guantanamom

The Social Worker has just telephoned again, and we had another good chat about options for Mum. We discussed various styles of Care Homes and Private in-home Care. She is contractually prevented from recommending specific service providers, but she was able to give me a range of options to look at while I'm visiting this coming weekend.

I found one thing she said a particularly interesting insight: that Mum's disorientation is like that of a tortured prisoner. Think about it: she is depriving herself of food and water, her sleep patterns are disturbed and she is suffering from an infection. Meantime, we're all circling around her threatening to make big changes in her life on her behalf that must seem scary.

It's a perspective that I'm going to have to keep in mind, especially when I catch Mum telling me exactly what she thinks I want to hear.

feet

I had a call from the Warden first thing this morning. Yesterday, Mum's Chiropodist/Podiatrist had been concerned to find another growth between Mum's toes, and had immediately called for a Doctor's appointment, which has been arranged today. It looks like Mum may need some help washing herself.

Anyway, the Warden pointed out that this was inevitably going to mean a prescription of anti-biotics again (can I cope with that again?). I'm not a devout man, but it seems almost too perfect that I was planning to spend time with Mum anyway - I'll ask the Warden to regulate her pills until Friday when I come down for the visit.

The Warden expressed surprise that the Doctor hadn't inspected her feet when Mum went on Monday about her swollen ankles, but I suddenly worked it out: Mum would have got to the Surgery and not remembered why she was going. They'd have had a very general chat about nothing in particular. That would explain why Mum was very vague about his advice when I rang her afterwards. How stupid of me not to see that coming. From now on, I should ask to speak to the Doctor directly when I make an appointment for Mum.

another verdict

Well, the Social Worker spoke to me this evening about her meeting with Mum yesterday.

She told me that she was VERY concerned about Mum: that she had appeared extremely disoriented and was obviously not managing on her own. Mum had made many claims about being able to cope, but these had been pretty easy to see through as confabulations. The Warden had sat in on the conversation and had gently corrected Mum whenever necessary, bringing up such incidents as Mum's wandering out onto the by-pass.

When the subject of frozen meals came up, Mum at first claimed that she managed to cook them fine, and then shortly afterwards expressed distrust of her microwave oven (the only functioning cooking device in her kitchen). She was unaware that her built-in oven had been disconnected and claimed that she cooked the frozen meals in there. It's possible that she hasn't been eating anything BUT her one delivered meal per day, and the Social Worker guessed that Mum was probably giving half of THAT to the dog.

I had organised a visit to the Doctor yesterday after Mum had told me that her ankles were swollen on Sunday. This hadn't resulted in any diagnosis, but the Social Worker pointed out that the swelling is most likely due to the fact that Mum is not making it to her bed at night and sleeping, instead, sitting up in her chair. Her fluids are naturally pooling at her feet because she's not elevating them. The Social Worker told me that Mum had somehow managed to turn off the heating to her bedroom and had consequently stopped using the room at night.

When the Social Worker expressed concern about Mum being financially exploited, I took the opportunity to let rip about several incidents that I had noted over the past 7 years: the helpful 'handy man' who befriended Mum just when she was selling up our family home and who made off with most of our stuff; the Spanish property company who flew Mum out to a resort and pressured her into a deal for a building that had no planning permission and which wasn't built 2 years later (she lost about £50,000 on that one); the catalogue firms that prey on her; the £70,000 I think she's donated to charity in the past 7 years; the £300 she still spends on miracle pills each month because she believes every whacky thing in print.

The Social Worker said that she felt the Consultant's diagnosis of 'mild to moderate dementia' was perhaps generous and that from what she'd seen Mum was 'moderate to severe' in her view. We discussed the sort of Care Homes I should be looking at, and also more immediate arrangements for twice-daily visits from someone to make Mum's breakfast and dinner, and maybe help her plan her shopping.

