February 25, 2009: home truths

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Carer Diary

February 25, 2009: home truths

Marianne Talbot on why sometimes a care home may be the answer for very frail relative and everyone who cares for them

Mum’s home is big. New people are coming into residence all the time. Most come with families.

New family members exude shock. Grim-faced, sometimes tearful, always anxious, guilt seeping out of them, it takes them a couple of weeks to settle. The new resident settles far more quickly.

It’s not surprising is it? You’re not eligible for mum’s place, until you are oblivious to where you are. But for families this is the moment of defeat.

Both my parents have been in homes. Both were moved suddenly. Re-reading my blogs it is obvious I wasn't entirely unaware of the looming of mum's move, though equally obviously I was in denial.

With Dad it happened virtually overnight. One minute, so far as I knew from my twice weekly telephone calls, dad was fine. The next dad was in hospital having ‘fainted’ en route to the shops.

'No, you needn’t come' said mum 'he’ll be fine'. But a week it was becoming obvious from mum’s strained tone that he wasn’t fine at all.

I went home. Dad was far from fine. He was never fine again. After three weeks the hospital insisted no more could be done and they needed the bed. Mum was beside herself. Then she bumped into a friend who recommended a home.

It was utterly the wrong place for dad. He became convinced he was at school and that mum was his mum, come to take him home.

Mum was traumatised. Three weeks later she couldn’t bear it. She fetched his suitcase and took him home.

For the next 18 months she cared for him, and I, as his receiver under the court of protection, cared for their money. My telephone calls increased to two a day (at least). My visits to one a month. Mum's voice went from controlled to desperate. And dad went from being dad to being... well...

At one point I arranged for him to spend one day a week at a local nursing home so mum had at least one day’s break. It helped but it was a sticking plaster.

Then their doctor took matters into his own hands. He rang and said he had arranged for dad to be admitted to the home he was going to once a week. I was horrified. But the doctor – to his great credit – was adamant. He wouldn’t, he said, bet on my mum’s lasting the month unless dad was taken off her hands.

Ten years later, almost to the day, my doctor made the same decision about me (though I hope he wasn’t worrying about my lasting the month!)

Thank goodness for doctors who are prepared, when necessary, to overrule everyone else. More power to their elbow.

The Court of Protection and Enduring Power of Attorney

Saga and caring

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