21st October 2006 – So these are my legs then?

When I go in today, Dad was trying to pick up an invisible something from the floor. When he realised I was there to visit him, he wetly kissed me on the cheek and I said we should go and sit down. I’d noticed two seats just at the edge of the day room were free and I had my eye on them. You get a bit of privacy there, there’s no real way anyone can join you for long as there’s no other seats and they are in a corridor, so people tend just to keep passing by. I didn’t want to go to the visitors room, yesterday it had been stinking, someone’s lunch I suppose, the floor had been covered in ground-in food. And it feels like a storeroom, with it’s odd un-matching broken furniture. It used to be a staff room, and the staff are obviously less than pleased at having to walk a bit further to eat their lunch. I’d mentioned at my care review that there was a lack of privacy, so I think it’s considered to be my visitor’s room. There are cups and saucers but no coffee or tea “Health and Safety you know, won’t allow it” – which is fine but then why leave the cups? By way of decoration there’s a broken ancient radio, which I find horrific, this thing that used to be able to sing, to talk, to entertain now sits broken, silent, useless and with everyone who comes into the room having a vain attempt to make it work again then giving up and ignoring it. And for reading there’s numerous copies of a booklet on dementia, all of which are covered in cups rings and food stains – so it would appear the staff aren’t taking those extra few steps to eat elsewhere. So, anyway, we head for those chairs in the corridor and Dad decides he needs to go to the loo, so I point him in the right direction, then re-point him, then take him directly to the door of the loo, open it and gently push him into it. I return to the chairs to claim them and wait. I don’t know how long it should take, and I’m mindful of the fact that he’s been locked in before so I’m very aware of the time stretching out. As 5 minutes turns into 10 minutes, I reckon something must be up. I notice Amy going over to the loo, which is just out of my eyeshot ( is eyeshot a word ? Earshot, eyeshot ? ) , round a little corner. I hear a shout of “Pull your trousers up” so I know he’s still in there. I leave it another 5 minutes, partly hoping he manages to deal with whatever is happening himself, and partly to allow him to avoid the indignity of me helping him. After 15 minutes I go to the door and knock. “Are you ok?” “No” “Do you want me to get help?” “Well, can’t you just help?” I hesitate. I don’t want to wipe his arse. I open the door. He’s standing at the sink and he can’t do up his trousers. The smell is overwhelming. I look over his shoulder – when did I start being able to look over his shoulder, when did he get so small? – and see the toilet seat, covered in shit. I get his trousers fastened, zipped up, belt fastened. I clean the mess off the toilet and wash up. We go and sit down. The first person to pass is a member of staff. Don’t know her name, haven’t seen her often. “You should have just chapped the door. We’re no really meant to use that room. It's just it's such a treck to the other room. If I’d known you needed it, I’d have come right out”. She's conspiratorial. I tell her I only like to use the room when I have the children in with me, that I’m not bothered the rest of the time. She smiles and is superficially pleasant but I don’t like her as she wanders off. Next comes along another staff member – this one I do know. She’s Susan. She looks remarkably like the last one, badly streaked hair, unhealthily, greasily overweight. She has two daughters, one about 6 months younger than mine, the other about a year older. She says something similar to tweedledum and I give the same response, that it’s just when I have the children here that I like to use the visitor’s room. She looks at me dumbly. I explain that they find it difficult and I relay a story to try and make her understand. One parents night I went to my son’s school and looked through his work while waiting for the teacher to see us and while trying not to despise my ex-husband, who is smelling strongly of mints, with top-notes of fags and booze. I read one printed worksheet called “Fears” What frightens you? Where is a frightening place? When where you last frightened? Who is a frightening person? What is a frightening event? Mark had written What frightens you? The thought of getting dementia and heights Where is a frightening place? The old peoples home where I have to visit my Papa once a week. When where you last frightened? Friday. Who is a frightening person? Anyone with dementia. What is a frightening event? Being kissed by an old woman with dementia. Susan says “Awwwh. Is he awfy sensitive?” as if there’s something wrong with him. I say that Ellie too finds it increasingly difficult, she knows that the people in here don’t make sense and it puzzles her. Susan says proudly “My two love it in here. They are always getting cake and sweeties. They’ve been brought up in here, the older one, she cries before we come in, but she’s fine as soon as she’s in and she’d had a bit of cake, she loves her food that one.” “Och well, as long as they’re happy” I say “ that’s the main thing eh? Anything for a quiet life, eh Susan, that’s what I say” I sell out. I tell her what she wants to hear, talk like I understand and agree with her. I don’t but it stops her staring at me and she says “Aye, yer no wrang there! Eh, I say, you’re no wrang there” and cackles off as if she’s just displayed the funniest, most brilliant piece of wordplay, something worthy of Stephen Fry. “Eh, I say, you’re no wrang there” she echoes down the corridor. What is it with these people – why even bother saying those words – what’s the point? I turn back to my Dad, who’s fallen asleep. No wonder, if that’s all you can do as a protest, then do it. Blank it out – me included. Quite right. Another carer comes up and asks us if we want tea or coffee. We’re brought tea for Dad, and black coffee for me. And cake. Sweet, sickly, calorific, yellow iced, yellow cake. Everything in there is laced with calories. I can hear the buzzer going – someone is outside and wants in. I realise it’s been going on for a while – while Susan was cackling – so I go into the office to see about opening it. No-one’s there but there’s a switch on the wall. I press it, realising it might be an alarm or panic button, but not really caring. The relative comes in just as tweedledee comes wandering past – accepting the thanks for letting them in. I hear a shouting coming from the corridor. It’s Amy, she’s shouting at Stella to use a zimmer, she’s stupid, she could fall and hurt herself – better she did, better she just killed herself and got her moaning face out of this place. Doesn’t she realise that’s why her family have dumped her here, to die. They don’t want her. Just wait ‘til her husband comes to take her home, she’ll be glad to see the back of the place and their moaning faces. Trouble is Amy’s husband has been dead for about a year. Stella’s crying. Stella cries a lot. I rush through to the day room, get a zimmer and take it to her, she looks gratefully at me “It’s no true is it hen, they’ve no left me here to die huv they?” I assure her they’ve not, that she’s here to get better. Dad’s dropped off again. The carer has taken away the cups and left a small plate of fruit for Dad. A few grapes and some strawberries. 5 a day, another tick in box. I wake him to eat the fruit “Dad, some fruit for you”. “My name’s not Douglas is it? Yes, it is, I’m Douglas Bader aren’t I?” “No Dad, your name’s Jimmy” “So are these my legs then?” “Yes, Dad, they're your legs”.