I've pretty much decided to travel down South this weekend and visit a couple of homes close to Mum, perhaps with a view to getting Mum to try one for a month or so around Christmas. I may even bring her up here to stay with me for a week, so that we can visit the two I looked at last Sunday. The thought of coping with her here, though, is frightening. I'm not sure she'll do well with the stairs in my house, or be able to use my bath. I'm barely feeding myself right these days so the thought of caring for someone very needy already overwhelms me.

what did I say?

A Social Worker was scheduled to visit Mum today to assess her needs should she go into Care. She arrived at 1:30pm. It's almost 4pm now and I just rang a few minutes ago to ask Mum how things had gone. 

Mum picked up the phone and there was the usual delay while she fumbled with the handset and pressed various numeric keys while making little noises of surprise and consternation. I could hear the Social Worker in the background gently reminding her how to operate a phone ("no... just hold the receiver to your ear"). When Mum worked out what she was doing, I told her that I realised that her visitor was still there so I'd leave it and ring her back later. 

I heard Mum tell the Social Worker that I was happy that she was there and that I had asked to speak to her.

Now I could easily start to worry about Mum's inability to understand my simple statement, but I'm going to put this one down to her being so thrilled at having company that she couldn't spare any attention to what I had actually said and just invented something that seemed likely.

Anyway, the Social Worker and I had a brief exchange in which she told me of her understanding of the situation from Mum's point of view. Mum had obviously given a rather bizarre version of her wishes, which I will attempt to correct tomorrow.

a good day out

I had a much more successful day today hunting for Care Homes. This time I was looking about an hour's drive away from where I am but a lot closer to where our relatives live. After my last 2 dispiriting attempts, I had decided that what I wanted to look for was a place where Mum could have a small apartment to herself, but where all meals were provided and where staff would be available 24 hours a day, should they be needed.

The first place I looked at fitted the bill very well. It is set in its own pleasant grounds and consists of a main building and a selection of bungalows set around courtyards to one side. The main building has some very pleasant social rooms to the ground floor, including a bar and restaurant, and there's even an indoor swimming pool for hydrotherapy. There are some apartments within the building, and also a corridor of single rooms for those who require more hands-on nursing. Outside, I was shown one of the bungalows which is currently unoccupied, though has already been reserved. The decor inside was a little tired, but the house had all that Mum would need, and she would be free to have it altered and redecorated as she wished, since she would be buying it. The Nurse showing me around told me that some residents had in fact bought 2 adjoining bungalows and knocked through to make a larger dwelling, but that's not an option Mum can afford, and I don't think that there's a need. Overall, I got a good feeling about this place. I could see several residents socialising in the communal areas, and I warmed to the relaxed attitude of the staff. I think Mum will respond to the cachet of the place - it has a bit of a country-club feel to it.

Next up was a brand new development I had only found on the internet last night. This building only opened 6 weeks ago, so everything looks perfect. But it's the innovative approach of the organisation that appealed to me. They're a not-for-profit organisation who seem to be re-thinking everything for senior care. Within the one building they've got some nicely appointed apartments, a whole floor of individual nursing rooms, but also several 'households' made up of single rooms clustered around a lounge and kitchen and run by staff as 'families'. Again, I think the best fit for Mum would be a private apartment, which she would have the option of either buying or renting. Downstairs there was more of a canteen than a restaurant, but they serve 3 meals a day. There was also an entertainment room, a hair salon, a Doctor's Surgery and even a gym. One aspect of the place that I thought would particularly appeal to Mum was that the bathrooms were essentially 'wet rooms', in that there was no bath or shower tray to climb in and out of but simply a shower rail and a drain in the floor. That was a key selling point over the 'country club', though I suppose we could pay to have a wet room plumbed in there. The attitude of the staff here was fresh and enthusiastic and the quality of the accommodations very good indeed. The only quibble I'd have is that its setting is a suburban one, looking out onto streets and houses while the other place looked out onto greenery, but I'd struggle to say which Home I preferred.

