mum to subtract 7 from 100 and keep going. He offers “93” as the first answer.
“93….er…89….er….87?… er 82?”
The Doctor points to his watch and pen and Mum identifies them correctly. He asks her the name of the village she lives in and whether she knows where she is now. Both are answered correctly, with a touch of indignation. He then asks her to copy a drawing of 2 intersecting irregular polygons. For some reason, Mum feels that she’s completed her copy when she’s only drawn one of the polygons. Finally, Mum is asked if she remembers the 3 words the Doctor gave her at the beginning. She can recall only “candle”.
The Doctor sits back and tots up Mum’s score. I’m feeling a mixture of emotions: anxiety and shame mixed with a surprising relief that the Doctor finally has witnessed a little bit of Mum’s problem. While she’s still normal on some areas, there are others (numbers particularly) where her capacity is gone. I picture her brain like a Swiss cheese.
The Doctor decides to refer Mum to a specialist Elderly Psychiatric team who can analyse her in more detail and possibly prescribe drugs that might help. They will also be able to refer Mum to specific Council services. The Doctor also wants to take some blood tests, and we set an appointment the next day for blood to be taken.
Finally, I ask whether I need the Doctor’s referral to get Mum a “meals-on-wheels” service. He thinks not and gives me a leaflet on the local volunteer service.
“What day of the week is it?”
She can’t tell him.
“What month is it now?”
She thinks it might be August.
“And what season is August in?”
“It’s late Spring, at the beginning of Summer.”
The Doctor concedes that this year, particularly, it’s been hard to judge what season we’ve been in.
Next he asks Mum to subtract 7 from 100 and keep going. He offers “93” as the first answer.
“93….er…89….er….87?… er 82?”
The Doctor points to his watch and pen and Mum identifies them correctly. He asks her the name of the village she lives in and whether she knows where she is now. Both are answered correctly, with a touch of indignation. He then asks her to copy a drawing of 2 intersecting irregular polygons. For some reason, Mum feels that she’s completed her copy when she’s only drawn one of the polygons. Finally, Mum is asked if she remembers the 3 words the Doctor gave her at the beginning. She can recall only “candle”.
The Doctor sits back and tots up Mum’s score. I’m feeling a mixture of emotions: anxiety and shame mixed with a surprising relief that the Doctor finally has witnessed a little bit of Mum’s problem. While she’s still normal on some areas, there are others (numbers particularly) where her capacity is gone. I picture her brain like a Swiss cheese.
The Doctor decides to refer Mum to a specialist Elderly Psychiatric team who can analyse her in more detail and possibly prescribe drugs that might help. They will also be able to refer Mum to specific Council services. The Doctor also wants to take some blood tests, and we set an appointment the next day for blood to be taken.
Finally, I ask whether I need the Doctor’s referral to get Mum a “meals-on-wheels” service. He thinks not and gives me a leaflet on the local volunteer service.
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
2 minute call
I arrive home to a message on the answer machine. It's from Mum. She talks about how she's had a phone call from a relative and how she told her all about me and what's going on (I dread to think what sort of garbled message she passed on). Then how she went to see D (the Warden) this morning and sat outside his office door to talk to him and how he made her a cup of tea and gave her a biscuit and how special it made her feel. She ended the call by saying, "anyway, I'll get off now, so good-bye.........oh....hello?....hello? ooo [piqued]"
It dawns on me that, in the time it took her to leave the message, Mum forgot that she was talking to an answer machine, and was somewhat surprised and indignant not to get a "good-bye" from me at the end. Suddenly the 16 messages left on my machine a couple of weeks back make sense to me. The reason she was increasingly angry and kept calling out "hello" and asking "Why won't you talk to me?" that day was that she had forgotten that she was talking to a machine.
By my calculation, that puts Mum's short-term memory around one or two minutes.
It dawns on me that, in the time it took her to leave the message, Mum forgot that she was talking to an answer machine, and was somewhat surprised and indignant not to get a "good-bye" from me at the end. Suddenly the 16 messages left on my machine a couple of weeks back make sense to me. The reason she was increasingly angry and kept calling out "hello" and asking "Why won't you talk to me?" that day was that she had forgotten that she was talking to a machine.
