Marianne Talbot with her mother Well, if you kept your fingers crossed for us, thank you! Mum has settled into her new home as if she was born to it. I am even losing my fear of visiting because I no longer expect her to be distressed. This is beyond my wildest dreams.
Last week I went in a special transport van to my brother’s to collect mum. On the way the driver, Ray, and I discussed how to tell mum where we were taking her. I was sure mum would constantly be asking ‘where are we going?’. I didn’t want to say ‘home’ because she might get excited, then disappointed (though goodness knows what she means when she asks to go ‘home’). Nor did I want to say ‘your new home’ for fear of frightening her.
‘Why don’t you just say ‘Oxford.’?’ said Ray. Very sensible. But mum didn’t ask once.
On arrival I was apprehensive. Unnecessarily so. Mum gave the manager, Eliza, who greeted us, a bear hug and a smacking kiss. She did the same to the first carer we met.
As we walked, in procession, towards mum’s room, I said nervously: ‘We’re going to see your new room. You’ll love it.’
‘That’s nice’ said mum, vaguely. She was more interested in a woman we were passing who seemed to be crying. ‘Oh dear’ said mum, putting her arms around her, ‘it’ll be alright, you’ll see.’ . Everyone looked at me with one of those ‘aaah!’ expressions. I felt inordinately proud! The woman grabbed mum’s hand and joined our procession.
Mum thought her room was lovely. I kept repeating that it was her new room, expecting her to realise what was going on and protest. But no, she accepted it without question.
The carer took her to have a cup of tea whilst I unpacked. I re-joined them, again apprehensively. But mum was engrossed in animated and unintelligible conversation with another resident. Good old mum – her social instinct is still alive.
So I said I was going. And I went.
I had a bad night imagining her sleepless in a strange bed. But when I rang the next morning I heard that she had been fine despite having been up until 6 am.
Every day I have visited her. And every day she has been fine. Yesterday I found her tormenting a carer with a rubbery orange toy. The carer was enjoying being teased and mum was in fine fettle.
I have heard about people unexpectedly taking to nursing homes. I couldn’t believe we’d be that lucky. Perhaps mum’s gaddings about over the last few weeks smoothed the way?
But whatever the explanation I am everlastingly grateful. Perhaps I am about to get my life back?!