It’s not been a good week.
I knew the time would come and it did and I hope it’s timely. I filled in the request for admission to the care home months ago but the part that my mother had to fill in expressing her preferences was still empty. I was hoping for a lucid day, I ordered the groceries to be delivered to give me the whole afternoon to do the job.
Needless to say, from the time I decided until the time I sat down with my mother to do it, I was ill.
The Romans had a saying: Mens sana in corpore sano, they knew a thing or two, did the Romans and they were right, your mind influences the health of your body all the time. You would have to have the hardest heart not to take the steps to place a parent or relative of any kind in a residential home with anything other than a leaden heart. I don’t care if it’s the Ritz. Everyone wants to be in their own home, especially when they’re ill or old or both. Be it ever so humble, or, for example in the case of mine having holes in every tread of the at least thirty year stair carpet, there is no place like home. Every grotty window, every drop of condensation, every ancient boiler, every slightly animal stained sofa, every suspicious recess of the fridge, every dusty light bulb, every weed sprouting out of the concrete and every item we ever meant to fix but never quite got round to; if it’s yours it’s ok because it’s home.
So I trekked off, coughed my way through lunch, produced the papers and for lo! My mother was well-behaved, co-operative and understanding. We filled in everything to her satisfaction, had tea, had cake, returned.
Her friend, who was a trustee of the group of homes rang, helpful and kind. He will go and see my mother this weekend and do his own private assessment of how she is because the fees depend on how much care my mother requires. His position with regard to the organisation has changed somewhat but he still knows the people in charge, which is what counts with my mother. Because of her father being in business and because of her own need for control she has always regarded the way to do things as being enmeshed in the importance of knowing someone or being able to pull strings.
I personally do not believe this at all. I think there are good people and bad people, competent and incompetent people and people who are good at their jobs and people who aren’t everywhere. I do not think for an instant that threatening someone in the wrong job with your personal acquaintance with their MD will make a haporth of difference; if they’re rubbish they’ll still be rubbish but, additionally, resentful, if they’re good they’ll be good regardless. However, the point of the exercise is not to influence the outcome, the point of the exercise is to empower my mother mentally in a situation in which she is powerless.
So yesterday I took the form and added a long letter to the director outlining my mother’s huge advantages, massive achievements and winsome personality and then, before my courage failed me took it up to the post office box and posted it last night before I reneged on the deal.
Alea iacta est, the spear is chucked, will it find the target? Will there be a place for my mother? Will I sell the house quickly enough to avoid further debt? Will she settle in? How will she settle in? Will she die before she goes?
For the answer to these and other fascinating questions stay tuned.
Having done the deed I now turn my attention to Miniatura. Apart from the usual care of my mother I am going to work as hard as I know how to distract myself. The show is the first weekend of April so I have five weeks to get my head into miniatures and when that is done I will tackle the next thing.
Unless, of course I get overtaken by events, alea iacta est, but it might bounce back.
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back to basics, back to miniatures, back to the future, back to ancient Rome, backs to the wall…………