By my calculation, that puts Mum's short-term memory around one or two minutes.
support
I rang Mum a couple of days ago to let her know that I was coming down again this week (on Thursday). Naturally, she rang me yesterday and this morning under the impression that I was about to arrive. This morning's call was a request to bring toilet roll with me. How she thought I would arrive in time when she was talking to me on my home phone is beyond me.
She had been hobbling pretty badly when I was down there just over a week ago. It turns out that her Chiropodist saw her yesterday and announced that she had an infection in her foot which required the Doctor to come out. She was told to stay in her flat until the visit, so that's why she was calling me about the toilet paper.
I called D, the Warden, to ask if he could help, but he told me that Mum has been taking toilet rolls from the guest toilet in the block for months now. As she never remembers to replace them, he was unwilling to facilitate her any further. I'll have to buy a massive quantity when I'm down with her. I'm getting the impression that Mum has been leaning a little too hard on those around her.
We got to talking about Mum's ability to feed herself. We're in agreement that she's not managing. I raised the idea of arranging meals-on-wheels for her, but D informed me that (these days) this is something you need a GP referral for, and even then this is only offered on a temporary basis to those who have been recently discharged from hospital. Apparently the frozen meals service I've already instituted is meant to fill in, but I know that the cooking instructions are beyond Mum.
It looks like Mum needs to go into a Care Home sooner rather than later.
She had been hobbling pretty badly when I was down there just over a week ago. It turns out that her Chiropodist saw her yesterday and announced that she had an infection in her foot which required the Doctor to come out. She was told to stay in her flat until the visit, so that's why she was calling me about the toilet paper.
I called D, the Warden, to ask if he could help, but he told me that Mum has been taking toilet rolls from the guest toilet in the block for months now. As she never remembers to replace them, he was unwilling to facilitate her any further. I'll have to buy a massive quantity when I'm down with her. I'm getting the impression that Mum has been leaning a little too hard on those around her.
We got to talking about Mum's ability to feed herself. We're in agreement that she's not managing. I raised the idea of arranging meals-on-wheels for her, but D informed me that (these days) this is something you need a GP referral for, and even then this is only offered on a temporary basis to those who have been recently discharged from hospital. Apparently the frozen meals service I've already instituted is meant to fill in, but I know that the cooking instructions are beyond Mum.
It looks like Mum needs to go into a Care Home sooner rather than later.
Tuesday, 28 August 2007
inverse vanity
Despite my constant corrections, Mum keeps telling everyone that she's 80 when she's still only 78. Is she possibly the one woman in the world who ADDS to her age?
the visit
My first visit this year. Friday evening, Mum opens her front door and sees me there with my bag hanging from my shoulder.
"Are you going somewhere?" she asks.
I spent a week with Mum and what I saw could fill several entries here, but I'll just do the 'highlights' for now.
Worst moments:
1) Mum not being able to guess the day correctly even once - then forgetting 5 minutes after being told
2) Finding perishables in Mum's fridge with 'best before' labels for April and May
3) Mum repeatedly using her oven grill to heat up ready meals
4) Finding a telephone bill for £160 where all but 2 calls were to Directory Enquiries, often several a day at 5 minute intervals. When I asked Mum if there was a number she kept forgetting, she explained that sometimes she wanted to know the time and sometimes she just wanted to talk to someone.
Progress:
1) I persuaded Mum to part with her car (to the relief of my relatives and other residents at Mum's block). The official story is that she's sold her car to me as I'm 'having car trouble'
2) Mum has accepted the idea of more sheltered care, and we are going to look at brochures together
3) I simplified her banking further, completed her tax return, got her name removed from several mailing lists and subscriptions and accepted a share offer which should net her £5k
4) I cleared a year of flyers and magazines and wrappers and junk (3 large bin bags almost too heavy to carry)
5) I cleaned Mum's kitchen and discovered that her crockery was originally cream and not scummy brown. She cried with happiness when she saw the cleared kitchen (really!)
One week later, it was actually quite poignant to leave her (normally by this point I'm chaffing at the bit to get away). But I'm heading down soon by train so that I can pick up my own car and bring it home.
"Are you going somewhere?" she asks.
I spent a week with Mum and what I saw could fill several entries here, but I'll just do the 'highlights' for now.