So, I've gone from despairing, earlier this week, to now having more than one option. I've collected brochures from both places to send to Mum.

mess

Yesterday I received a large envelope in the mail containing a treasure trove of unsent documents, including tax and insurance forms that I had repeatedly asked Mum about over the last month or so. My Birthday Card was in there, too, and like several other items it was stamped and addressed but had simply not made it out of the door. I knew that this windfall was due to C's initiative on Wednesday, so I rang the Warden (C's partner) and left a message to say thanks.

This morning, the Warden rang to tell me more about what C had seen in Mum's apartment. Apparently, the place was in a dreadful state. In the kitchen there were rotting food items on all surfaces: half-eaten meals, banana skins, opened soup cans left out, and so on. The dog's food was all over the floor and dog mess on the carpet. It took C a whole hour to clear the kitchen and then another to deal with the bathroom. It was only after this that she sat down at the dining table and started sifting through Mum's huge pile of correspondence.

I told the Warden that I was very grateful that C had taken extra time beyond her usual hour, and told him that I was keen that she be paid for this time and any further time she can spare in future weeks.

Am I kidding myself when I reject homes like the ones I saw yesterday?

more home hunting

I had a phone call yesterday from the House Manager of one of the Care Homes I visited 2 weekends ago. She brought our conversation to an abrupt halt once she reached the section in her notes that told of Mum's problems with Dementia. She told me that there were other homes run by the same company that would be better suited.

So today I used my day off work to go and visit 2 more properties run by the same Healthcare group, this time closer to my home. Both were indicated as dealing with Dementia. The first was a grand old stone mansion typical of this area of Yorkshire, the stones still blackened with Victorian soot. This place wasn't as vast as the Manor house I saw last time but was still very nicely appointed and from the exterior looked like it might appeal to Mum. The staff were warm and friendly. I was given a brochure of the place and the Receptionist looked for some additional information and gave me a smaller booklet on bereavement (I hope that was an error on her part - I really should consider buying some clothes that aren't black).

It turned out that the home was split between Nursing Care and Dementia Care. I was shown around the Dementia unit. The Residents' rooms were pleasant, though I could see that Mum would take issue with the en-suite facilities, which were limited to basin and toilet. I know Mum would like her own shower. Then we entered the communal lounge and my jaw dropped. All the residents were pretty far gone in their Dementia. Several were asleep in their chairs, a couple were babbling away toothlessly, and one was directly in our path, motionless and bent over as if she was trying to touch her toes. While the Manor 2 weeks ago had smelt faintly of urine, I'm sorry to say that this place reeked of shit. There's no way I could persuade Mum to go there, and I don't think it's the right place for her. I made a swift exit.

Next up was a smaller place even closer to home, but the Receptionist here was very clear from the start that unless my Mother needed Nursing specifically then this wasn't the right place for her. Nevertheless, she showed me around and I was encouraged to see the Residents sitting watching a movie together with plenty of staff around them. The Receptionist dug out some useful booklets, including one on Alzheimer's and one on funding a Care place (I suspect this is the one that the woman at the first place intended to give me - being a similar size). She recommended I use the resources of the Alzheimer's Society and Age Concern to track down an appropriate home for Mum.

So, another unsuccessful couple of visits, but I'm slowly learning the difference between Residential, Nursing and Dementia Care, so it's all useful. I've yet to see a place that I'd be happy to show to Mum as a possibility, but I'm confident that I'm closing in on the target.

I got home to find an answer-phone message from the Warden, telling me that he had some more concerns about Mum which he wanted to pass on. He's going to call me tomorrow.

plenty

Two chequebooks for Mum's spending account arrived by post this morning. All Mum's Bank correspondence comes here nowadays, so I get the chequebooks as well. Getting two suggests that Mum has been into the Bank or phoned the Bank twice asking for more cheques. It's not very long since I sent the last book down to her, so I give her a call. Mum sounds bright and breezy - she has company.

