Not that Tony’s meals were poorly cooked or the portions meagre. They were nothing of the sort. They looked appetising and were nutritious. It would be doubtful if many of these residents could have eaten so well had they remained in their own home and lived from a state pension. Yet despite this, and the efforts Tony put into providing an adequate meal, each lunchtime saw a disheartening amount of waste.
‘You would never think that this was the generation that experienced food shortages and had to get by with ration books’ an offended Tony would complain as he scraped food into a black bucket.
* * * * * *
‘Ah, Bev, just the person I’m looking for.’
‘Oh no, I don’t like the sound of that!’
‘Busy?’ asked Anna.
‘Of course…! No, not really. What is it?’
‘You’re needed in room 18 until the next buzzer goes off.’
The relatively quiet hour between two and three was an opportunity to make some progress in the preparations for the Summer Fayre. All sorts of items were appearing in room 18, which was looking more chaotic as the days passed and the great event approached. Although an unoccupied double room, it looked far too small to store the growing mountain of carrier bags and boxes. Anna wasn’t sure where she and Bev ought to begin.
‘I’ll tell you what. Shift everything up this end where the beds are, look, and as you sort it out put it down that end. Clothes by here and other things over there.’
‘Right.’
Since Anna couldn’t think of anything better, she settled for Bev’s suggestion. Slowly, without much enthusiasm, books were sorted from knick-knacks, children’s books from adults and clothes into men’s and women’s. Pictures were put into one large cardboard box and jigsaws into another. Pricing all of this would be a headache, but one that could wait until another day.
* * * * * *
At seven each evening Samuel would press his buzzer for the carers to hoist him into bed. This evening was no exception to the rule. Sometimes he would have to wait several minutes for staff to arrive, which he presumed was because they were busy attending to someone else. Sometimes it was. Sometimes it was because he had to wait for someone to come in from outside where they were having another fag break. Such was not the case this evening, however. He soon heard footsteps approaching his room and the door being knocked, a rare courtesy that Samuel appreciated. Tracey and Val entered.
‘Evening Sam.’
‘Evening Sam, my precious!’
Samuel couldn’t see very well and had difficulty in distinguishing faces, but he recognised voices. Since moving into the home he had grown to prefer some carers above others. Tracey was one of his favourites. He felt safe with her.
‘Hello my dears! Are you still here, Tracey?’
‘I’m working a double shift today and then I’m off Friday and the weekend.’
‘Lovely, my dear.’
‘You ready to get into bed, then?’
Samuel was not a particularly big man, but even without his legs he was probably around the thirteen stone mark. A portable electric hoist that was kept on charge in the corridor was brought into the room. The two carers manoeuvred the red nylon sling behind his back and down around his thighs. The straps were clipped to the arms of the hoist and Val pressed the button.
‘Hold on tight!’
Sam held on tight. He was lifted up until he was out of his wheelchair and dangling in mid-air. He was then pushed over his bed and lowered on to it. The straps were detached and Sam was rolled to his left and then to his right to release the sling.
‘Lovely, my dears. Lovely. Thank you both very much.’
‘You’re welcome. Is that all, Sam?’
Tracey folded up the wheelchair and put it against the wall.
‘Yes, that’s all, my loves.’
‘Goodnight Sam!’
‘Goodnight!’
Sam’s diabetes had been diagnosed soon after his retirement at sixty-five from the Post Office. He was now eighty. Since his diagnosis he had lost both his legs below the knee. The loss of the first had been an especially traumatic event and one that he had struggled to come to terms with. He had been so active, walking the streets as a postman and playing bowls in his leisure time. The recent amputation of his other leg was less of a trauma in that Samuel could see history repeating itself. He was also becoming partially blind in his left eye. The problem with his feet had been due to worsening blood circulation which had led to a blackening of his toes and to gangrene setting in. This was not an uncommon problem for diabetic sufferers, as was the worsening of his sight.
Samuel understood that his sight was only going to get worse and that the longer he lived the greater were the chances of his going completely blind. May had been unable to cope with her husband’s second amputation, coupled with his increasing degree of blindness.
‘I think it’s for the best, really,’ she would tell the neighbours, their friends from the Dorchester Bowling Club and her fellow worshippers at Bethel Baptist Church. ‘I mean, he has all the attention he needs and they can keep an eye on him day and night. They do regular tests for his diabetes, so he’s in safe hands.’
Despite knowing it was for the best, May found the nights very lonely after so many years of marriage. Their companionship, the core of every marriage, had been removed.
Samuel had read the ninety-first psalm many times in his large print Bible. He knew it by heart. He found the psalms to be a great source of strength.
‘The best medicine of all!’ The old man closed his eyes.
‘He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High’ he whispered.