Worst moments:
1) Mum not being able to guess the day correctly even once - then forgetting 5 minutes after being told
2) Finding perishables in Mum's fridge with 'best before' labels for April and May
3) Mum repeatedly using her oven grill to heat up ready meals
4) Finding a telephone bill for £160 where all but 2 calls were to Directory Enquiries, often several a day at 5 minute intervals. When I asked Mum if there was a number she kept forgetting, she explained that sometimes she wanted to know the time and sometimes she just wanted to talk to someone.
Progress:
1) I persuaded Mum to part with her car (to the relief of my relatives and other residents at Mum's block). The official story is that she's sold her car to me as I'm 'having car trouble'
2) Mum has accepted the idea of more sheltered care, and we are going to look at brochures together
3) I simplified her banking further, completed her tax return, got her name removed from several mailing lists and subscriptions and accepted a share offer which should net her £5k
4) I cleared a year of flyers and magazines and wrappers and junk (3 large bin bags almost too heavy to carry)
5) I cleaned Mum's kitchen and discovered that her crockery was originally cream and not scummy brown. She cried with happiness when she saw the cleared kitchen (really!)
One week later, it was actually quite poignant to leave her (normally by this point I'm chaffing at the bit to get away). But I'm heading down soon by train so that I can pick up my own car and bring it home.
Tuesday, 14 August 2007
jaw meets floor
I'm driving home from the supermarket when my mobile phone rings. I let it go to voicemail. At home I check my message and it's from Mum. She has started talking well before the beep, so I miss some detail but can pick up that she urgently needs me to call her.
"Hi Mum. You left a message?"
"I got this note today and it says, 'Don't do anything with Car Tax. Wait for G to come visit' "
"MUM, you didn't just get that note. You WROTE that note yesterday. I got you to write it!"
"Oh.... er... yes, I know that.. er... but next to it was this envelope which says, 'Renew your Car Tax online....etc'"
And Mum proceeds to read out the same letter she read to me 16 times yesterday.
"Hi Mum. You left a message?"
"I got this note today and it says, 'Don't do anything with Car Tax. Wait for G to come visit' "
"MUM, you didn't just get that note. You WROTE that note yesterday. I got you to write it!"
"Oh.... er... yes, I know that.. er... but next to it was this envelope which says, 'Renew your Car Tax online....etc'"
And Mum proceeds to read out the same letter she read to me 16 times yesterday.
Monday, 13 August 2007
calling and calling
As it was raining, I went to the cinema this afternoon. I sat there watching a musical, thinking, "Maybe I'll take Mum to see this when I'm down visiting her."
When I came out of the cinema and turned on my mobile phone, I had a text message to tell me that there were voice messages waiting for me. I called my voicemail to find that in the course of the last hour, Mum had called my mobile 11 times. I started listening to the messages. Each was about the same letter she had discovered in her pile of correspondence referring to her car tax [she called it "an envelope that is telling me..."]. The first few messages were her reading out the letter, beginning each time with an explanation as if she was mentioning it for the first time. In later messages she added "are you there?.... can you hear me?". Then came the angrier, "I want you to call me back right away!" and "Look, why aren't you talking to me?"
I rang my home phone and there were a further 5 messages waiting for me there. That's 16 calls in 60 minutes, or roughly one every 3 or 4 minutes. She must have called almost immediately again each time after putting the phone down. Some of the messages, also, involved periods where she had put the phone down on the table and walked away and I could hear her shuffling through papers. Then she would press the buttons to phone me again, not realising that she was still connected. She's losing her accuracy with the simplest model of phone on the market.
I called Mum and remonstrated with her about the messages. I explained to her that there's no need to leave more than one, which I told her that she used to know. I'm afraid I said that this was upsetting me as it seemed a sign of her failing abilities. She ran with the word "upset" and tried to explain her extraordinary behaviour as coming from her own "upset", but I was really too angry to let her get away with this. I forced her to write down an instruction not to do anything about her car tax and that I would deal with it when I came down later in the week. I had done the same this morning, but that note seems to have become lost in her morass of papers. This one, I insisted, should remain by the phone.
I'm very worried about how upset and angry I became with her. I keep telling myself that this comes from fear, that I am scared whenever her behaviour shows evidence of a new dip in her abilities, but I still can't forgive myself for shouting at a helpless old lady. I'm worried how I'll be with her when I visit.
