Hunter’s gammon, roast potatoes, salad
After yesterday’s pleasantness, I should perhaps have expected today to be less good.
Late last night (well, about 9pm, which is late by this household’s standards) I sent out enquiries about a few more properties, from a cute bedsit in Seaview to a fancy apartment with a sea view in Cowes. Of course this morning I was summoned from my exhausted sleep by missed calls from multiple agents.
I intended to call them all back but, after an outing with Lady Friday yesterday, mum was fairly capable today and managed to get herself up and dressed with minimal drama. That was good, obviously, but did take away my brief window of privacy to make phone calls.
Around lunchtime, the manager of a local care agency came round with a lengthy list of questions. Mum, as I expected, objected repeatedly that we’re fine and doesn’t need help, but was cognitively competent enough to be aware that she’s not always like this. She was also unusually willing to accept that I’m tired and need help so, very reluctantly and with the promise that it’s for a trial period only, she agreed to have a carer come in every morning.
Hooray, I thought – at last we’re getting somewhere!
But, of course, that isn’t allowed in my life. Almost immediately afterwards, I had a call from a very sombre Care Coordinator letting me know that, because she isn’t bed-bound, the District Nursing service has declined to take mum on as a client. The Care Coordinator told me she had appealed twice, told them about mum trying to eat the steroid cream, and that I’m physically incapable of helping her apply it correctly, but the answer remained a firm NO.
Their suggestion was to put some cream on a pad and get mum to put it in her underwear, which I haven’t even suggested to mum yet as it seems so ridiculous. I may change my mind and ask her to at least try it if she doesn’t start improving soon: atm it’s getting worse every day, to the point that she’s crying with the pain of it tonight.
That I am furious goes without saying: I appreciate that District Nursing, like all NHS services, is disastrously overstretched, but I can’t accept that a confused woman struggling in constant pain and potentially poisoning herself in a quest for relief isn’t a valid patient for them to take on.
I am now out of consolation to give mum: “I know you’re in pain, but the medical people won’t help” is, unsurprisingly, not comforting for her to hear.
We had groceries delivered today so had a decent selection of food to choose from. I served ‘bacon’, which mum has eaten and enjoyed before, but this time she ate only a couple of bites before pushing it aside. She didn’t even finish her salad, which I have never seen her do before.
So now it’s tv until bedtime, as usual. Tomorrow I will try to make the many phone calls I meant to make today and was too tired and frustrated to actually make. Surely things must start looking up again? Please?