"C is here!" (C cleans for Mum once a week)

"Lovely... I'm ringing because I've just had a couple of chequebooks delivered here for your account and.."

"Oh?" Mum sounds alarmed.

".... I was just wondering how you were doing for cheques down there?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I've got plenty of cheques."

There's spluttering in the background and I hear C pointing out that Mum could do with some more cheques. I ask if I can speak to her. C tells me that Mum's hairdresser also visited today and left without payment because Mum couldn't find a cheque to write. I tell her that I'll send down a book by post tomorrow morning. C asks if I would like to speak to Mum again. I say I would but I hear Mum say that she'll talk to me later. Of course, she doesn't ring back. She doesn't ring at all these days. Not since our last conversation about the shower.

I'm curious to see Mum's next Bank statement. She seems to be going through a lot of cheques. 

While writing this up just (it's evening now) I took a call from Mum's hairdresser, who told me that she hasn't been able to get a cheque from Mum these last 2 weeks. While I am still concerned about Mum's vulnerability to fraud, I'm suddenly more worried that she fobbed me off saying that she had plenty, a full 2 weeks after running out, and after having to disappoint those providing services to her over and over. It's not a good sign if it means she's that confused and it's no better if it means she's trying to keep me out of her affairs.

diagnosis

Here are a few sections of the letter I received this morning from the Consultant Psychiatrist. He brought his visit forward by a couple of weeks, since Mum was driving everyone crazy about her appointment on the 30th.

"..a pleasant lady, who has only partial insight into her problems. She scored 22/30 in MMSE* with 2/5 in orientation to time, 1/3 in recall section, 2/5 in attention and concentration, and 8/9 in language. There seems to be global impairment of her cognitive abilities. Her CT scan shows both atrophic and vascular changes..."

"I can conclude that she is suffering from mixed pathology dementia, mild to moderate in degree..."

"I gather that her Son is looking at supervised residential care and I think that it is a step in the right direction..."

It's interesting to have the breakdown of Mum's scores. Her 8/9 in language explains why she fools casual acquaintances so successfully.

*Mini Mental State Examination

independence

I've been pretty exhausted this past week, struggling to integrate into my new job, so I'm afraid I've taken advantage of Mum having forgotten me, and I've not called her for fear of getting embroiled in one of her tornadoes, where I'm swept up in a huge twister of half-truths, fabrications and emotion only to settle down a few days later in exactly the same place and with nothing achieved.

But I have been checking up on Mum by phoning the Warden. Today he told me that he arrived at 9 this morning only to find that Mum had called his office phone several times in the early hours. Before he could investigate, a Taxi turned up and the Driver informed him that he'd taken an early call to take Mum to the local Hospital A&E (ER). The Warden accompanied the Driver down the corridor to Mum's apartment in order to find out what was wrong. Mum told him that she'd injured her toe. He asked Mum to humour him and take off her shoe, and she revealed a perfectly normal foot with no apparent injury or inflammation. It turned out that one of her toenails had grown a little long and was rubbing against the side of her shoe. Hardly a candidate for the Casualty Department. Mum's chiropodist was in the building today, so the Warden arranged for Mum to have her toenails clipped and all was right again.

My point in recording this is that Mum is independent enough to sort herself out after a fashion and arrange things (even if it's mostly the wrong thing). I'm now looking to find a new home for her that is a bit more than just a room in a house, but maybe a small apartment or bungalow within a complex, just to give her that sense of independence, even though she'd be leaning on the support available to a greater and greater extent as time passed.

report

I called the Warden at lunchtime to ask how Mum was, remembering what he'd told me last week: that she is at her worst on a Monday when she's been left unsupported through the weekend.

He immediately informed me that there had been another formal complaint against Mum, this time from the gardeners. They'd found the patch of grass outside Mum's apartment littered with dog shit. We've pretty much determined that Mum is not giving the dog the long involved walks that Mum describes, but it seems Mum has lost the compunction to rush out and scoop up the poop, which she was still doing when I was visiting in September. The Warden suggested that this was another sign of her rapid decline.

