Published on 12, July, 2020
Hi everyone,
I hope you're all well. I've missed this place!
Well... that's the first week over. In some ways it's been easier than I expected, in other ways it's been harder.
Mum's been quite settled and happy. Each day, she seems to be improving. She has a good appetite and has eaten everything I've cooked for her. She's also managed perfectly well with her personal care. I've even had the confidence to pop out occasionally and leave her - though I'm never longer than a half-hour. I usually leave it until the carers are here in the mornings and evenings, then go for shopping and to collect mail from my flat. But I need a break during the day, too - just for air, if nothing else. Mum has the TV on a lot, which I find difficult. Also, the lack of space is a problem. But I have the laptop set up in the kitchen, and I spend a lot of time out there. I think she understands. There was only one drama, back on Tuesday evening, when she had a hypo just before bed. That was soon settled, though, with a sandwich and some glucose tablets.
Our decision not to let her go on the 6-week placement in a residential home was vindicated when one of mum's carers told us that she used to work there, and 'wouldn't send a relative of mine anywhere near the place.' In fact, she said, it was working there that had made her decide to do community caring instead. She wanted to work to keep people in their own homes for as long as possible.
So far, so good.
On the other side of it... I realise that mum can't be left alone any more. She needs almost constant supervision. She's getting very forgetful, and she'd probably simply forget to do things like take her meds. I also know that moving out of this bungalow would probably kill her. She doesn't want to leave while she can still manage it, and I don't blame her. But she simply can't manage it alone. In the week, I turned out her fridge and food cupboard, and think I discovered the source of the illness that almost killed her the other week. Food that was way out of date. I found a can of condensed milk with a 'Best Before' in 1998! I found jars of things that had been opened and used once, then put in the fridge - again, way out of date. I even found unopened jars that were so old that, despite refrigeration, had gone off. Lids popped like guns when I removed them. It wasn't forgetfulness, but the wartime spirit thing of 'you don't throw food away.' Well, I threw a huge amount of it away. It was deadly.
And what's been the hardest part? Popping back to my flat in the evenings to collect the mail - and finding it empty. No Daisy to greet me with her purrs. I check in each room to make sure all's okay, and see the unused furniture and empty surfaces. I yearn to be back there - just me and the cat. But I don't want to think about the circumstances that will entail that. On the first night, it hit me so hard that I panicked and left in a hurry to get back to mum's - not because I was worried about mum, but because I wanted to make sure Daisy was alright (she is - she's settled in fine). I felt bad about that. But an online friend, going through a similar situation, put me right. She said it's only natural to want to protect what comes afterwards. If I lost mum now, it would hit me like a tidal wave - but I'd get over it. If I lost Daisy, though... I simply don't think I could go on. It would break me completely.
Well... that's as it is so far. I'm taking each day as it comes.
It's all I can really do. I can't think too far ahead.
I'll deal with the rest, somehow, when it arrives.
Thanks, folks.
It's odd sitting here, in mum's living room, surrounded by things that evoke so many memories. Photos of pets we've had over the years. Ornaments bought as Christmas presents or holiday souvenirs. Heirlooms, such as a fish-shaped porcelain milk jug that used to belong to mum's mum, and which I remember from childhood.
Mum's had a good day. I accompanied her as she went out for a ride to the park on her scooter. She enjoyed seeing the ducks and herons in the lake, the trees shedding their leaves, the flower beds still in full bloom. It was lovely to be out on such a fine early autumn day which was almost like early spring. Sky, air, the colours of nature. She ate a good lunch when she got back. She's certainly eating better. I could almost kid myself that she's getting back to normal.
But the other signs are there to remind me. Her confusion over whether or not she's taken her insulin. Her uncertainty about her meds in general. She struggles to remember why she's taking some of the things now. She keeps forgetting Daisy's name. She keeps nodding off in the chair - like she is now. I'm keeping her doing things for herself as much as possible - washing-up, making her tea, putting her laundry away. But it's like watching a fire that's blazed for many years suddenly start to burn down to the embers. There's still an occasional spark and flare. But mainly it's orange flickers and smoulders. The fuel is almost spent and the ash is settling.
I can't really pin down how it makes me feel. There's too much going on inside my head. Sadness is there, of course. A great deal of sadness. I'm glad I'm here. I wouldn't be anywhere else right now.
But it's very hard to live with and witness... this slow, inexhorable dying of a light.