When I came out of the cinema and turned on my mobile phone, I had a text message to tell me that there were voice messages waiting for me. I called my voicemail to find that in the course of the last hour, Mum had called my mobile 11 times. I started listening to the messages. Each was about the same letter she had discovered in her pile of correspondence referring to her car tax [she called it "an envelope that is telling me..."]. The first few messages were her reading out the letter, beginning each time with an explanation as if she was mentioning it for the first time. In later messages she added "are you there?.... can you hear me?". Then came the angrier, "I want you to call me back right away!" and "Look, why aren't you talking to me?"
I rang my home phone and there were a further 5 messages waiting for me there. That's 16 calls in 60 minutes, or roughly one every 3 or 4 minutes. She must have called almost immediately again each time after putting the phone down. Some of the messages, also, involved periods where she had put the phone down on the table and walked away and I could hear her shuffling through papers. Then she would press the buttons to phone me again, not realising that she was still connected. She's losing her accuracy with the simplest model of phone on the market.
I called Mum and remonstrated with her about the messages. I explained to her that there's no need to leave more than one, which I told her that she used to know. I'm afraid I said that this was upsetting me as it seemed a sign of her failing abilities. She ran with the word "upset" and tried to explain her extraordinary behaviour as coming from her own "upset", but I was really too angry to let her get away with this. I forced her to write down an instruction not to do anything about her car tax and that I would deal with it when I came down later in the week. I had done the same this morning, but that note seems to have become lost in her morass of papers. This one, I insisted, should remain by the phone.
I'm very worried about how upset and angry I became with her. I keep telling myself that this comes from fear, that I am scared whenever her behaviour shows evidence of a new dip in her abilities, but I still can't forgive myself for shouting at a helpless old lady. I'm worried how I'll be with her when I visit.
Saturday, 11 August 2007
dates
"I've just checked and my car tax has expired."
Typically, Mum sounds thrilled at the drama. Meanwhile, my heart plummets.
"Really, Mum? I usually remind you in advance, so I'm not sure it's due for renewal."
I check my organiser and there's nothing for Mum's tax disc anywhere. Oh no! This is my fault! I panic.
"Yes, the date on it is the 7th August," she says.
I groan, because I know that it will take DAYS for me to organise Mum to find her M.O.T. and Insurance information, with her reading every random scrap of paper in her flat out to me over the phone because she cannot discriminate between any random letter and the relevant documents. This is going to be agony.
"I'll go out and check again," she volunteers.
"Okay," I answer, playing for time.
While I wait, I remember that the renewal date is held on my "MUM" spreadsheet. I open this to find that she has the same renewal date as me (the last day of August). She shouldn't be out of date at all.
Mum rings again.
"Yes, it's the 7th of August alright. It says 31.08.07"
It seems that Mum's dates have gone the way of money and all the other things she has lost the ability to judge.
Typically, Mum sounds thrilled at the drama. Meanwhile, my heart plummets.
"Really, Mum? I usually remind you in advance, so I'm not sure it's due for renewal."
I check my organiser and there's nothing for Mum's tax disc anywhere. Oh no! This is my fault! I panic.
"Yes, the date on it is the 7th August," she says.
I groan, because I know that it will take DAYS for me to organise Mum to find her M.O.T. and Insurance information, with her reading every random scrap of paper in her flat out to me over the phone because she cannot discriminate between any random letter and the relevant documents. This is going to be agony.
"I'll go out and check again," she volunteers.
"Okay," I answer, playing for time.
While I wait, I remember that the renewal date is held on my "MUM" spreadsheet. I open this to find that she has the same renewal date as me (the last day of August). She shouldn't be out of date at all.
Mum rings again.
"Yes, it's the 7th of August alright. It says 31.08.07"
It seems that Mum's dates have gone the way of money and all the other things she has lost the ability to judge.
Thursday, 9 August 2007
verdict
D&G, my Aunt and Uncle, have returned from their visit. D is on the phone in the taxi before they've even reached their house.
"Your Mum needs to go into a home."
My heart sinks. Mum would be very upset if I even broached the possibility. "I suppose you want to put me in a home, now!" is her favourite stick to beat me with when we have a confrontation.