He also mentioned that Mum had been spotted heading off to do some shopping on Sunday morning about 8am, about 2 hours before anything was open, clearly unaware what day of the week it was. Apparently, she is also stepping into the road directly after pressing the button at the pedestrian crossing, having forgotten that you should wait until the display shows the green figure. It's only a matter of time before she has another bad scare or accident on that crossing.

I've really got to do something and quick. I'd like to find a place for her somewhere for Christmas - sell it to Mum as a break and then see whether she enjoys the extra attention and the food enough to want to stay.

exploring

I spent a long day on Saturday driving around the North-West of England looking at Care Homes.

The first stop looked great online: an impressive stone mansion in its own grounds. I thought it would appeal to Mum's taste for the high-life, and a certain level of care was implied because it is operated by a well-known healthcare company. In reality, sadly, the original Manor has been vastly and not-too-sensitively extended to provide up to a hundred more rooms. These are on the generic side, though reasonably large and all en-suite. But the place feels gloomy and deserted and smells a little of urine. I was oppressed by the huge bare communal lounges devoid of anyone socialising. The only residents I saw were sitting alone in their rooms with their doors open to the corridor. On the plus side, the nurse that showed us around seemed warm and kind and the presence of the gentleman on reception in a tight grey wig, skirt and make-up implied a tolerant and surprisingly individual atmosphere given the size of the operation and the corporate nature of the owners.

Next up was a smaller place on the edge of a peninsula and actually close to where we had once lived as a family. I was very keen on this place in principle given the familiar surroundings and great views. Initial impressions were equally favourable: the interior was very well maintained with an 'arts and crafts' feel to it. The communal areas were exquisite and far more home-like than at the Manor, but again empty of residents. Once again, all the old folk were in their rooms. Small rooms. Most of them without a private bathroom. They take their meals there because there isn't a dining room downstairs. The Senior Nurse who showed us around seemed extremely competent if a touch steely. I worried that maybe the place was a little strict. It certainly seemed even less stimulating than the previous place.

After that, the other two places ruled themselves out of consideration due to location or poor presentation. One of them was so shabby and decrepit that I couldn't even find a door-bell and I wasn't too happy about the cracked window I saw either. The other was too near a busy road for my liking, given Mum's propensity to wander.

So I left my house at 10am and was back at around 1:30am and no closer to finding a new home for Mum. I'm sure the exhaustion is still colouring my reaction, but I keep telling myself that at least I've started looking.

comedy

Someone rings Mum's doorbell.

Mum goes to the intercom but presses the red emergency button instead of the "speak" or "enter" buttons.

Not getting the response she wants, Mum decides to walk down the long corridor to the front door in order to let her visitor in. It takes her about 5 minutes to get there.

Meantime, someone from "Careline" is calling out through the intercom system in Mum's flat, asking if she's okay.

As they get no response, they call an ambulance.

A typical chaotic morning for all those around Mum. Three hours later she has no memory of it at all.

betrayal

I felt guilty the first time I went live with this blog. I had collected a backlog of emails to my Brother-in-Law, and I began to post entries that he could look at when convenient rather than getting to his desk in the morning to find several long complaints from me. 

Even though no-one was looking my way other than him, I felt I was betraying Mum.

Since then, this blog has had some regular visitors and I've been grateful to get a few kind comments and expressions of concern. It has made such a difference to know that someone else was reading all this and found what I wrote meaningful or moving. This was an unanticipated benefit from the blog.

A part of me feels guilty, of course, that I'm making myself feel better by exposing (betraying) Mum.

Recently, I've posted a couple of pictures of Mum, for which I felt guilt all over again. My picture and name are up here now as a small expiation.