He let the words sink in. Samuel had for many years dwelt in the shelter of the Most High. This evening’s meditation was brought to a close with a prayer in which he thanked God for the care home and for carers like Tracey. He asked God to comfort May, now alone at home, and to bless Matthew in his work as a doctor in Kenya. He was hoping to see his son when he came home for a few weeks in the summer. He would probably see his wife the following day.
‘Amen’ whispered the old saint.
Quiz
Suggested answers are in italics.
‘Breakfast was the easiest meal of the day because it arrived in several stages. Folks had their porridge or Weetabix, their tea and toast. They seemed to want none of the alternatives. Perhaps there weren’t any.’
20. What was the probable reason why the residents didn’t want any of the alternatives?
• There really were no alternatives.
• There were alternatives, but the residents weren’t told about them.
Wendy took a paper napkin from the nearby trolley and wiped Dave’s gravy covered fingers. She put the knife and fork in his hands. ‘Try to eat properly.’
21. Who might Dave be talking to, or who might be talking to
Dave, telling him to be brave?
• The person is entirely imaginary.
• The person is someone who Dave knows.
• The voice is someone Dave used to know, but who’s been dead for years. His mother, for instance.
• Dave thinks it’s God talking to him, or the devil, or his guardian angel.
22. Does Dave ever take any notice of what the voice tells him? Yes, he seems to.
• He has twice managed to escape from the home.
• He refused to speak to Gordon Knox, a member of the inspection team that visited the home.
23. Why is Dave using his fingers to eat his dinner?
• He’s not concentrating on what he’s doing.
• He’s forgotten how to use a knife and fork.
• He wants to be annoying!
‘If ever the expression ‘second childhood’ was applicable to elderly people it’s at mealtimes’ said Wendy out loud.’
24. What might have prompted Wendy to make this remark to herself? Both Peggy and Dave were performing like badly behaved children.
‘You would never think,’ a
n offended Tony would complain as he scraped food into a black bucket, ‘that this was the generation that experienced food shortages and which had to get by with ration books.’
25. What could be the reason for this disheartening amount of waste?
• The meals were unattractively presented.
• The meals were not cooked properly.
• The portions were too big for small appetites.
• The staff took so long to serve the meals that they were cold.
• The residents were allowed to eat too many snacks between meals.
‘Tracey was one of Sam’s favourites. He felt safe with her.’
26. What would be your attitude to Samuel if you were not one of his favourite carers?
• Your own answer.
27. What could you do to become one of his favourite carers?
• Take time to know and understand him.
• Remember his individual ways, his likes and dislikes.
• Because of his poor sight, always identify yourself so that he knows who is caring for him: ‘Sam, it’s Chris. I’m putting clean underwear away in your drawers!’
• Remember that he is poorly sighted, so describe things to him.
• ‘Your cup of tea is on the left of the table.’
• ‘Here’s your dinner, Sam. Sprouts are at two o’clock and chicken at seven o’clock.’
• ‘What TV channel do you want?’ ‘The controls are by here.’
• Ask what colour clothes he wants to wear. ‘Is it the blue shirt or the red, today, Sam?’
• Offer to read a passage from the Bible to him.
• Show some interest in his family. Ask after his wife or his son.
28. As a carer, is it wrong for you to have favourites among your residents?
• Your answer.
My opinion is that we all have favourites in all areas of life. Friends, work colleagues, neighbours, etc. No, favourites are fine as long as you don’t make it obvious. You should treat all your residents with respect and not treat some better than others. Treating one better than another would be discriminatory.
‘Despite knowing it was for the best, May found the nights very lonely after so many years of marriage. Their companionship, the core of every marriage, had been removed.’
29. Suggest three single words that might accurately describe Sam and May’s many years of marriage.
• Devotion, long-suffering, happy, fulfilling, loving, close, committed, strong, dedicated, loyal.
30. What are (or will be) the four most important aspects of your marriage.
• Your own answer.
My opinion is that companionship will be a central aspect of it!
31. What will be the effect upon your marriage (upon you and your partner) when your partner becomes a resident in your local care home?
• Torment.
• Relief.
• No more sex.
• Sexual freedom.
• Loneliness.
• New relationships.
• A strain upon the marriage.
• The end of the marriage.
• Suicidal.
• Ecstatic.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rose’s secret
Ralph had been living in The Golden Horizon Home for Aged Gentlefolk for almost five years. His room was on the first floor and this morning he was sitting in the rocking chair which had been an imaginative and much appreciated birthday present. The Daily Mail on his lap was open at the television page as he pressed the green button on the remote control. It was approaching eleven and the cricket coverage would soon be starting. He used to play the game when he was younger and understood that cricket was a game of tactics.
The footsteps in the corridor were, Ralph assumed, his mid• morning mildly warm coffee being brought to him. But the footsteps didn’t reach his room. They were followed by more footsteps and the voices of strangers. A door opened.
‘There’s something going on in room 14, it sounds like.’