I don't know how to go about this. How to persuade Mum.
I don't know if her finances can stretch far enough.
I feel overwhelmed.
"Your Mum needs to go into a home."
My heart sinks. Mum would be very upset if I even broached the possibility. "I suppose you want to put me in a home, now!" is her favourite stick to beat me with when we have a confrontation.
I don't know how to go about this. How to persuade Mum.
I don't know if her finances can stretch far enough.
I feel overwhelmed.
Friday, 27 July 2007
ten commandments
"Hi. I've just spoken to D [the Warden] and the guest room is free that weekend!"
"... What weekend? ... For whom?"
Mum hesitates as it dawns on her that maybe she's screwed up again.
"Well for D & G, of course. I've just checked and the room will be free for them"
D & G are my Aunt and Uncle. Mum sounds proud of herself for sorting this out on her own.
"Mum.... I booked it about two months ago for them, and they're not coming for a weekend but for a Thursday night!"
"Oh" [befuddled]
"Mum, it's already organised. You don't have to do anything."
After two weeks of daily calls about my Brother-in-Law's visit and the non-availability of the room for him, we've now switched back to this visit. Happy Days.
What I need is a large LCD screen hanging on Mum's wall which I can update remotely with our version of the Ten Commandments. Seven come to mind off the top of my head:
1. Eat 3 meals today and walk your dog
2. ALL your bills are already paid AUTOMATICALLY - do not send off any cheques
3. Do not sign up for a Direct Debit without talking to me
4. Use the health supplements you've already bought before spending £300 on a new batch
5. You've given away a lifetime's amount of money to charity - you will need charity yourself if you give away any more
6. Do not phone people before 9 am
7. If guests are coming, the arrangements have already been made by me. You don't need to do anything.
I'm sure the rest will come to me.
"... What weekend? ... For whom?"
Mum hesitates as it dawns on her that maybe she's screwed up again.
"Well for D & G, of course. I've just checked and the room will be free for them"
D & G are my Aunt and Uncle. Mum sounds proud of herself for sorting this out on her own.
"Mum.... I booked it about two months ago for them, and they're not coming for a weekend but for a Thursday night!"
"Oh" [befuddled]
"Mum, it's already organised. You don't have to do anything."
After two weeks of daily calls about my Brother-in-Law's visit and the non-availability of the room for him, we've now switched back to this visit. Happy Days.
What I need is a large LCD screen hanging on Mum's wall which I can update remotely with our version of the Ten Commandments. Seven come to mind off the top of my head:
1. Eat 3 meals today and walk your dog
2. ALL your bills are already paid AUTOMATICALLY - do not send off any cheques
3. Do not sign up for a Direct Debit without talking to me
4. Use the health supplements you've already bought before spending £300 on a new batch
5. You've given away a lifetime's amount of money to charity - you will need charity yourself if you give away any more
6. Do not phone people before 9 am
7. If guests are coming, the arrangements have already been made by me. You don't need to do anything.
I'm sure the rest will come to me.
Monday, 16 July 2007
groundhog
This must be the fifth morning in a row that I've been woken up by Mum wanting me to relay a message to my Brother-in-Law that the guest accommodation at her place is unavailable. Each morning I have to tell her that I know and that he and the family have booked a hotel in Hickstead, nearby.
"Hickstead?!!" Mum screeches with incredulity. This is news to her.
We will have the same exchange at least twice more today, if today plays out like the others.
"Hickstead?!!" Mum screeches with incredulity. This is news to her.
We will have the same exchange at least twice more today, if today plays out like the others.
Saturday, 14 July 2007
clues
I call Mum to relate an email I've received from my Brother-In-Law about his imminent visit. I can sense Mum's attempt to hide her panic on the other end of the phone, so I'm careful to remind her that he will not reach her until Friday, and that he and his daughters will not be staying with her but in a hotel and merely visiting her.
I also tell her that my cold is still pretty bad and my throat is sore.
"Oh dear, you've had that cold for AGES, haven't you?"
"No Mum, it began yesterday, I told you I was coming down with it yesterday."
"So when are you coming down?"
I've come to a theory about Mum's memory problems. I believe she copes by responding to clues in the sentences spoken to her. Thus because I said that my cold was STILL bad, Mum ventured that I'd had it for ages. Because I used the expression "coming down" with regard to the cold, Mum's attention flicked to asking when I was coming to visit her.
