Yesterday afternoon we were able to go visiting grumpy Grandma. Her grumpiness certainly seems to increasing these days and it’s become her modus operandi. Nevertheless, it was good to see her.
As soon as we got the green light from the rehab ward, we were in the car and heading up the M1. In Bedford we had a little trouble trying to find the right place, together with dealing with the non-existent car parking.
We weren’t sure what to expect of either Grandma or the rehab unit itself, having never been to one. It turned out to be very hospital-like everywhere we looked. The staff were all in their scrubs of various colours, supplemented by face masks and hats. I think we are all getting better at detecting smiles which are hidden behind face masks, though it isn’t always easy.
We were taken into a “bay” which is a small hospital ward with four beds, all unoccupied. Grandma was sitting in a wheelchair, wrapped up in a blue blanket so tightly it must have been like a straight jacket. The staff had brushed her hair and she was sporting a new parting, though I don’t suppose Grandma was neither aware or interested in her hair style.
She sat motionless with her eyes closed, with a face mask dangling from her right ear, to the side of her face. I don’t think she was aware it was there; was this a sign of her dementia taking hold? We were joined by two physiotherapists, one young and with a clip board, flicking through the notes and counting the number of times Grandma had needed assistance during the night. It was every 40 minutes, for one reason or another and we wondered if this was the ‘new normal’ where we would have to wake up and help with her fidgeting around and restlessness. We think that’s the most risky time, the time when she is most likely to fall.
Grandma seemed cross how she was there and in effect asking if we were taking her home as she could apparently manage “perfectly alright” and in any event “I’ll employ someone to look after me”. If only things were that straight forward. The conversation was difficult. The only real conversation which sticks in my mind is
“I am experiencing unhappiness…. I want to go home…. it must be my bedtime now, what time is it…. home, I can give it a go, I suppose”
We said we need be certain that we can look after her alright. She must do all she can in regaining her mobility and strength; just lolling around, refusing to engage isn’t going to help. Throughout this her eyes were kept closed; opening them would take too much effort and it wouldn’t make a great deal of difference to her.
The older physiotherapist remarked on her apathy and her habit of just resting and sleeping. She went further by telling us one day Grandma told the consultant to “go away” while he was doing his rounds. This was, it has to be said, not too much of a surprise for us.
I get the feeling of increasing distain and frustration behind the grumpy facade. All she wants to do is sit in her arm chair at home and have us look after her; she wants the march of time to stop. The house does, I have to say, seem very quiet without Three Counties Radio blaring away at full volume. We turn it down sometimes in order to answer the predictable demands of “I have to take my tablets. Don’t you know? Where are they, why haven’t you brought them to me?” We did, an hour ago. “Oh that’s alright then” and then we are sent away like a house maid until the next demand of “who is going to put me to bed?”
Every day I chat to Grandma, telling her what’s going on in the house, the weather and the general comings and goings. Normally it’s a case of “oh” or “uh?” and I’m quite good at understanding these gestures and the degree of negativity. I generally try and make her laugh about something, recounting a silly story from Rachel’s childhood that she would remember. I have even read her some of my Tales from the Courtroom but she’s not impressed. I might get a little smile at best. Then this is often followed by “I’m tired” which is a polite code for “leave me alone, go away and close the door”.
Avril (a chatty friend in the village) is adept at conversation with elderly, cantankerous folk and this is a special gift of hers. The moment she walks in through the door, she switches on her loud chirpy voice and asks lots of open questions. She means business, it’s no good ducking a conversation with Avril. None of the closed “are you alright today?” questions which are easy to wriggle out of. Instead it’s “tell me how you are feeling today” as Avril picks something from the Memory Table and hands it to Grandma. The Memory Table has lots of relics from decades ago – everything from a bag of mustard seeds through to a home made teddy bear. This often prompts memories and stories as recollections come flooding back.
So where do we go from here?
It is hard knowing how we will manage, if we can at all.
Do we have her back home, with the mixture of carers and the Avrils of the world, supplementing our live-in help? Do we buy more live-in care? Do we organise some respite care? Do we find a permanent care home for her somewhere? All things to weigh up.
At least we have a better picture of what the challenges are and yet we don’t have the full picture. We feel further phone calls coming on…..
You might have read I’m like an interior designer these days. Plus an antique dealer, a DIYer and now a carer. Oh and I forgot to mention we have had some success in raising some serious cash from a painting which I thought was tacky and twee, plus selling off a horrible piece of furniture with its slightly erotic wood carvings. That’s all for now!