I'm worried that my morality has slipped incrementally, so that what made me uneasy and ashamed in the first weeks is now simply not enough. I am a little vague as to whether each indignity I publish is really an effort to be truthful to what's going on, or proof to myself that I am an ungrateful Son. 

Am I looking for an edge, for a damning betrayal? How far will I go?

Today, in the real world, I betrayed Mum in a way I feel horrible about. I cancelled the installation of her new shower.

When Mum and I had our conversation last week about the complaints that had been made about her, she took the news with no apparent distress, but suddenly cut in with: "What about my shower?" I lied and said that I hadn't thought about that but, now that she mentioned it, there seemed to be little point in spending £2,000 on something she might get only a few weeks' use out of. This was the news that knocked the wind out of her - I heard the breath come out of her and her voice plummeted to rock-bottom. I rescued her by quickly saying that we would ensure that her next residence would have an en-suite shower. Since then, though, I've felt too cowardly and wretched to do anything about cancelling the installation. It was a decision that would acknowledge that Mum really will be moving out.

Today, after the Warden said once again that he thought Mum should move out in a matter of weeks rather than months, I finally phoned the Plumber and left a message that I needed to stop the job.

It's by no means my first betrayal. I am sickened by the thought that it won't be my last.

more of the same

Mum seems to have fallen out of the habit of calling me since Thursday, and I've been taking a break, myself, in order to concentrate on a new job I started yesterday. However, I did phone around a few people today.

The Warden said that Mum was declining rapidly, that she was beginning to look a little unkempt, and that she'd been up to his office close to 15 times this morning with an appointment card in her hand asking him to help her organise a taxi today. Each time, he had explained that the appointment was for the 30th November, and that the card clearly stated that someone would be picking her up to take her there.

Next I spoke to the Community Psychiatric Nurse, who informed me that the CT scan had come back and that it does indeed show some damage to Mum's brain. It's her opinion that the Consultant's diagnosis will be that the damage is from 'mixed' causes, rather than straightforward Alzheimer's. It's more likely that Mum has been suffering from a succession of TIAs and that the dementia is vascular. The CPN said that even in the short period that she's known Mum she has seen a definite decline, and that I should place Mum in care very soon. Mum has been assigned a Social Worker, who I can ask questions about what sort of Home would be suitable for Mum, and how to finance it.

Finally, I spoke to Mum's Bank Manager to ask a question related to the Power of Attorney I hold for Mum. She asked how Mum was doing, and divulged that they'd seen her on Friday after Mum couldn't remember her PIN once again, and that a staff member had accompanied her to the Post Office to help her. I can't imagine a larger town branch being so helpful, and I'm so grateful to them that they are patient with Mum.

It looks like I'll be spending the weekend visiting Care Homes.

hearsay

Mum rang me yesterday in the early afternoon and began the call with: "I went to [the Warden] and told him what you'd told me about how I'm the most unpopular person there has ever been in these flats..."

What?

I didn't listen any further. I interrupted Mum and vehemently denied saying any such thing. I remonstrated with her for making up yet another conversation overnight and then spreading untruths. I was mortified to hear that she'd said that to the Warden. Of course, I knew it wasn't her fault, really, and that her brain had scrambled the message from our conversation the day before, but I lost my temper. Having silenced her, I immediately rang the Warden to defend myself and reassure him that I'd said nothing of the sort.

Having slept on it, I must admit that the strength of my reaction came in part from my disappointment that Mum wasn't calling me to say "Happy Birthday" to me yesterday.

phone call from the warden

The Warden rang me up this afternoon to talk about Mum. It seems that several other residents at the block have 'expressed concern' or outright complained about Mum recently.

Mum has been ringing doorbells and knocking on peoples' doors at or before 7am.

4 residents have recently noticed Mum's electric hob turned on full with papers stacked upon it and have complained that she represents a fire risk to them.