"Mum, I've told you several times when I'm coming down. There's no point in me telling you again, as you'll only get confused. Why don't you focus on your next visitors [B-In-Law and girls]?"
I get her to write down that they are visiting on Friday, as she has already forgotten. We end the call.
A couple of minutes later, the phone rings. Mum has an amused tone she uses only when she is trying to show how competent she still is.
"I just thought I'd say that you'd better be careful when you arrive tomorrow, as [the dog] will be all over you!"
"Mum, I'm not coming down tomorrow."
"Oh.... well the day after, then."
ADDENDUM: I had a further call in the afternoon where Mum announced that she'd bought some food ready for my arrival tomorrow...
I also tell her that my cold is still pretty bad and my throat is sore.
"Oh dear, you've had that cold for AGES, haven't you?"
"No Mum, it began yesterday, I told you I was coming down with it yesterday."
"So when are you coming down?"
I've come to a theory about Mum's memory problems. I believe she copes by responding to clues in the sentences spoken to her. Thus because I said that my cold was STILL bad, Mum ventured that I'd had it for ages. Because I used the expression "coming down" with regard to the cold, Mum's attention flicked to asking when I was coming to visit her.
"Mum, I've told you several times when I'm coming down. There's no point in me telling you again, as you'll only get confused. Why don't you focus on your next visitors [B-In-Law and girls]?"
I get her to write down that they are visiting on Friday, as she has already forgotten. We end the call.
A couple of minutes later, the phone rings. Mum has an amused tone she uses only when she is trying to show how competent she still is.
"I just thought I'd say that you'd better be careful when you arrive tomorrow, as [the dog] will be all over you!"
"Mum, I'm not coming down tomorrow."
"Oh.... well the day after, then."
ADDENDUM: I had a further call in the afternoon where Mum announced that she'd bought some food ready for my arrival tomorrow...
Tuesday, 10 July 2007
mothering
Mum rings me to tell me that tornadoes are heading her way according to the local news. She seems unconcerned. She says she's had a good day.
"Well, I've had a rotten day"
There is a long silence.
"Oh well, I suppose I'll be off then" she says.
"Mother!"
"Yes?"
"I just said I've had a bad day! Are you going to ask me about it or respond in any way?"
A shorter pause. She chuckles.
"Yes, I suppose."
I get to list the problems I've dealt with today. There's no reaction or sympathy to anything. I don't think she understands a word I'm saying. Perhaps if I was a newsreader on her TV I could reach her.
"Well, I've had a rotten day"
There is a long silence.
"Oh well, I suppose I'll be off then" she says.
"Mother!"
"Yes?"
"I just said I've had a bad day! Are you going to ask me about it or respond in any way?"
A shorter pause. She chuckles.
"Yes, I suppose."
I get to list the problems I've dealt with today. There's no reaction or sympathy to anything. I don't think she understands a word I'm saying. Perhaps if I was a newsreader on her TV I could reach her.
Monday, 9 July 2007
I can't begin to describe my morning
Another early wake-up phone call. Too much to process here. Cutting through the half-truths and inventions has taken me two hours. In the process I've brought down a whole edifice of un-truth concerning a local cab company, an edifice that Mum has been building all year. I'm beginning to wonder if it might make life easier for us both if I refrain from pointing out her inconsistencies, try not to listen to the detail and simply 'read between the lines' to what's behind it all - her unhappiness with this or that arrangement. Sometimes, though, what she says alarms me and I urgently need to get to the bottom of it. That's when it becomes frustrating talking to someone who contradicts herself in adjoining sentences. Outrageously so.
Sunday, 8 July 2007
memory slips real and useful
6:00pm on Sunday evening. I call Mum to see how she’s doing.
“Fine. I’m just on my way out to the shops, actually. Can I call you back later?”
“Mum, it’s Sunday. The shops will have shut a couple of hours ago.”
She takes the news well, and I enquire as to what she has in the freezer that she can eat tonight. As I do every day, I ask if she’s been out for a walk with the dog.
“Oh, yes! I was out for about an hour and a half with her.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, I went out about 5:30 with her”
I let it pass. Talk switches to my Aunt and Uncle visiting in August.
