21st November 2007 Harbinger of Doom

Moira visited Dad yesterday, so I went in today. I took Ellie with me because Sean had taken Mark and a couple of his friends to the cinema and on for a meal - it had been Mark's 11th birthday and this was his treat. Dad knew Moira had been to see him but said she kept falling asleep during her visit and had nothing much to say for herself - didn't seem very likely but you never know. He looked very tired, very dishevelled. He said he was 'hanging on by a stem' when I asked how he was. He fell asleep not long after we joined him, so Ellie drew and I looked round the room. There were three new faces amongst the residents. A relatively young looking man - probably 50's I'd guess - who stares at his feet while walking and shuffles, talking nonsense. If you saw a photo of him you'd think there was nothing wrong with him. A man who appears to be in his late 60's, but is very together. He has a fine head of hair - one of those wavy 1950's do's that he's never changed and even though there's grey in it, it's still dark. I like him, he has a lovely, kindly face and he looks like he's laughed a lot.

And then there's the third new resident, who was sleeping beside Cecily. A very dapper figure, well trimmed hair, gold rimmed specs, thick brown cords and co-ordinating jumper. But below the cords, thick fluffy stripy socks and pink slippers. The sleeping figure must be a woman. I checked again the sleeping face - and still wasn't sure.

But then the sleeping figure woke. The voice was definitely a female one. It was deep but still feminine. And very alarming. "Aaarrghhh. Aaaaarrrggghhhh. Aaaaarrrrrghhhhh! I can hear the voice of God. He's telling me to come to him and bring everyone I can. I can speak to God. You do believe don't you? You do believe me don't you?" she implored of everyone around her. The only response she got was from Cecily beside her who took up her usual tack "You're in a nursing home. You're going to die. Soon. Unmourned." New lady howled at this. Howled and howled. "No. You're wrong. You're wicked. I'll tell God" and howled and howled.

Dad's voice tore me back to him. He was sitting with his hands in his pockets. For the last few minutes he'd been slipping down his seat and was now very close to the edge "I'm about to land on the floor if you don't do something about it" he snarled at me. I leapt up and got behind his chair - he was tucked into the table so I couldn't get to the front of him. I hauled and hauled at his underarms to get him back up - a task that would have been eased considerably had he taken his hands out of his pockets. In fact had he taken his hands out of his pockets he'd have been able to stop himself sliding down out of the chair. Once I got him back upright I sat back down, and he took his hands out of his pockets. He fell asleep again, woke for tea and cake, then dropped off again. I kissed him and told him I'd visited during the week if I could. I probably won't. I do try to, but after working all day and then picking up the kids, cooking for them, then Sean, I just can face it. I should go at lunch time, and I think I'll have to but up until now I've been trying to avoid meal times - and even more trying to avoid thinking of it as feeding times. But I do. I had the cheek the other day to correct someone when they called residents "inmates". They are inmates though, it is a prison. And many of them do get fed. But it's still not right, they deserve to be given more respect, to be dealt with to respect their dignity - and I do try and remember, try not to be callous.

As I left I heard Lily shouting at the new lady "If ye can talk tae God gonnae ask him where the fuck I've left ma top set 'cos I cannae find the fuckers onywhere." and as I turn she said to me "Mind ma french though, luv, sorry infront of the bairn, I'm fuckin' terrible so I am". When I look at her, smile and tell her not to worry, I see her "top set" quite clearly in her left hand, but I didn't think it right to point it out.