He pressed the ‘mute’ button. Ralph was sure he could hear a couple of women’s voices and a man’s. The door remained ajar for a few minutes, then opened and closed. Voices faded down the corridor. Geoff Boycott was standing in the middle of the pitch, microphone in hand, speculating silently about England’s chances of bowling the Australians out. The footsteps and voices returned. This time the door opened, the voices went in and the door was closed.
Today was to be the day Toby Sainsbury gave up his independence and became a resident in a care home.
Convincing eighty-two year old Toby that he should move into a care home had been easier than Andrea had anticipated. He had lived for many years in Queens Avenue, a most attractive area of Dorchester made up of spacious and individual-looking houses with mature trees and wide pavements. His three daughters, all married with children, lived around the town. Barbara had died many years ago and Toby had coped very well until recent events. A burglary shortly after Christmas had made him a nervous man. He was unhurt by the intruders who smashed the glass in the back door to get in. He had been asleep on the settee at the time and the noise had woken him. Perhaps the burglars had assumed that the house was unoccupied, until Toby began shouting. His voice scared the intruders off, but not before they had taken money from the kitchen table.
Some weeks after the break-in, Toby had fallen in the bathroom. A laceration on his head had needed some stitches at the Accident and Emergency Department. The fall had shaken him, and he realised that he had been lucky not to break any bones. Dr Taylor had visited him at Andrea’s request to give him a general check-up and had found his blood pressure to be higher than it should be. He hadn’t been able to say with any certainty what had caused the fall. It could have been a bit of dizziness due to the blood pressure problems, or just an unfortunate slip.
‘While I’m here, though, it might be a good idea to take some blood for routine testing’ said the doctor.
So, just in case there was something amiss, Dr Taylor had taken blood and urine samples for a general analysis.
Following this fall, Toby’s daughters had taken turns to call on their father each morning to check he was out of bed and had eaten some breakfast. They would call again in the evening to wash up and tidy the living room. This had worked for a while, but they soon found themselves exhausted. Joanne had a young family which took up much of her time. Andrea and Vicky had teenagers who took up even more time. They would have to think of something else.
The blood and urine samples had revealed a mild degree of diabetes, known these days as type 2 diabetes. The surgery nurse had called on Toby to take further blood samples and these had confirmed the diagnosis. The outcome was that Toby would have to take a diabetic tablet each morning and restrict the amount of sugary food he ate. He started to find sugar-free items appearing in his larder following Andrea’s shopping trips. He had never heard of Canderel before. It was following one such shopping trip that his daughter summoned up her courage.
‘Dad - Jo, Vicky and me have been thinking that the time has come for you to think about making plans to move into a care home.’ She thought it best to leave the matter there and allow her father to digest her suggestion. She would return to the subject later in the week. The suggestion had taken the old man by surprise, and he’d been hurt by the directness with which his daughter had spoken. On reflection, though, he knew there was a good deal of sense in what Andrea had said. The house was too large for him. He had hardly been into the garden since the previous autumn. He knew he needed someone to keep an eye on him, to do his laundry and his shopping. His age and health were causing concerns. He was adamant that he didn’t want to become a burden to Andrea, Vicky or Joanne.
The sisters called on their father on the days following the suggestion about the care home, though the subject was never mentioned. They concentrated on the bits of shopping he needed, the washing and ironing of his clothes, the paying of the milkman and the newsagent and
the collecting of his pension. But at the end of the week Andrea returned to the subject.
‘Have you had any thoughts about moving into a care home, Dad?’ He had.
A trembling skeletal left hand reached from a blue armchair towards a framed photograph perched upon a chest of drawers, Lucy’s own chest of drawers that she had brought into the home with her. The hand seemed to be finding the frame too heavy to pick up. It dragged the frame slowly towards the old lady until it lost its grip and the picture fell into her lap.
‘My dear Doug’ said Lucy softly. ‘My dear Doug. If you could only see me now. I wonder what you would say to me, my dear Doug. What would you say?’
Lucy stared at the photo. For several long moments she stared at it. Once again she sought to bring the man’s portrait up to her face. Inch by inch, trembling all the while, Doug came closer to her. She kissed him and the trembling photo slowly sank back into her lap.
* * * * * *
‘My dear girl, must it be now?’
‘Yes, Mrs Jenkins, if you don’t mind.’
Mrs Primrose Jenkins and Miss Zoe Mitchell sat on either side of the office desk. One sat in a dark red leather upholstered chair, the other on a grey plastic chair. The one was secure and certain about her future, the other was feeling insecure and uncertain about hers.
‘Now, what is it that’s so important?’
‘I think I might be pregnant.’
‘You only think you are?’
‘Well, I’m late with my period and when I done a test it was positive.’
She shrugged her shoulders.
‘And I just know I’m pregnant.’
Autumns Colours Page 5