“G’s adamant that he’s coming down on the train, which means I’ll have to drive to the station to pick them up, and it means I’ll have to drive them to the… to the…the…Brasserie”
I’m pleased that Mum has at last taken it on-board that they will not have their car with them. It’s only taken 4 reminders from me, and maybe a couple more from my Aunt and Uncle. I think about it for a while and start to suspect “G was adamant” means that this time she ‘conveniently forgot’ and was trying to persuade them. I ring my Uncle, to check, and it seems she rang them excited that she’d bought them a parking permit at the flats (guest permits are actually free). He tells me that she tried several other ways to manipulate them into changing their plans.
This is the first time I’ve noticed Mum using her memory problems in a mischievous way. I'll have to look out for this in future.
Incidentally, Mum had no memory of calling my Aunt on Friday about the 'change of plans' and unavailability of the guest accommodation.
“Fine. I’m just on my way out to the shops, actually. Can I call you back later?”
“Mum, it’s Sunday. The shops will have shut a couple of hours ago.”
She takes the news well, and I enquire as to what she has in the freezer that she can eat tonight. As I do every day, I ask if she’s been out for a walk with the dog.
“Oh, yes! I was out for about an hour and a half with her.”
“When was that?”
“Oh, I went out about 5:30 with her”
I let it pass. Talk switches to my Aunt and Uncle visiting in August.
“G’s adamant that he’s coming down on the train, which means I’ll have to drive to the station to pick them up, and it means I’ll have to drive them to the… to the…the…Brasserie”
I’m pleased that Mum has at last taken it on-board that they will not have their car with them. It’s only taken 4 reminders from me, and maybe a couple more from my Aunt and Uncle. I think about it for a while and start to suspect “G was adamant” means that this time she ‘conveniently forgot’ and was trying to persuade them. I ring my Uncle, to check, and it seems she rang them excited that she’d bought them a parking permit at the flats (guest permits are actually free). He tells me that she tried several other ways to manipulate them into changing their plans.
This is the first time I’ve noticed Mum using her memory problems in a mischievous way. I'll have to look out for this in future.
Incidentally, Mum had no memory of calling my Aunt on Friday about the 'change of plans' and unavailability of the guest accommodation.
Friday, 6 July 2007
conversations that never happened
This morning I received a call from my Aunt. She and my Uncle are visiting Mum next month. I had made the arrangements for them about 6 weeks ago, booking them the guest accommodation at the flats where Mum lives. Apparently, Mum rang them around 8am this morning telling them that since they had changed their dates the accommodation was already booked out.
Naturally, this was confusing for them, since they haven't changed their plans at all.
I hadn't wanted to bother them at the time, but I had to correct Mum a fortnight ago, when she mentioned this visit and started telling me about several excursions she was looking forward to when they're with her, about the restaurants they'd take her to, and so on. I had to remind her that they're only there for one night and that since they are travelling down by train there would be no galavanting about the countryside.
Now, forgetting the details of a visit is one thing, but this morning's incident concerns me, since it involves at least 2 conversations that didn't take place in the real world: one where my relatives changed the dates of their stay and one where the Warden told her that their 'new dates' were unavailable.
Naturally, this was confusing for them, since they haven't changed their plans at all.
I hadn't wanted to bother them at the time, but I had to correct Mum a fortnight ago, when she mentioned this visit and started telling me about several excursions she was looking forward to when they're with her, about the restaurants they'd take her to, and so on. I had to remind her that they're only there for one night and that since they are travelling down by train there would be no galavanting about the countryside.
Now, forgetting the details of a visit is one thing, but this morning's incident concerns me, since it involves at least 2 conversations that didn't take place in the real world: one where my relatives changed the dates of their stay and one where the Warden told her that their 'new dates' were unavailable.
Friday, 29 June 2007
see-saw
This morning I was woken by a call from Mum. As I was croaking 'Hello' she angrily launched into an obviously rehearsed speech about my not allowing her to have her bath replaced by a shower cubicle. She sounded very worked up. She'd been up all night thinking about this.