Although Mum received her delivered meal at noon, she was found cooking 4 of her recent delivery of frozen meals about 1pm. As is her way, unfortunately, she was grilling the plastic packages rather than using the oven, and three were melted around the food. She was discovered eating her fourth attempt, which she had grilled to a lesser extent and which was therefore under-cooked.

Apparently, Mum hasn't been outside for some time now and her dog is defecating and urinating on the carpet because it's not getting out.

Finally, Mum was talking nonsense this afternoon about how she'd spoken to my Sister, who was going to visit her tomorrow. My Sister hasn't spoken to Mum in years and lives in the Middle East.

The Warden told me that he thought the time had come for Mum to be relocated to a safer environment.

I arranged, immediately, for an Electrician to visit and isolate the power supply to Mum's cooker and hob. He's going to visit on Friday afternoon. I then spoke to the Mental Health team that have been visiting Mum recently, but the person I spoke to said that Mum had enough savings to disqualify her from assisted care and that the Health Department was not allowed to recommend private care facilities down there. I'm going to have to start visiting places up here in the North, I think.

I'm about to speak to Mum about all this. Not really looking forward to it...

reheat

Mum's tone of voice is one she uses when she's delighted with herself for having done something that proves her independence. Inevitably, these days, this means she's done something that I then have to spend a day or two rescuing her from, so I find the tone far from encouraging.

"I just thought I'd ring you to tell you about this book I've got.... it's called 'Farm Foods' and it's got all these meals in it and you can order them and they come frozen and you can get deserts and they do smaller portions if you want..."

Mum is very excitedly telling me about a brochure for the same frozen meal service she has been using since February. She has picked up the brochure from a display in the communal lobby of the flats. As far as Mum's concerned this is an entirely new concept and she's thrilled. I feel wretched explaining to her that this isn't, actually, anything new and, in fact, one reason I arranged the meals-on-wheels service for her is that she proved unable to heat these frozen meals satisfactorily. As often is the case nowadays, Mum treats this as if I'm making it up just to annoy her.

all change

A call from the Warden this morning with a list of concerns.

He'd had to visit Mum to ask her to stop taking toilet rolls from the guest facilities in the block (the cleaner had caught her). While he was with her, Mum showed him a massive order of frozen meals she was completing and announced that she'd cancelled the Meals-on-Wheels service. Then she asked him the date, so that she could write the cheque out. The Warden looked around and noticed that the "Calendar Clock" I'd bought was gone from the mantelpiece. Mum told him that she thought it looked better in the spare bedroom, a room she rarely visits.

I'm going to have to be careful following this up, since I don't want to implicate the Warden as my source, so I'll have to keep asking Mum how she's enjoying her delivered meals. It could be that she completely fabricated this story about cancelling them to justify the large order of frozen meals (Mum loves spending money over the phone). I'll also have to engineer a situation where I ask her what day of the week it is, to "discover" that the clock isn't in view.

Finally, the Warden returned to the toilet roll issue and mentioned that Mum had placed a telephone order with the supermarket down the road, and that they'd be delivering later. I was curious about this, as I know that you need to spend over £20 to get a delivery, but the Warden said that Mum "doesn't go out these days" and hasn't left the building for over a week. I guess that's why she's stealing toilet rolls from the hallway and possibly why she's ordering in frozen food.

What's going on?

new photo

I took this picture on one of my recent visits to Mum. We went out for a restaurant meal almost every day I was there, and here we were in Pizza Express, where Mum discovered she REALLY liked the "Nostrana" salad. Her enthusiasm was almost alarming. It was like watching a starving person eat. But then, that's not far from the truth. It was only on this visit that I realised how poorly Mum was feeding herself, her fridge empty save for a few yoghurt pots and margarine tubs both out of date by several months. She was getting by on a diet of breakfast cereal and chocolate bars. Occasionally she was heating up a frozen meal, but she was unable to follow the cooking instructions and, in any case, used the grill setting on her oven. This was the reason I started up the meals-on-wheels deliveries. Mum rings me up regularly to say how much she loves them, especially the desserts.