Only, of course, I've said no such thing. In fact I've been suggesting the shower idea for about 2 years now. She always scotched the idea until her neighbours had the work done a couple of weeks ago. Now, it seems, she's all for it. Last week I phoned the builder who did the work next door and asked him for an estimate. I relayed the news to Mum that he can't fit her in before October. I suggested getting another guy in who might be able to work sooner, but she wouldn't have it. She was happy to wait.
Four days on, this has somehow twisted into me refusing to allow her the shower cubicle. She has entirely made up a whole conversation and it worries me that in her fantasy I play the role of the bad guy. It doesn't augur well.
We fell to talking about how she's going to fund this project. She announced that she had an account containing a figure over £117,000. I told her that this was unlikely, given that her total savings last year came to less than half this figure. She attempted to read out her bank balances, but couldn't read the same number twice without adding decimal places. When she read the bank sort-code as a balance, I told her to put the account information away until I could come visit.
Tonight she just rang up again to say: "Well, it seems that I'm bankrupt!"
Only, of course, I've said no such thing. In fact I've been suggesting the shower idea for about 2 years now. She always scotched the idea until her neighbours had the work done a couple of weeks ago. Now, it seems, she's all for it. Last week I phoned the builder who did the work next door and asked him for an estimate. I relayed the news to Mum that he can't fit her in before October. I suggested getting another guy in who might be able to work sooner, but she wouldn't have it. She was happy to wait.
Four days on, this has somehow twisted into me refusing to allow her the shower cubicle. She has entirely made up a whole conversation and it worries me that in her fantasy I play the role of the bad guy. It doesn't augur well.
We fell to talking about how she's going to fund this project. She announced that she had an account containing a figure over £117,000. I told her that this was unlikely, given that her total savings last year came to less than half this figure. She attempted to read out her bank balances, but couldn't read the same number twice without adding decimal places. When she read the bank sort-code as a balance, I told her to put the account information away until I could come visit.
Tonight she just rang up again to say: "Well, it seems that I'm bankrupt!"
Friday, 1 June 2007
the lights are off but somebody's home
"I turned the bathroom light on and suddenly all the lights went out!"
[this happens every few weeks - the wiring in the apartment is abysmal - and every time is like the first]
"Not again! Did you flip the trip-switch back up?"
"Yes, I did that and it all came on again."
"Ah, that's good. I'm glad you've learned that you can fix it on your own."
"Oh yes. I did it all by myself..... But....the kettle was off, the fridge was off, all the lights in the flat were off. I couldn't get the television to work..."
"Of course, Mum, but at least you knew you only had to flick the trip-switch to get them all back, didn't you?"
"Well, I went and got D [the Warden], and he showed it to me, and turned it back on for me."
"Ah... I thought you did it yourself."
"No... And do you know, even the washing machine stopped!"
"Well, of course, Mum. If a light blows, the trip switch acts like a fuse and stops everything working. But you only have to open the cupboard and flick the switch up again. It's very simple. I'd hate for this to happen at the weekend or an evening, when D isn't working. You should know how to fix it yourself by now."
"Well, yes, I told D how I'd remembered how to fix it and how I'd flicked up the switch. He was really quite impressed with me, I think."
".....?!!?"
[choose the true version of events from those above for tonight's star prize]
[this happens every few weeks - the wiring in the apartment is abysmal - and every time is like the first]
"Not again! Did you flip the trip-switch back up?"
"Yes, I did that and it all came on again."
"Ah, that's good. I'm glad you've learned that you can fix it on your own."
"Oh yes. I did it all by myself..... But....the kettle was off, the fridge was off, all the lights in the flat were off. I couldn't get the television to work..."
"Of course, Mum, but at least you knew you only had to flick the trip-switch to get them all back, didn't you?"
"Well, I went and got D [the Warden], and he showed it to me, and turned it back on for me."
"Ah... I thought you did it yourself."
"No... And do you know, even the washing machine stopped!"
"Well, of course, Mum. If a light blows, the trip switch acts like a fuse and stops everything working. But you only have to open the cupboard and flick the switch up again. It's very simple. I'd hate for this to happen at the weekend or an evening, when D isn't working. You should know how to fix it yourself by now."
"Well, yes, I told D how I'd remembered how to fix it and how I'd flicked up the switch. He was really quite impressed with me, I think."
".....?!!?"
[choose the true version of events from those above for tonight's star prize]
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
